Powerless (Chestnut Springs Book 3)
Powerless: Chapter 32

Beau: Dad just told me you paid four times face value for a front row ticket to see Sloane dance. They pay y’all too much to run around on ice wearing blades.

Jasper: It’s an investment.

Beau: In what?

Jasper: Us.

Beau: Oh, dude. You’re so far gone.

Jasper: You’re such a dork.

Beau: Only you would have waited this long. I almost feel bad she had to fall for someone as slow to process as you. Do they give Olympic medals for patience? You could give her yours.

Jasper: You know what her dickhead of a dad said to me.

Beau: Yeah. But that was then. That guy ain’t shit sharp now. You’re Jasper fucking Gervais. Olympic gold medalist. Future Stanley Cup Champion. Sports Illustrated cover model material. Cousin fucker.

Jasper: I am really glad you’re alive. But I also hate you.

Beau: Hate you too, bro.

Sloane is incredible. She weaves magic on stage.

I’ve come to know her body well over the last couple of months, but I’m still in awe of the way she moves, the attention to detail. From the tips of her toes to the very ends of her fingers, she’s in perfect control of every movement without even trying.

She’s stepped into this role and made it look effortless beyond compare. She leaps across the stage and lands so softly, and from the front row, I feel like I’m right there with her.

In the moment . . . oblivious to the ornate theater and every person around me.

But she’s always had this effect on me. The ability to pull me out of my head just by chatting, or dancing, or resting a hand on my shoulder.

It’s like she and I are tethered together, but she’s the strong one. The pillar. And when troubled waters wash me downstream, all I have to do is follow the rope that ties me back to her.

It always leads me back to her.

Getting to watch her do something she loves from the front row rather than back in the nosebleeds is something special. The spot where her tattoo sits itches, and I press my arm against it.

I missed her first one, but I wouldn’t miss the rest if I could help it, even if it means a grown-ass man sitting by himself in the front row at the ballet.

Seems like the least I could endure for her.

Because I love having her at my games, and I know she must feel the same. When the dancers line up to take their final bows, her eyes replace mine and a heart-stopping grin spreads out over her captivating face.

And I realize it then . . . I’d do anything to see this girl smile.

The minute the velvet curtain closes, I’m up, striding left toward a side door that leads backstage where she told me to wait for her. Except I don’t wait.

I can’t wait.

I push right through that swinging door, fingers itching to touch her, chest aching to have her head rest against it, and cock swelling after so long stuck watching her tight fucking body glide around on stage.

It’s a good thing I didn’t watch her dance much when she first joined this company. I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off her, and now I just don’t care.

Now I know my hands belong on her.

“Can you tell me where Sloane Winthrop is?” I ask a woman walking down the dim hallway with a clipboard in her hand, glasses shoved up on the top of her head.

She looks me up and down with a blank expression on her face. “Who’s asking?”

I hesitate but only for a minute. “Her boyfriend.”

She looks me over again, this time more slowly, but with a little twist to her lips. “Huh. Well, good for her. She’s down that way.” The woman turns and points to the area from which she came. “Left when you hit the end and then all the way down that hallway. Last door on the right.”

I offer her a chagrined smile, knowing there must have been talk while Sloane and I were away. They announced her wedding to Sterling in the newspaper. Her colleagues would have known—maybe they even know him.

“Thanks.” I nod my head and pass the woman, sensing her gaze on me as I head down the hallway. Backstage is a flurry of activity. Dancers are everywhere in the hallways, laughing and chatting. I hear the pop of a champagne bottle as they unwind for a Christmas break.

Turning left, I feel the tug. The pull to Sloane. After years of denying myself the pleasure of her proximity, my body has lost all patience with me and desperately wants to be close to her.

My knuckles rap against the door labeled with Sugarplum Fairy.

“Just a second!” Sloane’s voice only ratchets up the tension in my body, and when she finally swings the door open, I’m on her.

