CHAPTER 33
Ana
THIS BALLET BARRE is a dangerous weapon that I keep crashing back into.
During our final studio rehearsal, Colette examined us, as Troy and I tensely conducted our tango across the wooden floor.
She elatedly clapped once we were finished, visibly impressed by the performance we gave.
We even managed to receive a compliment regarding our chemistry that was razor-sharp, today, as she put it.
Well, that tends to happen after your skating partner watches you dry hump a piece of wood that isn’t meant to be—never mind. I sighed to myself once Colette left us for the day because that meant we’d be alone.
Troy and I are now alone.
Troy stands, also silent, most likely at the fact that we no longer have an instructor to act as our buffer. Which we’re in desperate need of, a buffer. That way, one of us doesn’t do something idiotic—like almost moan in front of their lifelong skating-nemesis-turned-skating-partner.
“Um,” I start, “maybe we can just go through each of the lifts, starting with the hardest one, and make sure our balance is solid.”
He nods. “Sounds good to me.”
When Troy moves to the barre and I don’t follow, I catch his furrowed brows through the reflection of the mirrored wall.
We’ve practiced the hardest lift of this routine with the assistance of that barre.
The position requires the utmost precision.
Otherwise, my blades could spear right through his thighs once we reach the ice.
Now, the thought of using the wood is paddling me with apprehension.
And also shoots of desire from the memory.
Logic wins this one.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” I say, casually gesturing to the barre.
Troy smirks. “Is this about the dance?”
“No, it’s about you.”
His back straightens at my curt response.
“Yeah, what about me?”
The question hangs between us like a cloud of grey fog.
“I wanna see if you can do the move on your own,” I jab. Though the question itself is absurd. I know he can lift me without any help from the barre. He could probably lift me easily in just one of his arms. But the response is the only one I’m able to muster on the spot.
Troy scoffs, smugness dripping from his eyes, ready to take on the challenge as he strides toward me.
Once he reaches me in the center of the studio, he bends his knees, waiting for me to turn around.
A zing of awareness stirs between my legs at the abruptness of his change in position.
I turn around, facing away from his chest before I feel his hair tickle down my back as he lowers himself.
My clit begins to throb as he scoops up my calves from behind and hoists my feet right up onto his thighs.
Well, shit.
The grip of his hands over my upper thighs from behind is impressive. As if I don’t need to be applying any pressure of my own, and his weight is enough to anchor me down on him. The feeling is new, seamless and unlike any skating position I’ve experienced before.
Then I make the mistake of glancing down. I spot his hands, firmly cupped around my thighs, and feel myself start to lose my balance. When I wobble, his hold only grows tighter.
“You sure this was about me, Ana?”
A shiver runs down my spine at the arrogance coating his voice, seeing through my previous lie.
“Or, could it have something to do with you being scared of that barre?”
“Scared?” I scoff out a laugh. “I am not scared of that barre.”
“Okay.”
As I dismount from his legs, I spot the haughty look still brimming from his eyes.
“I’m not scared of that barre,” I repeat.
“Okay.”
“Stop saying that.”
He tilts his head at me cooly. “Okay.”
“Let’s do it on the barre.”
“Do what?”
“Troy, I swear to God…”
He laughs as we both walk up to the railing that I was trying my best to avoid. But every time this guy has challenged me on something since we were little, I’ve always seen it through. And when I have it my way, I make sure he loses.
Besides, it’s probably better that I work on my balance with the extra support from the barre, before we practice this lift at the rink for the first time tomorrow. Troy has his strength, but relying on my skating partner to hold me steady isn’t how I operate.
“See, I told you,” I say proudly, once I’m standing above his thighs again, my hands wrapped around the wood.
“Oh, I still think you were lying,” Troy says matter-of-factly.
Heat rushes over my chest in agitation. As he starts to set me down from his thighs, my vision’s still focused on him, distracting me.
I bump into the barre before Troy tightens his hold around my stomach from behind to keep me from smacking my head right onto the rough wood.
When we both steady ourselves, the angle is, well…
it’s even more suggestive than yesterday’s.
I’m gripping onto the barre with my ass popped out and pushed back against his hips, and he’s leaning into me.
By stupid instinct, my back arches into him at the sudden pressure.
I turn my head over my shoulder to glance at him.
I could’ve just looked at him from the mirror, but…
“Hi, Ana,” he greets, amused.
When I scowl, and snap my face back around, he’s leaning into me, still.
His hands curl over my lower belly, and all the heat that fizzes across my skin meets right there, beneath his touch.
This self-control I’ve been micro-managing, it rips when his fingers stamp into the latex of my tank top.
I think he senses it too, spotting me capture my bottom lip between my teeth.
Anticipation swirls with confusion when Troy bring his lips to my neck. But without any touch. They just stay there, ghosting along the side of my heated skin.
My body hums with awareness at each faint movement. Maybe it’s because of the eye contact through the mirror. Our eyes haven’t left the other’s this entire time, the heat filling me only bubbling at the reminder.
I watch as Troy removes one of his hands from my body and then brings it to my ponytail, wrapping his fingers around the ends of my waves. My lips, honest to God, drop open at the visual.
His erection strains against my ass at my reaction, and my pussy clamps around the empty air, begging for a release.
My clit’s so swollen that when Troy’s hand abandons my hair and drops back down to my belly, all the muscles there spasm with the sort of pleasure that feels torturously out of reach.
“You’d let me fuck you in this studio, wouldn’t you?” he rasps into my ear.
A moan tries to rip from my throat, but I swallow it in resolve.
Troy caught me off guard yesterday, but this time, I’m not letting him take the lead in our little skating dare.
I drop my hands to my stomach and lay them over his. His pulse starts rapidly ticking against my skin, his hold softening to meld with mine. Sliding around to face him, I bring his hands lower. Low enough to rest them against the edges of my hips. Tight.
“You wouldn’t know how to handle me, Larsson,” I warn, cupping his chin.
His eyes distance.
“You’ve gone all quiet.” I blink in confidence, pressing my lips into a gluttonous pout. “No thoughts left up there?”
“Plenty. But you wouldn’t know how to handle them.” With the pad of his thumb, he brushes over the corner of my lips.