33. Jolie
33
JOLIE
I ’m still floating on cloud nine the day after my performance when my phone buzzes.
Lark:
Still rallying from last night’s celebrations.
Feel better.
Lark:
We’ll try to meet you there.
She tosses in a few sickly emojis for good measure. I know her well enough to know that’s code for she won’t be going anymore.
Well, I’m not missing out, even if I have to watch Blake perform. This is something Mom and I always talked about doing.
I carefully avoid the sequins of my champagne dress, tugging up the zipper slowly. The neckline hugs the slight swells of my breasts. One nice thing about being small chested—no need for a bra. I’m forgoing underwear as well, thanks to the slit of the dress slicing dangerously high on my thigh. Better to avoid underwear lines or a panty flash. It wasn’t like anyone would be looking at me in the private box Delilah had splurged on anyway.
Grabbing my clutch, I slip my key and phone into it. Then I move into the hallway, waiting for the door to shut behind me before I walk toward the elevators.
The theater is only a couple blocks away, and the lobby is bustling when I arrive. I wave at a few of the passing ballerinas I hung out with backstage yesterday while I stand in line to get in. Whipping out my phone, I hold it out for the attendant to scan my ticket, then traipse to the bar to grab a glass of chardonnay. At least if I accidentally spill my drink, it’ll blend in with my dress. I double check that my slit is in its proper place before walking on, enjoying how the sequins caress my curves, glittering like diamonds under the buttery chandeliers above.
The chimes ring, signaling the doors to the theater have opened. I spot the sign corresponding to my ticket on my right and steer away from the crowd. Gripping my skirt in the same hand that’s holding my clutch, I use my other to stay balanced as I walk up the staircase to the upper level where the private boxes are. I follow the arrows until I come to the curtained-off box F.
An usher rushes over, holding the black velvet to the side so I can enter. “Anyone else joining you tonight?”
I give them a gentle smile. “Nope. Just me.”
“Well, I’ll be at the end of the hallway if you need anything at all, dear,” they say, tipping their head.
“Thank you,” I call over my shoulder before heading toward the front of the box and picking a seat in the center. There are two more boxes on my side and three across from us. I’m in the farthest right, closest to the stage. Curtains swag either side of the row, hanging like a set of long bangs, casting the intimate space in darkness compared to the well-lit theater. I sip my wine, watching people move between rows, finding their seats and making room for each other. I admire my favorite gowns and ogle a few famous faces. Famous for the ballet world, that is.
The emcee’s voice booms over the theater, and the last of the audience takes their seats. They welcome us and remind everyone not to use flash photography, record on their cell phones, or walk out while a performance is taking place. Everyone, including myself, nods along. Each spectator is either a former, current, or loved one of a dancer. We know the drill.
First to take the stage is The Australian Ballet, performing the opening number with their two premiere principal dancers playing Carmen and her Don José, captivating us with their passion-filled pas de deux full of lifts and heavenly extensions. I watch, entranced, experiencing each step alongside them. It’s a beautiful piece, a moment captured in a ballet about desire and how jealousy can turn to tragedy. The story of Carmen has been around for ages, told in a million ways. You know in the end that he will root his own destruction, but the way they are moving, vibrant and enamored, you can almost forget, can almost believe they will make it—even when the story never changes. The happy ending never comes.
I clap along with everyone else when it’s over, then grab the program that’s been left on the seat next to mine and flip it open to see what’s coming next. With each piece, I am inspired. Reinvigorated. I’m caught in their spell, balancing between not wanting to miss a moment of their performance and wishing I was out there dancing it myself. Whenever I have a hard day at rehearsals, watching my favorite pieces online always rekindles the joy that the day-to-day can snuff out if you let it. Watching in person… It’s a whole other level.
Mom would have loved this. I savor each performance, enjoy every moment, for her. For us.
The San Francisco ballet is up next with the Bluebird pas de deux from Sleeping Beauty . I’ve actually danced this variation before, and my heels tap out the steps of their own accord. I’m so glad no one else is here to see me embarrass myself, though I know Lark would do the same.
The curtains on either side of me jostle, an icy wind blowing in seemingly from nowhere. My chest and arms pebble and my body goes still.
Then I listen.
Ignoring the instrumental and the gentle patter of pointe shoes hitting the Marley floor, I try to see if he’s here. Scared to get my hopes up.
Tiny white snowflakes trickle from above, pirouetting around each other on the breeze. Dancing just for me.