My hand lands on her throat, my lips crashing against hers as I tower over her. She tenses momentarily, clearly caught by surprise, but it doesn’t take her long to catch up. Her hands slide up the arms of my suit jacket as I walk her backward into the dressing room, kicking the door shut behind us.

I turn her instantly, shoving her up against the wall beside the door. Because we’re just not getting any further than this right now.

She looked too good. There were too many eyes on her. More than just mine. And I’m feeling a little untethered and a lot territorial.

“Hi, Jas,” she huffs out playfully against my lips, but all I offer back is a low growl as I take her mouth again. My hands slide into the thin cotton robe she has wrapped around her slender body. After a few wellplaced tugs, it’s gone, pooling at her feet on the floor where it belongs.

“You were perfect,” I breathe, gaze raking over her. Wide eyes and heaving chest. Flimsy bodysuit over tights. Slippers off. Ornate costume gone.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” I thumb the thin strap of her bodysuit before tugging it down, letting it hang off her toned arm. “You stole the show. Every eye in the house was on you.”

She laughs, and my thumb shoots up to press against her lips, silencing her. “I’m not joking. Everyone was staring at what’s mine.”

Her mouth pops open under the pad of my thumb. I smile and tilt my head into her neck, running the tip of my nose up the sloping curve. “And now I want to take it back. Remind you who you belong to.”

She lets out a small gasp as I drop to my knees in front of her, jerk the bodysuit to the side, and use my fingers to rip a hole in the flimsy tights.

I push a finger in and her pussy clenches in surprise.

She’s not ready yet, but she will be.

I tear the hole open wider and then tug one leg up over my shoulder, watching her spread for me as she whimpers and drops her fingers into my hair. I dive in with one long, slow lick. She squirms against my tongue.

“Who does this belong to, Sloane?”

“You, you, you,” she chants breathlessly, and when I glance up, she’s tossed her head back in ecstasy. Already so fucking gone for me.

Me.

I lift her opposite leg to my shoulder so she’s straddling my face as I push her into the wall—one hand splayed across her stomach to hold her in place, and the other wrapped around her right thigh, fingers digging in hard.

I make a feast of her against that wall. I start off slowly, licking her up each side and then straight through her center. Hitting everywhere except her clit. Getting off on teasing her and feeling her writhe against me as she desperately tries to shift her hips so I hit that spot.

But I don’t give in. I taste her arousal building, feel the tension in the way her legs clamp around my body. I drag my hand down and slide two fingers into her. They go so fucking easy now. I’ve got a front row seat for the second time tonight. Her tight little pussy parts and squeezes around my digits as I scissor them inside her under the bright lights of her dressing room.

Wetness leaks out, making a fucking mess of us.

“Jasper.” She moans. “More. Please.”

“So fucking polite,” I murmur back, glancing up to see her watching me with shiny, heavy eyes. My fingers brush over her clit, and she jolts around me. “So tight and ready and needy for me. And you danced so fucking pretty for everyone. I think you deserve more tonight, don’t you?”

She nods, top teeth pressing into her pillowy bottom lip. How desperate she looks right now makes me grin.

Just as desperate for me as I am for her.

So I reward her for that.

I slide two fingers back into her and drop my mouth all at once. My teeth graze her clit as my fingers work her, and she lets out a little shriek. I latch on, sucking her into my mouth, still working my fingers and tongue, getting off on the way her shriek morphs into a loud moan.

A moan that ends with, “Oh, god. Jasper. I’m going to come.”

My fingers take on a twisting motion, and I don’t let up. She thrashes around me, legs shaking and fingers yanking almost painfully in my hair as she comes apart above me.

And not quietly either. She calls out my name, louder than she should, but I don’t care. I get off on people knowing what we’re doing in here.

After years of keeping it a secret, it feels good to let it out.

When her limbs soften, I glance up, fingers still stuffed inside her.

