She cries out for me over and over, not caring who hears.
"Say it," I whisper, desperate for the words.
She knows what I want to hear…what I'll always want to hear. She shoves her hands into my hair, yanking my face to hers. "I love you, Harlan. I love you so much it's—oh, god, don't stop—"
I don't. I can't. I fuck her through her moans, through the greedy desperation surging through me, until her body goes rigid and she screams, coming so hard she nearly blacks out.
I'm not finished with her, though, not even close. I peel her away from the door, rip her dress off over her head, and then drop her on the bed.
"By the time you get on that plane in the morning," I breathe, crawling over her, "you're going to feel me everywhere, baby. I'll be in every cell, so you never forget that this is permanent."
"Harlan," she sobs, wrapping herself around me.
I slant my mouth down on hers, swallowing her cry as I slide back inside her.
I spend hours fucking her, loving her, ruining us both.
She drips sweat and cum, cries and babbles, begs and pleads. And when I finally fall on top of her, too exhausted to move again, every last piece of my heart is in her hands.
But hers is in mine too, right where it belongs.
She cries at the airport, big tears that threaten to shred my heart into pieces. I almost say fuck my career and get on that plane with her. But she needs to know that just because we're in different states, it doesn't mean this ends.
She needs to trust herself to be strong enough and trust me when I say she's good enough. So I let her get on that plane by herself, even though it fucking kills me.
And I stand in the parking lot, my feet rooted, watching it take off, carrying my whole goddamn heart with it.
Chapter Ten
Sophie
Returning to the real world after spending the weekend with Harlan is a brutal kind of cruelty. As soon as I step into the studio in the morning, I want to turn right back around and leave again.
"I hope you didn't overeat on your little vacation," Greg snaps, eyeing me up and down. "We have a complicated lift, and my back is still fucked up from lifting you last week."
He's a liar and we both know it. Never once has he gotten injured lifting or dancing with me. He just hates being the man in photographs beside a fat ballerina. He'd kill for his girlfriend, Jessa, to be in my place. But even if I left today, she wouldn't replace me. There are three other ballerinas in line ahead of her, and he knows that, too.
"Hey, Greg?" I bat my lashes at him. "Why don't you go fuck yourself with that superiority complex of yours? It's the only thing on this planet that finds anything about you even remotely attractive."
He opens his mouth to say something else, but I just turn on my heel and move to the opposite side of the studio to start warming up.
Unfortunately, the choreographer is no nicer than Greg. Apparently, my face looks bloated. I'm not keeping up. I'm not arching high enough, my leg isn't straight enough, my feet aren't pointed enough. In short, I'm a disappointing mess.
Greg just smirks through every correction.
By the time we're finished, I'm sweating, and I've never wanted to quit as much as I do right now. Instead, I hang back, waiting for everyone else to clear out so I can practice on my own.
I pause after an hour to check my phone, my heart racing when I see a message from Harlan.
Harlan: I miss you already, ballerina.
I bite my tongue, tears springing to my eyes. God, I miss him, too. So much it's unreal. It feels like a weight on my chest, crushing the air from my lungs.
I try to call him, but it goes to voicemail.
"I just called to say that I love you," I murmur before hanging up. I try to pour all my feelings into the steps, but it's just notworking today. To be honest, it hasn't worked in a while. Not since I slapped Greg on stage. Maybe not even before that.
Harlan asked me why I stay if I hate it here. For the first time, I don't think I have an answer. I'm dancing with people who hate me, just to prove a point…and I'm no longer even sure what that point is.