{Book 1 of the New York Duet}
𝐈𝐕𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 is a ballerina at the most prosperous dance school in all of New York City. Determined and unbending, she is hell-bent on getting the lead solo in the summer charity showcase by any means necessary...
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The hotel room is dark, the curtains drawn closed. Everything is quiet save for the never-sleeping city outside. Despite the chilly air Darren's skin was warm with sweat.
With the white comforter pushed to the end of the bed, his glistening body is spread out over the sheets, in a deep sleep. Dirty blond hair in disarray from tossing and turning. His lips are parted with deep breaths in anticipation.
Behind his eyes, Darren envisions his chest being caressed by elegant brown fingertips, nails scrapping over his abs. Glances at the figure allow him to see through the sheer black leotard, leaving nothing to the imagination. The brown-skinned figure trails hot kisses down his neck and he has to bite his bottom lip to keep from moaning.
In his dream, their lips connect and all is lost.
He clenches the matching white sheets in his fist, in restraint. Chest rising and falling, his mind is chasing a high that is all too close to ending. The figure straddles him and digs her fingers into his hair, drawing him closer. Using one hand on her ass to rock her hips against his, Darren uses his other to free her braids from their secure bun.
As her hair tickles his thighs, he gently pulls them in his palm. Her head tilts back and he goes for her throat. Both of their throats are bruised with hickeys. Darren and the figure kiss again. She captures his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling.
He opens his eyes to familiar ones. Drawing back, he takes her face into his hands. The figure's blurred face morphs into Ivy's, placing a sexy grin on her lips and a devilish look in her eyes. Darren goes to retake her lips but cums before he could.
Eyes flickering, Darren sits up on his elbows, panting. He feels the wet spot in his boxers before he can see it. Reaching over to the nightstand, he turns on the lamp. His dick is still straining in boxers. He thought it would softened by now but it was still hard and ready.
Falling back against the bed, Darren groans and then silences himself, remembering that Elias is asleep in the other bed. However, when he turns his head to look over, Elias is nowhere to be found. The bed is completely empty. I guess he didn't come back last night.
Sighing, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. Disgusted by the wetness shifting under his boxer, he went into the bathroom.
It's not like Darren has never had a wet dream before. It's just never been intense enough to make him release in his sleep like a horny teenage boy.
His boxers hit the floor and he opens the glass shower door to step inside. He turned on the cold water, hissing as the icy spray touched his skin. Standing directly under the water, his hair clings to his forehead. As droplets fall onto his face, he tries not to reminisce. Thinking about it wouldn't help his problem go away.
"Why can't I get you out of my head?" he asked no one, pushing the hair from his eyes.
Darren washes himself quickly, eager to get away from the cold. After drying himself off with one of the hotel towels, he puts on a clean pair of boxers and tosses the dirty ones into his laundry bin. He parts the curtains, letting in the city light but still keeping the room fairly dark, and returns to bed.