Her eyes shine down at me. “Well, that was unexpected. Better than going for another tattoo?” She quirks a brow, and I match the expression as I withdraw from her warm body.

“So much better and I’m not even done.” I push to stand, taking her body with me, sliding her up the wall as my free hand grapples with my pants.

Belt. Button. Shirt. Boxers.

I rip through it all and shove into her as her legs wrap around my waist. “Fucking the fancy prima ballerina up against the wall like the filthy girl she really is? Much, much better than getting another tattoo.”

My hips flex as I buck into her again.

“Fuck,” her eyes flash and flutter shut as her head rolls against the wall. She’s so gone right now, and we’re past the point of pretending our bodies don’t drive the other one absolutely insane.

“Eyes on me, Sloane.” My fingers replace her throat and give her a warning squeeze.

Lashes flick open, and she looks me straight in the eye. No hesitation. No shyness. I’m sure I’ve fucked all the shyness out of her in the past several weeks.

“Harder,” she urges.

“Which one?” I push my hips forward hard, slamming her into the wall. “Pussy?” Then pulse my hand around her neck, “Or throat?”

Heat simmers in her aqua eyes, they burn so fucking hot when she tips her chin at me in challenge. “Both.”

I snap.

I feel like I unleash a lifetime of pent-up tension.

I feel unhinged as I fuck her into the wall without mercy, spurred on by her loud cries and nails digging in against the back of my neck. My hand squeezing just a little bit harder at the slender column of her throat—just how she likes it.

She’s small, easy to maneuver how I want, but there’s nothing fragile about Sloane. She takes everything I have to give and meets me with equal fervor.

The wet slapping of our bodies mingles with the rattle of the painting on the wall every time I drive into her body.

I’m hard and unrelenting.

But added to our soundtrack is her demanding, “More,” and, “Harder,” and I don’t hold back. There’s nothing tender or sweet about us right now, but we have lots of moments like that together. We reach for each other in the middle of the night, slowly moving together. We’re playful in the mornings, my stubble against her inner thighs making her giggle and gasp.

But right now?

This is therapeutic. Like we’re punishing each other for so many years and moments missed.

If she wants more and harder, I’ll give it.

I’ll give her anything she wants at this point.

“Jasper, I need more.” Her eyes lock with mine. My wildness reflects right back into hers. I drop a rough kiss to her mouth and pull out, flipping her. I’m manhandling her and thriving on the way she moves the way I want her to.

“Hands flat on the wall, Sloane. Bend over. Spread your legs.” She obeys and I reach down, further ripping the wet hole in her tights and tugging the bodysuit way off to the side.

She tilts her ass out in offering, and I step close. “You want me to fill you up, Sloane?”

“Yes,” she moans, pressing herself back into me.

“Say it,” I palm her firm ass cheeks, spreading her and teasing her entrance with the head of my cock.

“I want you to fill me up, please.”

I smirk and lean next to her ear. “Of course, you do. You’re fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?”

It’s her turn to smirk over her shoulder at me. “Yeah, but so are you.”

Her hips swivel in a taunt, and I grab them hard, shoving into her. She barely lasts bent over before I’ve forced her right up against the wall as my dick drives in and out of her, hitting that spot I know she loves so much.

I know because of the noises she makes. The way she pushes back on me. The way she cries out.

She keeps her hands on the wall like I instructed but is still looking over her shoulder at me with so much fucking love in her eyes. More love than I’ve ever seen. More love than I deserve or know what to do with.

The kind of love I’ve been known to sully.

I grip her chin and kiss her. I kiss her hard and full of all the feelings I’m too fucked-up to put a title on.

And then we topple over the edge together, into something I’m trying not to let panic me.

I fight to stay in the moment, with her pressed tightly against me.

We’re so in tune.

So perfect together.

So perfect together that icy tendrils slink down my spine. Because I’m me. And anytime something is perfect, it always goes to shit.

The knock on the door is proof of that.