“Jax?” I whisper under my breath, eyes darting around the empty box. “Is that you? How…”
Not that I didn’t already know the answer.
“We went over this before.” Jax’s comforting baritone strums through my core, voice drifting into my mind. “I’m as real as the whisper of the wind, the cold settled in your bones, the flakes that fall outside…or inside, if I’m feeling especially inspired.”
The snowflakes encircle me along with the breeze. It’s him. God, he’s beautiful, even when he’s more like sculpted ice than man. I want to snatch this moment before it flits away. The last time I saw Jax felt like barely a reality, his presence melting just as quickly as he’d solidified before me in that icy studio.
“I’ve missed you.” The words escape me as naturally as an exhale.
“If you’ve missed me so much, then why aren’t you letting yourself truly believe I’m here?”
After spending weeks together, curled up and talking night after night, he’d disappeared from my life, only showing up one brief time. I know he was in hibernation and couldn’t get to me, but I can’t help but fear another ephemeral visit. I’m scared to believe, scared to want this so badly only to have it taken away again.
What if one of these days he doesn’t come back?
“I never stopped trying to get to you.”
“I know,” I say, a bit breathless. “It’s not that I don’t believe you’re real or that I don’t wish to see you. That couldn’t be the furthest thing from what I want.”
The sequins of my dress rustle, the fabric between my breasts lowering enough to feel the faint weight of Jax pressing a palm over the silvery streaks. My mate mark.
“How much time do we have?” My voice is a rasp. I’m almost too afraid to ask, but I need to mentally prepare myself.
Before I even realize it, frosty breath blows the tear streaking my cheek, freezing it in place. Barely visible fingers brush it away, the tiny flecks disappearing. “I have to be back in the mountains by first light.”
“We’ll be going to Hotham in a few days,” I say as casually as I can, not wanting to sound overeager. “Will I get to see you?”
“Yes, you will. I’ll work hard to make sure we have plenty of time to do everything we wish.” My toes curl in my heels. “Just call on me. It’ll be easier once you’re there. I had to sneak a little farther than I’m technically supposed to so I could see you tonight.”
“Were you here yesterday by any chance?”
“Of course I was.” He gestures to the corner at the back of the audience. The exact spot I thought I’d seen him. “You think I would have missed seeing you in your element, Tempest?”
He cradles my jaw, pale-blue face finally taking form. His eyes sparkle under the dim light. “I came when I felt your joy. The moment you began to move under those lights. I’ve been trying to get ahead of my duties so I could return for a longer visit tonight.”
“I’m so glad you were here. I thought you were, but I wasn’t sure if I was just imagining it.”
“Not your imagination, Tempest.” His nose nuzzles mine, our eyes locked. “It was me.”
He closes the distance and chills my lips with his refreshing kiss. It’s tender, slow, and I just want to slip away with him.
The thundering applause ramps up my heartbeat, pulling my attention back to my surroundings. Lifting up from my seat, I peer over the theater box’s golden banister at the hundreds of audience members standing up and cheering for the pair of ballet dancers bowing on stage. I flip through the program resting in my lap, drawing down the sheet with my finger, and spot the Royal Ballet’s Don Quixote grand pas. Next up…
The emcee’s announcement is muffled by the dying applause, but I don’t need to hear it to know. Blake and his annoyingly charming smile take the stage alongside Beth, one of the other principals from the Institute. Lark mentioned that Nina’s transferring to the American Ballet Theatre, and while Blake hasn’t received an offer yet—from them or any of the other New York City ballet companies—they’re hoping to move there together. We’re both hoping she’ll realize she’s better off without him and leave him in the dust.
The air goes taut next to me, Jax noticing for himself who’s taken the stage as the instrumental fills the space.
“Before you ask, I’m not here to see him.” I turn away from the performance and thread my fingers through his hair. “Though I wouldn’t mind witnessing him stumble.”
“Just say the word.”
“He’s not worth it.” I chuckle, shaking my head and then give him another kiss. “Besides, I don’t want to waste getting to see you. Not when our time is always limited.”
“What do you want, then, Tempest?”
The lights dim, and Jax’s eyes twinkle like brilliant stars pinned against the darkness. Spring may bloom, summer may blaze, autumn may fall like the leaves, but my feelings for Jax don’t shift with the seasons. They’re steady through it all, eternal whether he’s here or not. If winter never returned, I’d still be here, heart pounding wildly, waiting. Always.
Just as he’ll always return to me.
If I have to steal a thousand tiny moments together, I will. I’ll hoard them away, filling my journal with everything I recall, etching our story into its pages.
