Page 116 of Off the Edge

Ren pulled me into a kiss, his mouth demanding, his body hot and damp against mine. He marched me backward, hips rocking mine, leading hard.

My shoulders bumped the mirrors.

It was a good thing the studio’s doors locked from the inside.

We kissed like we’d just spent two hours getting our hands all over each other and hadn’t been allowed to cross the line from dancing to fucking.

“Am I focusing on your mouth or your dick, Ren?” I said, gasping from the kiss. His dick was hard to miss, since we were both in leggings and he had me pinned to the mirrors.

“I can’t stand another second of touching you without fucking you.” He dropped his hand, going for gold. His palm ground against me through my leggings. My hips bucked, dick hardening fast. We really, really did not have time for this. Again.

We had a couple of days to nail a condensed Meridian routine, and so far, we’d mostly just nailed each other. Before, during, and after practice. The new out-and-proud Ren had been unleashed, and I was so here for it. Getting our hands on each other and not getting off was almost impossible.

The feel of him . . . I’d always craved his touch, and how my body sang when dancing with his, but when I had him all to myself? He was irresistible. Our Meridian magic was back.

Sapporo Winter Olympics were going to lose their minds when they tuned in for the gala.

But right now, I had him holding me up, his mouth on my neck, body pressed all over mine, and I still demanded he get closer.

Thin strips of stretchy fabric weren’t going to stop him.

He spun me in his arms, so my back was against his chest, then dropped his hands down my abs and lifted his gaze over my shoulder, to the mirrors. Watching our reflections getting hot and heavy ramped my senses up to the max. His dark eyes, all serious, while his mouth teased my shoulder and his hands traveled even lower. How was I supposed to resist? He grabbed my hips and jerked me back against the demanding rod of his dick against my ass. This wasn’t going to be one of those slow, sensual times. Those had started happening at night, in Ren’s bed. The dance fucks were rough and fast, pressure-valve releases from too much skin-on-skin contact and hour-upon-hour restraint that nearly killed us every time.

He briefly left me to grab the lube from his bag, then with a few efficient tugs, he had my leggings down. I braced a forearm against the glass. Fuck, he was fast now. Desperate. His face all intense, his guards gone.

His fingers came in first, offering just a few seconds of warning, then his hand came to my hip, holding me steady, and his slick dick pushed in. I arched, lifting my ass, angling him deeper, and sighed out, head bowed. “Yeah, fuck . . .”

Looking up, I caught his reflection and his hungry gaze in the mirrors again, looking back at me. Then he moved, and I rocked back into him, our bodies as one again, but deeper now Ren was inside me. He threw his head back, the pure, unfiltered desire on his face such a rare fucking sight. His whole body glistened, wet with the sweat we’d worked up before losing our battle not to do this.

The battle . . . The Meridian dance. A battle between two opposites. It had now become a battle to resist each other.

He felt good, filling, stretching, then withdrawing, before going back in to stroke deeper, making my lower back sizzle, my dick heavy and aching.

“You feel so good,” he breathed. “Exquisite.”

Only Ren would use the word exquisite with his dick deep in my ass.

“Are you laughing at me, Navarro?” He leaned forward, his slick chest against my back, changing his angle to fuck deeper.

“Baby, I love you.”

His smile ruined the dark and moody aesthetic he had going on, but then his hips jerked, sinking him deep, and I forgot how to talk, or breathe, as the riding pressure started to ramp up. He hadn’t even touched my dick yet, and I was leaking bad. He must have heard my thoughts, or it was payback for almost laughing, because he reached around with slick fingers and stroked, pumping ruthlessly. He knew I was close. I was always close with him. His dick was still in me, still seated as deep as the angle allowed. He’d feel me clenching around him, feel every shudder and twitch.

“Goddamn . . .”

I came fast and hard, with no hope of slowing things down, not with his hand working me over. He pumped a few more times, taking me all the way over, and then both hands gripped my hips and he fucked me fast. The show in the mirrors was something else, that I might have appreciated more if I could see straight and wasn’t still riding the waves of my own coming.

He came with a guttural groan, thrusting rough and deep, his rhythm broken as his body took over.

We came down slowly, bodies trembling and breathing together. He eased himself free, then swept a hand in to clean me up. With the pressure spent, we probably had a few more hours of practice left in us. After a shower.

I slumped against the mirror, somehow still standing. “We need Dylan here, so we don’t fuck each other every time we dance.”

He snorted and buried his face in my neck, then kissed me there, then my jaw, and captured my mouth. “Shower?” he mumbled. “Then axel practice.”

“Shower, then axel.” My body was going to hate me.

The little studio had a private shower room. Whoever had designed this place knew exactly what dancers needed after a brutal practice. Maybe not so much after those dancers fucked against the mirrors, but nobody was going to know.