26. Warming Up

Grace

This moment feels so surreal. One moment I was begging for scraps and now I'm number one.

A bigger smile makes its way unto my face when  I see one of my best friends, Stella making her way towards us. 

"You came?!l Evelyn shrieks happily.

She's sworn that after she has the baby, she'll be coming right back to work. But I have a feeling there'll be a slight grace period there.

      

"Of course I came!" She winks at Evie, like that was ever a question. "For now, I just can't wait to see you guys kill it out there."

      

Val and Laila walk her back to the stage door, and Miley and Evelyn skip away to stretch on stage. I head to my private dressing room because...

      

Oh, yeah. I get my own dressing room.

      

Welcome to the world of being a principal dancer.

      

Yes, it does feel a little elitist. But it's amazing to have my own space where I can just zen out before the performance starts.

      

I step inside and close the door before heading over to the gorgeous, old-school vanity with the lights around the edge, like something out of a movie.

      

I'm leaning in to check my eye makeup when suddenly I feel it.

      

The shift in the air. The heat crawling over my skin, like it knows something before I do.

      

I turn.

      

Adrien stands in the doorway of the dressing room, leaning against the doorframe, dressed all in black and looking like fucking sin. The black button up stretches across his firm chest, open at the neck to show the swirls of his tattoos.

      

I walk toward him without thinking.

      

He doesn't say a word, and neither do I. When I reach him, he draws me into his arms and kisses me like the world's ending.

      

"I thought you were sneaking in halfway through," I whisper as I pull back, breathless and grinning, my lipstick smeared across his mouth.

     

"I thought sneaking in here beforehand would be much more fun."

     

I tuck my head into his chest for a second, just breathing in his leather, smoke and darkness.

      

Over the speaker system, the stage manager gives the thirty-minute call.

      

I pull away reluctantly with a sigh. "I should warm up."

     

Adrien's eyes flash.

      

"I think I can help with that."

      

Before I can say anything, his hand slides around my waist. Suddenly, I'm gasping as he lifts me, kicking the door shut behind him and walking us over to the vanity.

      

His mouth crashes to mine, hard and hungry, hands already sliding beneath the layers of tulle and mesh to undo the snaps at the gusset. I gasp as he lifts me up onto the vanity, scattering makeup brushes and compacts.

      

I whimper when he spins me around again, setting me down on my feet and roughly bending me over the vanity. A moan rips from my throat as I look up, the vanity bulbs haloing our reflection in soft gold.

"Look at you," he murmurs against my neck, his hand under my tutu. "You look like sin in feathers, ballerina."

      

His hand cups my already slick pussy through my tights. I moan, lifting my hips to his palm.

      

"Fuck, baby, I've barely even touched you and you're already making such a fucking mess," he growls.

      

I whimper.

      

Then he slips his fingers into the waistband of my tights, yanking them down as I gasp eagerly.

      

"Adrien..."

      

He pushes me farther over the vanity, gripping my ass in both hands and spreading me wide open.

      

"Watch yourself," he says darkly. "Keep your eyes on the mirror."

      

He drops to his knees behind me.

      

His breath ghosts over my inner thighs and I shudder, palms flat against the cool wood. My eyes flick to the mirror and the image of myself-bent over, black tulle and feathers fanned around me, smoky eyes wide, cheeks flushed.

      

And then his mouth is on me.

      

I gasp, my hips jolting as his tongue slides through my folds, slow at first-just enough to tease me and pull a whimper from my throat. He groans like I taste better than sin, hands bruising my thighs as he pulls me back against his face.

      

"Fuck," he breathes against my sex. "I just want to exist right fucking here forever with my tongue in this pretty little pussy."

      

His tongue swirls over my clit and I jerk and buck, grabbing the edge of the vanity like it's the only thing anchoring me to Earth.

      

"Eyes on the mirror, baby. I want you to watch yourself when I make this little pussy come all over my tongue."

     

I force myself to look.

      

It's obscene.

      

My mouth is open, eyes glassy, chest rising and falling with every shattered breath. Nico's tongue thrusts into me, fucking me against the vanity as I writhe on his mouth. His lips wrap around my swollen clit, sucking hard and batting the tip of his tongue over the aching bud until my thighs are literally shaking.

      

"You see that?" he growls into my skin. "That's what it looks like when I own you."

      

A broken cry rips from me. I'm close already-so close.

His tongue gets faster, more brutal, flicking and sucking and feasting on me like he wants the whole fucking theater to hear what I sound like falling apart.

     

And then, I do.

     

I come with a scream, my thighs shaking, the mirror fogging in front of me.

      

He's not done.

      

He stands behind me, his eyes bright and his lips glistening with my cum. He grabs the back of my head, yanking it up and twisting it to the side before he hungrily kisses me. I whimper, tasting myself on his tongue as I greedily suck it into my mouth.