I’ll stuff it full of new memories. New questions and possibilities. New wins.
“I want everything… You.”
He smiles, and I lean forward, kissing him eagerly. Whatever being his mate entails, every aching part of me wants it. It’s a gravity I’m desperate to fall into.
His icy touch grazes where my leg peeks from my slit, and I jerk.
“Sorry,” he rasps, removing his hand.
I catch his wrist, guiding him back. “Don’t stop. Please.”
Whatever he’s offering, I want it and I want it now.
He skims the slit of my skirt, sending shivers below my belly. I thumb over the feathery embossing along his wrist, wondering how each line would feel scraping against my skin. Wishing we were alone.
Splaying an icy hand at the top of my thigh, he waits a moment as my body relaxes, adjusting to his chill, tracing across my nose with his own. My breath hitches, coating the darkness in a mist of white, and I uncross my legs, allowing his fingers to dip between them.
He arches a brow at me. “Nothing but you beneath this, Tempest?”
“Doesn’t work with the dress,” I rasp.
The delicate crescendo of the music builds, and while the audience is turned toward the stage, I can’t help but feel wildly rebellious with Jax’s hand up my dress. Dipping, swirling, coating his fingertips. Twirling them around my clit. It’s almost too much to handle. I shove my fist into my mouth to stifle my moan.
Jax’s elongated canines glint with his smile before their sharp tips drag down my throat, nipping at its base. My breathy pants paint the air in thin smoke as I dig crescents into the chair’s arm cushions.
“Tell me to stop or spread that skirt and let me devour what’s mine ,” he growls.
My eyes dart frantically, the tiny, logical part of me screaming how crazy this is. We’re in a full theater. I’m a ballerina. The picture of poise. Decorum.
But even as those reminders echo like a chorus in my mind, my hands grip my skirt, slowly inching it up.
He slides down in one smooth motion until he’s kneeling before me, his prismatic gaze captivating my attention from the floor. It’s brutally carnal and full of gentle reverence. Behind him, a swan bourrées delicately across the stage as the music starts to intensify.
Jax’s hands trail over the pale-pink scar on the outside of my knee, one that has nearly faded completely. Pressing a long kiss there, he continues to pepper them up my hip and then across, toward my center. Each kiss is a promise of pleasure, vibrating through my whole body.
“Wider, Tempest.” His words are wind, brushing up the inside of my thighs. Instead of snapping them shut to the cold, I let them fall open, spread before him. Bared. Obedient.
“So perfect for your mate.”
I lean back, my shoulders digging into the cushions of the lush box seat. My eyes dart toward the few other boxes, but everyone seems to be enraptured by the ballet in front of them. Like I should be.
But then Jax’s tongue laps at the apex of my inner thighs. There’s only him and the sound of Tchaikovsky reverberating through me, making me bolder than the black swan moving silkily across the stage.
I bite my lip, copper bursting on my tongue. He swipes it with a finger, the chill of it soothing my mouth, then he brings the crimson drop past his lips and sucks it down with a groan. The silvery shards of his gaze almost vanish completely, swallowed up by his pupils.
His fingers disappear again, two of them pushing into me. My pelvis shifts and my sequins snag the fabric of the seat. Not that I care.
“That was a bad idea.”
“Why?” I breathe, legs shaking.
“Because, Tempest, now that I’ve had a taste, all I want to do is bury myself deep inside you. Claim you in every way.”
Whatever that entails, I’m in.
I jolt at the next flick of his frosty tongue parting me further. The cold is unusual but not unwelcome and each stroke against my center eases me into its embrace. My head snaps down to look at those holographic eyes radiating a rainbow of colors from between my thighs. His tongue spears into me, twisting and devouring, before he replaces it with his fingers. The music crescendos with my quivering body until I’m fisting the seat’s arms, holding my upper body in place while my lower half, the part hidden from view, writhes against Jax.
Every limb pulls taut with a tension that threatens to leap out from me with nowhere to land. With a final curl of his fingers, I break apart, pulsing around him until he draws them out from me. For a moment, I mourn the emptiness, until his nose grazes my clit, tongue pushed inside me so far I wonder if that part of him is somehow magical too, deep and swirling within my body. It’s as if he has to taste every ounce of my pleasure. Anything less would be wasteful.
My body becomes sensitive to each nudge of his nose. I grip his hair to ease him away, his lips glistening with my release.
“Are you okay?” His brows furrow, like he’s worried he’s done something wrong.
“More than,” I sigh. “Just a bit…sensitive.”
