Yet he did not.
They stood there, staring at each other, having a conversation, not with their mouths but with their eyes, just as they had in the early days. Then she would look across the sparse dining room and meet his solemn gaze.
Did you miss me? she asked without words.
His eyes told her that he had. They were black, the colour of coal, and they glinted the same way and could make her burn too.
His gaze moved down to her painted mouth and he would kiss her, she knew, because he had taken a tissue from her dressing table and was now removing her lipstick.
And she let him.
Even as he wiped off the crimson to expose the flesh of her lips, Roman knew he should walk away.
What the hell had he been thinking, that he could come and watch her dance and then simply leave?
Not a chance.
They were staring deep into each other’s eyes and their breathing was in the rhythm of the first time just before they had kissed.
Then Anya had come out of the stage door and faced Roman, then a man.
Tonight, though, as she put her hands up to his face, unlike then, he didn’t flinch.
He just felt the soft probe of her fingers explore his face.
Such a beautiful face, Anya thought. High cheekbones, black eyes that were embedded in her mind and the lips that had taken her to heaven would let her glimpse it again now.
‘I kiss you goodbye,’ Roman said.
He did not say, Can I kiss you? Roman had never needed to ask.
His kiss was gentle and it surprised her for his kisses had previously been hot and rather rough. Now, though, he lowered his head and cupped her chin and softly kissed her lips, and they rediscovered each other. Anya’s lips parted and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. They tasted each other, when they had starved for each other, but then he kissed her roughly again.
He pulled her tight into his body and she had never been held as Roman could hold her. He just owned her body and as her tutu was crushed against his suit his mouth ravaged hers.
He took her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that made her hands move to his chest just to feel the strength and the power, never to push him away.
He pulled her harder into him. His hand was in the small of her back, warm and sensual, yet the barrier of the fabric of her tutu briefly halted it from moving lower. It did not perturb him for long, and now his hand roamed her bottom.
Their tongues were mingling, their passion building, and it was a kiss that could no longer be classed as a farewell kiss for their bodies were greeting each other’s again.
She could feel him pressed hard on her stomach, and his other hand now touched her breast, and though they rued the fabric that separated their skin, still it felt blissful. His thumb caressed her nipple and she ached for her breast to be naked in his hand.
‘Tatania...’ There was a knock at the door and she could hear the dresser wanting to come in.
They stopped kissing but still he held her, still he stroked her breast, and they stared into each other’s eyes. She could feel his erection and, more than that, she could feel his body was broader, more primed, and she ached, simply ached for him, for the years he had denied her his touch, his body.
She should tell him to go, and now was her chance to do just that.
Roman knew too that he should leave.
Once, their eyes said.
Just this once.
Their bodies could kiss the other goodbye.
‘I will deal with my costume,’ Anya shouted through the door in Russian. ‘You are to leave me.’
Roman would deal with her costume, Anya knew, as without a word he went and turned the key in the door.
He was back.
For their closing night.
CHAPTER THREE
ANYA SHIVERED WITH want now, rather than stage fright.
Her legs, which had just a short while ago performed the most amazing feats, barely remembered how to walk as he took her by the hand and led her to the dressing-room chair. He moved it so that she faced to the side and he came round and got down on one knee.
He undid the silk ribbons of her pointe shoes and slipped them off, and Anya grimaced as he did so. Always, after a performance, it hurt to remove them.
There was blood on the toes of her ballet tights, even though she had worn in her shoes and bandaged her feet carefully. He caressed the soles of her feet and her sore heels and then he ran warm hands up her aching calves too.
Roman felt the cramped muscles beneath his fingers and he smoothed and soothed them for a couple of moments and Anya held onto his shoulder as she wished his hand would move higher.
‘Come on,’ he said in that deep low voice that made her throb, and as he stood so too did Anya and she lifted her arms.
Roman knew to be careful and his fingers found the small concealed zip and slid it down.
She stepped out of it and stood as he hung up her costume.
‘Don’t tell me I’m too thin...’
‘Shh,’ he said. He did not want to relive that final row. Instead he went to the waist of her ballet tights and slid them down. She was naked save for the bandages on her feet.
Again she sat on her dressing chair and he dealt with the bandages. Anya couldn’t help herself, she reached and touched his gleaming black hair, unable to believe he was really here after all those years apart.
Still kneeling, he looked up and observed her body. He saw the small breasts and she closed her eyes as he licked at one and then blew, and then toyed with her nipple between his lips.
She held onto his head as he took her breast in his mouth and sucked and then did the same to the other, took it so deep that it hurt, and her thighs shook but his hands held them down.
‘Roman...’
She was drunk on him, aching to be with him, and when he removed his mouth she caught her breath and watched as he parted her thighs and looked at her. Oh, she ached for him to bury his head there but he stroked her for a moment and slipped his fingers inside and then ran a figure of eight with one damp finger around her clitoris. They smiled at the memory of their first time and her telling him where it was.
Roman had cared only for his pleasure back then.
At first.
Then he had discovered the sanctuary of her bliss.
Now he removed his finger and stood.
She could see his erection and then she felt it for herself, running her hand over and over it as he unbuckled his belt. She took it out as he removed his tie and undid the buttons of his shirt so his chest was bare, but he left his shirt and jacket on.
Such beauty, she thought as she licked her lips and lowered her head to take just one small taste.
That turned into more.
The feathers of her headdresses moved and shivered and teased against his toned stomach, soft and tender, unlike the feel of her skilled mouth that gave rapid flicks and enslaved him. Roman’s breathing tripped into a moan that was a familiar one and turned Anya on totally.
She took him deeper but now more slowly as his fingers worked the pins of her headdress and, care forgotten, he tossed it aside and pushed her head lower.
His fingers were busy freeing her hair, and then he lifted her head. He was so close to coming and she licked her lips. He raised her, lifted her body against his and kicked away the chair. He brushed away all her carefully placed trinkets in one motion and then placed her on the dressing table. Anya stroked him as he carefully angled the mirrors so that there were hundreds of them and then he pulled her bottom to the edge of the table and parted her legs, and in his deep gravelly voice he told her that he was going to fill her with ecstasy.
He did.
Anya gripped tight to the edge of the table and arched back as he drove in.
He tore into her and the pain and bliss of their first time was replicated.
Читать дальше