      

I moan into his lips, lost in the sinful kiss as I hear his belt being unbuckled and his zipper being drawn down. I shiver when I feel the hot, swollen thickness of his cock spring free, slapping my inner thigh before it grazes my sensitive pussy.

      

"Fuck, Adrien..."

      

"Now," he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock through my soaked folds. "Watch what I do to my fucking ballerina."

      

He presses in slowly, but with his size, that first moment of penetration no matter the speed always takes my breath away.

      

Fuck, he's so big.

      

But the stretch burns in the best way, a whimpered gasp somewhere between pain and bliss catching in my throat.

      

"Keep watching," he growls. "I want you to see what you look like when that tight little pussy swallows every fucking inch of my fat cock."

      

I lift my head, eyes locking on the mirror.

      

There I am-bent forward, tutu fanned out, Adrien's hands clamped around my hips as he sinks into me. His face is twisted with need, his jaw tight, his throat working as he pushes deeper.

      

"Look," he rasps. "Look at how fucking pretty you are stuffed full of my cock."

      

I moan.

      

"You were made for this," he snarls, starting to thrust hard. "Look how fucking beautiful you are taking that cock, baby."

      

God, the way he makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world when he's worshipping me.

He slides out, leaving just the swollen head stretching me open before he suddenly rams right back in, making the vanity creak beneath us.

      

Oh fuck yes.

      

Every time he slams into me, I see it in the mirror: my mouth open. My lashes fluttering. My cheeks flushed and wrecked. His hips pounding relentlessly.

      

"This is what you needed, isn't it?" he grunts. "Look at yourself, baby. Look at what I do to you. Feel how fucking deep in your tight little cunt I am, Grace. That's where I belong-right here, buried inside you, making you take every fucking inch of my cock like a good girl."

      

My whole body tenses up, pressure building sharp and fast.

      

"I'm gonna-" I gasp.

     

"Come all over my cock? You're going to be my fucking good girl and come all fucking over that fat cock, aren't you."

      

"Adrien!"

      

"But you don't get to come until I tell you to," he bites out.

      

I whimper. Begging. Squirming.

      

His hand snakes around to my throat, fingers firm as my blood roars in my ears.

      

"Say it," he hisses. "Say who this pussy belongs to."

      

"You!" I choke, shuddering. "You."

      

"Again."

      

"You, Adrien-fuck-you, it's-fuck-yours, always yours."

      

"That's right."

      

His pace gets faster, harder, more brutal. My legs tremble.

     

"Now come for me, ballerina," he growls. "Come for me like my good girl."

      

I do-loudly and violently, shattering. The orgasm rips through me, shaking me to my core as my toes curl in my shoes and my body wrenches and shudders. I sob against the mirror as he drives into me one final time and explodes with a groan. His cum bursts into me over and over in thick, powerful ropes before he collapses over my back, his breath hot in my ear.

      

For a second, neither of us moves.

      

Finally, he kisses my shoulder. Slowly. Reverently.

      

Then he bites it.

      

Fuck, I love this man.

      

"All warmed up now?"

     

I laugh, breathless. "Warmed...ruined...wrecked. All of the above."

     

He grins. "Good."

      

Adrien kisses the back of my neck, then slowly and carefully pulls my tights back up. He snaps the gusset of my tutu closed and smooths the bodice, his fingers gently adjusting the feathers just right. Then he cups my jaw, turning me to face him in the mirror.

      

"Ready to be their queen?" he murmurs.

      

I nod, flushed and glowing, lips kiss-bruised.

      

"Then go show them who the fuck you are."

     

He kisses me again, gentler this time.

     

"Wait! I need to fix my makeup!"

      

     After I do so, when we step out of the dressing room, the lights feel a little brighter. The energy sharper.

      

I blush fiercely as I feel him-his cum-dripping into my tights.

      

The stage manager walks by with her clipboard.

      

"Places, please."

      

I move into the wings, Nico trailing a few steps behind.

      

Stella spots us from where she's apparently snuck back in to watch from backstage and winks. Evelynwhispers something to Miley that makes her roll her eyes and smirk. Val is leaning against the stage manager's desk, looking dramatically bored and effortlessly cool, as always.

     

I take a deep breath.

      

Then I walk on stage, step into my spotlight, and take my starting position.

     

I center myself. The orchestra swells.

      

And as the curtain rises, I feel it-not fear, not nerves.

Power.

      

I'm not just the Grace I used to be.

     

I'm a much better version. I have great friends an amazing boyfriend.

My cheeks fill with warmth at the memory of what we just did in the dressing room.

      

And I'm nott simply the girl who survived, or the one who triumphant over her self-doubts.

      

Tonight, I'm everything I was always meant to be.

I'm right where I belong.