41. Jolie
41
JOLIE
I t’s been over a month since I last saw Jax. The distance sucks, but we manage to talk each day while he finishes up winter in Australia and I kick off another season with Ballet Potomac, only this time as a soloist.
Evelyn, Veronique, and Sara are thrilled for me—albeit envious, which I totally understand. They aren’t any less supportive of me, though. It’s all I could ask for, and at least we get to see each other at company classes and rehearsals for Act I of our fall showcase. We’ll be dancing Kingdom of the Shades, an excerpt from La Bayadere .
The tips of leaves shift from green to rich ambers and maroon, rustling with the breeze, signaling fall’s arrival. It was Mom’s favorite season, and I always think of her when they begin to change.
As Lark and I head toward the metro, movement pulls my attention toward the trees lining the streets, and I spot two golden-skinned harbingers. They swirl in and out of each other’s way, tapping at branches, working so quickly I nearly miss them. It’s crazy to think how unaware we are of their existence. How easy it is to take their harbinging for granted.
The mugginess of summer remains, the heat more stifling than it should be in September. Sweat beads along my chest and brow, and I wipe it back into my hair, using it to slick the wisps around my bun.
After tucking my dance bag between my feet as soon as Lark and I sit down, I strip off my loose t-shirt, desperate for air. You’d think the metro would be filled, but it’s earlier than the commuting rush. Only five other people are spread out along the empty seats in our section.
“You okay?” Lark asks, not looking at me. I follow her gaze to the front of my leotard that’s mottled with sweat, turning the pastel-pink hue into deep-mauve splotches.
“Yeah,” I reply, though my tone’s a bit breathless. Pulling up my phone, I swipe to my camera, inspecting my pallid skin and the droplets peeking from around my hairline and the base of my neck. Could it be—
“Tempest?”
My heart pounds at Jax’s voice, and I cross my legs, body warming all over. Lark stares at me with her brows bunched together. Her thick sweatshirt has me grabbing my water bottle. I twist off the cap and chug down a few sips as I reach back out to Jax. “Hey.”
“I’m so sorry.” His lilt is low and gravelly, scraping along my skin like the canines I wish were dragging down my throat again. Claiming me all over.
Oh no. This can’t be happening…
“I’ll talk to my fathers and Fate. Maybe they’ll let me come to you for a few days to see you through sols—”
“Shit.”
“What is it?”
Double shit. I didn’t realize I said that aloud. A few of the other passengers glance in our direction but quickly return to their business.
“Tempest, are you there ? ”
“Solstice,” I reply to Lark, ignoring him. “It’s happening.”
Her previously pinched brows lift in surprise. I’m so glad she knows about Jax. The last thing I want to do is explain what is going on right now in public. “Oh, so this is what being horny is like for harbingers?”
“Stop laughing!” My eyes dart around the metro car, skin prickling with embarrassment and probably something more.
“Do we need to get off at the next stop?” Lark points up to the metro map, chuckling as I glare at her. “Oops, poor choice of words.”
“It’s not funny,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my sweat-stained leotard. Thank goodness I always pack a spare. I’ll need it.
“You have to admit, it’s a little funny.” Lark’s face softens with something akin to pity.
“Tempest, you there?” Jax’s voice calls through our connection. “Hold on. I’m going to talk to them. ”
“No, Jax. Don’t.”
He pauses a moment. “Don’t?”
“Stay where you are. Please.” I take a few deep breaths, not wanting to sound stressed and cause him to do something stupid like start a freak blizzard or swap in with some autumn harbinger. “It’s not worth getting in trouble. Not when we are so close to winter. I don’t want to do anything that could jeopardize that.”
I’ve been counting down to winter, my winter, ever since I left Australia.
“But—”
“No,” I warn. It won’t take much encouragement from me to have him doing something reckless. That will only wind up with us separated again—more than we have to be. “Not when you’re going to ask to get assigned back here. We’ll have the next solstice.”