“Sensitive how?”
“I’ve just never…” I lower my whisper as much as I can, grateful for the applause camouflaging my embarrassment. “Finished. With someone else, that is. Solstice with you was the first time.”
“I’ll be the first and only.” He smirks.
I almost huff out a laugh. From anyone else, I would have. Not with Jax, though. His expression is earnest. No cockiness flitting across his features. “And I plan to have you coming until the curtain closes. Unless you don’t want—”
“I want it,” I say hastily, biting my lip and debating if I should say more. His brows lift, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his eyes. His hands come up higher on my thighs, the slit of my skirt exposing me obscenely to the room.
“Yes,” I rasp when his fingertips swirl inside me, coaxing me to give into the pleasure cresting again.
He kisses me deeply, a mix of ice, magic, and my release lapping against my tongue. Lowering onto his heels, he nips at my inner thigh. “Let me savor you.”
I nod and stroke his sharp cheek with my fingers before looping them into his wild silver-and-blue hair, guiding him toward my desperate body. The crinkle of my dress and the strum of a harp are the only sounds I hear when the next dancers come begin their performance.
“They’ll entertain you while I get the best show in the house.” I blink twice, realizing that was echoed into my mind while his face is still pressed between my legs, licking and sucking. Sweat beads along my forehead and I try to catch my breath. I’m soaked, certain there’ll be a huge wet spot on my dress when I stand.
Not that I care.
In fact, I’m certain I’ll savor the stain, thrilled with any sign he could leave me with until I can be with him again.
I hold on to his scalp and ride his face, biting my own arm to stop from crying out when the second, third, fourth, and fifth orgasms quake through me.
He had promised I’d be coming on his tongue at curtain close. Not only is Jax very much real, but when he makes a promise, he follows through.
One of the many things I love about him.
Sometime after I’ve given up counting orgasms, the lights come up in the theater. I stand up and quickly adjust my dress. Jax flashes me a wolfish grin, guiding me out of the theater with one hand on my back. No one else can see him, but the brush of his fingers against the valley of my spine is all the support I need.
“Is there a spot?” I mutter under my breath, waving a hand at a few dancers I recognize. My legs are a bit wobbly from the orgasmic waves crashing through me for the last forty-five minutes.
“Do you want the real answer or for me to reassure you?” His tone is playful, and I elbow him.
As we stride among the crowd, I hesitate when people move close, not realizing Jax is there. They walk straight through him, a few tiny flecks peppering their formalwear, but they don’t seem to notice.
“I’m used to it.” He shrugs. “You see me and that’s all that matters.”
I keep him within my peripheral the entire time to ensure he’s still there.
“Jolie.”
I suck in a breath, turning my head to find Blake standing there, staring at me, his hands in his pockets. He looks eerily relaxed, but his tone doesn’t carry its usual flavor of arrogance.
“Hey.”
He goes to open his mouth, but I lift a hand. “You don’t need to say anything, Blake.”
“But—”
“No.” I keep my tone calm, not wanting to draw any attention from the crowds of dancers, instructors, family, and friends piled into the lobby. “If you’re about to say you’re sorry, I know it’s bullshit. You aren’t sorry. If you’re sorry about anything, it’s just that you got caught and that your precious ego got bruised. So don’t give me a half-assed apology or an excuse. You’ll just be wasting both of our time.”
Blake’s lips zip shut, and I shake out my shoulders, continuing on my trek.
“Wow.” Jax chuckles next to me. “You were magnificent.”
“I gave him more words than he deserves,” I whisper. We exit the theater, walking toward my hotel and I slip my hand into his. “Now, come with me. We still have a handful of hours until you have to go.”
He lifts a brow. “Sounds like you have something in mind.”
“I do.” My dress is still damp in the back, and with each step closer, wetness slides between my thighs. The breeze lashes at my lady bits, and I check to make sure it doesn’t kick up my skirt and flash everyone. “First, I’m going to get out of this.”
“You’ll hear no argument from me, though it’s beautiful on you.” His eyes shimmer as they scan over me, and he runs a finger along the cap sleeve of my gown. We cross the lobby toward the elevators that are surrounded by a mix of dancers still in layers of thick stage makeup and folks dressed to the nines from watching the performance.
“They missed the best show tonight, Tempest,” Jax whispers. “One that I got to enjoy up close and very personally.”
The memory sends goosebumps skating across my skin and my body shivers with an anticipation I don’t have the patience for.
“You haven’t even seen the finale yet.”