I’m already slick just thinking about it.
Or maybe that’s the solstice talking.
Fighting the urge to tell him to screw it and come hold me, engulf me with his presence and fill me, I take a few more steadying breaths, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“What can I do?”
“Why do you sound so calm when I feel like peeling off every layer of clothing right here on the metro?” If I have to be hot and bothered, he should be too!
“I’m far from calm.” There’s a sharpened edge to his tone, but on voice alone, it doesn’t sound like Jax is about to sweat out of his skin—not that I think that’d be possible for him. “And if you strip off those clothes, I’ll break out of here and show you how not calm I am.”
“I wish.” The words are out before I realize they might set off another chain of events. According to Jax, Fate’s very concerned with the effects of him saving me and the ripple of what she’s had to do to fix it. They are leery of the consequences from us solidifying our bond but haven’t gone so far as to forbid him from coming here this next winter.
“Tempest… Do I need to come there?”
“No.” I keep my tone firm, using the hand pressed over my mate mark to refocus my breathing and slow my heart rate as much as I can. “Stay where you are, Jax. I mean it.”
Would this experience be different if I were a Frost? I have the distinct feeling that if I ask him, he won’t tell me. Any mention of if he hadn’t interfered, if I had become a Frost, is quickly met with silence or a change of topic.
“Are you two doing that weird mind-speak thing?” Lark groans, pulling me back to the present. The tracks rumble beneath our feet, and I glance out the window, noting that we are nearing Lark’s stop.
“Give me a second.”
“I’m sorry, Lark. I’m listening.” I try not to talk to Jax when I’m around other people, otherwise I tend to look crazier than I already feel when I think about being bonded to an immortal that will be bringing us winter in a few months.
“Are you going to be okay for rehearsals today?”
“I have to be. We’re working on the pas de deux choreography for Petite Mort .”
“Ooh la la.” Lark fans herself dramatically.
Petite Mort is a contemporary ballet, choreographed in the 1990s by Ji?í Kylián, that plays on the French translation of la petite mort, which means “the little death,” a euphemism for orgasm. Lark’s been teasing me ever since I told her we were performing it, but honestly, I think she’s a bit jealous because the Institute prefers to only do classical ballets. She would kill to do more contemporary work—which is why I’m slowly trying to woo her to the dark side to join me at Ballet Potomac. “You know…you could always audition and next time you’d be dancing alongside me.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she replies, blowing me off, though I notice she’s never given the idea an outright rejection. “Anyway… Why don’t you take my extra towel today?” She pulls it out of her bag and tosses it to me as the metro screeches. “I feel bad for your partner. You’re going to be sliding all over them with all that sweat. Who are you partnering again?”
“Vincent Rollins.”
“Ah yes, the adorable, curly-haired ginger.”
“That’s the one.”
The car stops moving and the doors whoosh open to the platform. Lark stands, resting her hand on the back of my seat.
“What time are you done today?”
“Should be home by five or six, why?”
“Just curious.” She walks out onto the platform, turning around and calling out right before it shuts. “I have a short day today, so text me if you need anything.”
I give her a nod and a wave through the glass while the metro groans to life. Normally, we don’t ride together, but Lark doesn’t have rehearsals until later today, so she’s going shopping before she meets Delilah for lunch.
“Jax? You still there?”
“Always, Tempest.” His voice comforts me, but I wish he were here, that his arms were around me, the chill of his body balancing the heat of mine. Missing him is a constant ache, but since we bonded—since I’ve given in to believing in who he is and what we are—the throb has gotten more manageable.
At least, until today.
Right now, I just want to summon him here, kiss him, and press my body to his…but if I say the words, it’ll only land Jax in trouble. He’s proven to be charmingly persistent when it comes to me. So instead of telling him how badly I’m craving him, I turn the tables. “How are you doing with solstice? Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m more worried about you. At least I can hole up at home.”
My mind conjures an image of his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself until cum jets from his pierced tip. I clench my thighs together. The metro rumbles beneath me, only making the sensation worse. I may combust if I don’t do something about this soon.
“I’m guessing you still have to dance today?”
“Yep.” I croak out, trying to wrangle my thoughts. The metro screeches and slows to a stop at my destination. Finally. “With opening night less than two months away, every rehearsal counts. It’ll be alright. I’ll just ice bath afterward.”
“Well, if you want some company, you know where to find me.”
“I do.” I get up and head out the sliding doors, then hustle up the stairs to the street. Why did I choose today to wear a pale leotard? I’ll have to wear my warm-up leggings the entire day, even if I sweat my ass off. “And you’ll probably hear from me.”
“If something changes and you need me to get to you, just say the word.”
“Okay.” Though I know I won’t summon him. No matter the circumstance. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I’ll never tire of those words from his lips. “Looking forward to chatting with you later, Tempest.”
“Same,” I reply, and push open the doors to the studio.
I’m sweating profusely through all the combinations, to the point where even Mistress Maral tells me to take a break to get some water. When we finish company class, I use the thirty minutes between to do cold compresses all over my body and change my leotard and tights. Then it’s back to back Kingdom of the Shades and Petite Mort rehearsals. The first goes by quickly, thank goodness, and before I know it, I’m waving goodbye to Evelyn, Veronique, and Sara.
While all the soloists are performing Kingdom of the Shades , only three of us have been selected alongside the three principal female ballerinas to perform Petite Mort .
Despite all the sweating, my energy thrums with the increased solstice boost. I need somewhere for the tension to go.
There’ll be no pointe shoes, no frilly tutus or bedazzled costumes. Instead, a dozen of us, six women and six men, showcase our lines in skin-tone, corseted leotards. Stripping down from baroque dresses we wear like armor to nothing but lines and energetic partnering as we duel with our fellow dancers. We’re meant to look naked, and right now, I wish I was because I’ve already managed to sweat through my second leotard of the day. My body is sticky and gross. I think about my friends enjoying their ice baths while I’m rehearsing and jealousy swims through my veins.
“ Petite Mort is meant to be bold, sensual, and, at times, aggressive. It was Kylián’s ode to how in the moment of pleasure, we are reminded that life is ephemeral. Death is never far.” Our artistic director, Luke Fantome, shares with the class. Then he calls up Wren and Rudolph, asking them to demonstrate a few lifts for us to practice.
I sit down, and Vincent extends his arm out to me. His eyes scan over my body. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, just working extra hard.” I titter before grabbing his hand and letting him pull me up. I push from the floor, clutching his shoulders for support. He catches the tops of my legs and we hold the position while I brace my core, arching my back, extending through the tips of my toes. All these lifts need to look seamless. Effortless. To get there takes practice, lots of blunders, and loads of muscle control. Partnering for Petite Mort , where it blends modern into the classical ballet style, our bodies must hit every line and then, just as smoothly, transition into a fluid lift or jump.
Outside of the things I can practice and hone on my own, trust is a huge part of whether a pas de deux looks graceful and swoon-worthy or clunky and awkward. Vincent is a seasoned soloist, most likely promoting to principal within the next year. I’ve seen him lift other dancers numerous times, but trust doesn’t come from repetition. It comes from every time he checks in with me, each moment he’s made me feel welcomed since promoting, the fact that he doesn’t complain about how sweaty I am right now while he’s stuck pressed against me.
An hour and a half later, we break for the day, and I say my goodbyes before quickly shuffling to the dressing room. I’m so ready to peel myself out of these damp clothes. I change into my swimsuit then head for the ice baths. Vincent and Wren join me for about ten minutes before they go about the rest of their recovery. I don’t leave the basin, though. It feels too good. And I miss Jax. I miss his scent breezing over me and the comfort of his chill. Every part of my body burns, and the ice brings me solace.
After thirty minutes, I get out and throw on my clothes to go home.
I’m already sweating again before I reach the metro.
I consider touching base with Jax on the ride back but decide not to. For some reason, I have the feeling as soon as I talk to him, the effects of solstice are only going to get worse. Each step up the stairs to the apartment, my thighs rub together, and I’m already becoming damp again.
As soon as I get to my room, I’m contacting Jax. I can’t have him come here, can’t risk him being punished again on my behalf, but I need to talk to him. Need him in whatever way I can get.
When I enter the apartment, Lark’s standing up at the couch, a basket sitting atop the coffee table.
“What’s this?” I ask as she waves her hand at the basket, taking a dramatic step back.
“Just a little something.” A grin streaks across her cheeks. “Ran some errands on your behalf this afternoon. I put together a solstice survival kit.”
My jaw drops when I spot a big, blue, semi-translucent dildo, its thick veins climbing along its shaft. Nestled beside it is a smaller vibrator to match.
“Someone decided to be an overachiever in the best friend department today.”
There’s a bottle of wine, a pine-scented candle, a box of mint-chocolate cookies, and peppermint patties. When I pull out the mint chip-flavored lube, I’m certain that I’m seven shades of pink.
“I may have had a little fun. More than a little.” Lark chuckles, then comes and gives me a hug. “Hope it helps.” I’m still processing my survival kit when she heads to the wall and grabs her dance bag and her overnight one, looping them both over her shoulder. “I’m going to Delilah’s for the next forty-eight hours so you can have some privacy. I’ll have my phone if you need me for any solstice-related injuries. The thermostat’s been set as low as we can go without getting in trouble with the landlord. There are snacks in the basket, ice packs, and special ice in the freezer I made just for you.”
“Thanks, Lark.” I may have the weirdest best friend on the face of the planet, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Don’t mention it.” She blows me a kiss, then heads for the door, calling over her shoulder, “Say hi to Jax for me.”
“Will do.”
As soon as the door shuts, I run to open the freezer, on the hunt for an ice pack and finding a silicone mold that’s been labeled Jojo . Peeling up the top, there are about a dozen life-size dick-shaped ice cubes. If Lark were here, I’d glare, but I have to admit, part of me wants to pop them out and run them along my feverish skin.
Maybe I will…
“Jax,” I call, hand above my glowing mark. “I need you.”
“Are you okay?” His voice is low and frantic, concern hovering over each syllable.
“I will be,” I say, not wanting to concern him. I swallow, trying to think of what to say. “Lark got me a survival kit.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Jax’s smooth voice fills my mind. “A survival kit?”
“Yeah… For solstice.”
“Okay. Color me curious… What did she give you?” I can picture him arching a silver brow at me, and goodness, I miss his face.
I’m suddenly shy, which is funny after the things we’ve shared. But maybe it’s because we haven’t done more than talk and flirt through our bond since I returned from Australia. Sadly, talking and flirting aren’t going to cut it right now.
I need more.
“I’ll tell you what’s in it, but you have to promise me something.”
“Anything, Tempest.” If those two words don’t stir my libido to life even more than it’s already kindled… No ice bath can sate this fire within me. Only him. “What do you want?”
“I want to feel like you’re here even if you’re not… Tell me what to do.” I’m trying to sound smooth, but I can’t deny the plea in my tone. Having him in my heart, in my head, this last month has been incredible, the bond giving me constant reassurance, but soon he’ll have to hibernate, and with each conversation we’ve had, I can sense his weariness. Until now.
I want to tip over the edge with him, despite the distance. “Let’s do solstice together.”
Jax’s low growl rumbles through me. “Oh, Tempest, I hope you know what you just unleashed.”
“What should I do?”
“We’ll get to that. But first, tell me what’s in this kit?”
I imagine Jax’s lazy smile, eyes sparkling with mischief, wrapping a hand around himself and stroking so deliciously slow. The vision floods my veins, pooling between my legs. Every part of me tingles with desire.
It’s all the courage I need as I go through my basket with him and begin to undress.