First Position (6 page)

We’re moving slower now, swaying to the beat in a sensual
dance. There’s no space left between us, our bodies pressed
together, sweaty and breathless and feeling so damn right, it’s
like I was made to be here, fitted to him, chest to chest, hip to
hip.

Raphael leans closer, closer, and I catch my breath, lost in the
rhythm of our bodies, the intensity of his dark eyes, drawing me into
him, so natural, it’s the easiest thing in the world when he
closes those last, precious inches between us, and finds my lips with
his.

The kiss blazes through me like wildfire.

It’s overwhelming, a flood of sensation like I’ve never
known before, setting every nerve ablaze. My brain shuts off,
short-circuited by the rush of pleasure, and all my hesitance is
forgotten.

You were made for this.

I instinctively reach up, pulling his head down to me, hungry for
more. Raphael groans against my mouth, and then he’s kissing me
deeper, his lips hot and demanding, his tongue probing, tasting me,
sliding against mine in a sweet rush of friction that makes me
shudder, swaying against him. Raphael grips me tightly, holding me up
with his strong arms, and I melt into him, eager for more.

God, this kiss is heaven, a dark temptation that blots everything
from my mind until all that exists in my world is him, Raphael, his
lips driving me mindless, his body promising so much more.

How did I live before this feeling? How will I ever stop, knowing
what I do now?

At last, he breaks away. My body screams out in protest, but before I
can make a sound, Raphael takes my hand, and leads me out of the
crowd.

Raphael

I drag her from the dance-floor, possessed by a singular need.

I want her. I have to have her.

Now.

From the moment I first laid eyes on her, watching me dance in that
square, I felt a desire like nothing else. A connection beyond words,
beyond logic. Now, knowing the soft sway of her body against mine,
the silken touch of her skin…

I won’t stop until I’m buried deep inside her, feeling
every clench and moan of her delicious pussy; her sweet lips parted
in a scream of pleasure.

Mine.

Annalise stumbles after me. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes glazed.
I can see her nipples pebbling through the thin silk of her camisole,
and it sends a surge of blood straight to my rock-hard cock. I want
to suck those eager peaks until she’s begging for me; part her
thighs and sink my tongue into her sweetness, lick her until she
loses her mind.

“Where are we going?” she asks, sounding breathless.

“Somewhere private,” I answer. But the party is raging.
There are people everywhere, and I know, inside, there won’t be
an empty room to be found.

I pull her gently around the side of the building. Here, the music is
quieter, and the shadows offer a private place to hide.

I slowly push her up against a wall.

Annalise’s eyes flare. She looks at me, and bites the edge of
her lip in hesitation.

Fuck. I can already see those perfect lips wrapped around my cock,
sliding faster, swallowing me whole.

I bring my thumb to the edge of her mouth, gently tracing back and
forth.

She inhales in a shudder.

“Wait,” she whispers. “I don’t… I
don’t know what I’m doing.”

She flushes even redder, but if she expected her inexperience to make
me pause, she’s wrong. It sends another bolt of desire crashing
through me.

An innocent. Pure. Ready.

“So let me teach you,” I murmur, easing her lips open.
“I’ll show you a pleasure like you’ve never known.”

I push my finger into her mouth, and watch her pupils dilate. She
licks gently, and I groan. Fuck, she’s so hot. Emboldened, she
closes her lips around my finger and sucks.

I break, abandoning any attempt at self-control.

With a growl, I pull my hand away and claim those tempting lips with
my mouth. I kiss her hard, demanding, surging my tongue deeper in her
mouth and crushing her against the wall.

She sways against me. I grip her body tighter, roving over every inch
of her tight little body. Her dancer’s waist, the slim curves
of her ass, the sweet, ripe buds of her nipples…

Annalise pulls away with a gasp. I stroke over her breasts again, and
feel her body shudder. I watch her face, see the struggle between
desire and self-control.

“You like that, don’t you?” I murmur, teasing her
nipples between my thumb and forefinger until she whimpers. “Has
anyone touched you like this before, my sweet? Has anyone made you
moan?”

“No,” she gasps. “Oh God, it feels so good.”

I smile in victory, dipping my head to whisper in her ear. “
Mia
cara
, the pleasure has only just begun.”

She lets out another breathy moan as I kiss down the pale column of
her throat. Her body is shivering in my hands, so perfectly
responsive, so ready for more.

God, it’s intoxicating. Power mingles with lust in my blood,
raging like fire. I want her, hard and fast, right here up against
the wall. I want to slide my hand into her panties and feet her
tight, wet grip; rip the clothes from her body, and show her what
real pleasure feels like.

What a real man feels like, fucking her deep inside.

My hands slide lower, teasing at her waistband. Annalise tenses in my
arms. Fuck. I ease off, force myself to move up again, clenching my
jaw to keep control.

She’s an innocent. I’ll teach her, but slowly.

One lesson at a time.

I trail kisses across her collarbone, feather soft, until she melts
against me again. Yes. I gently slide my finger underneath the strap
of her top, and ease it off her shoulder. The silk slips free,
revealing one perfect breast.

Dear God.

I bend my head and take her tight nipple in my mouth. Annalise
flinches, but then lets out a gasp of pure ecstasy. I lick slowly,
circling the stiff bud. She turns liquid in my arms.

“You see,
mia cara
,” I murmur, flicking my tongue.
“This body of yours, you don’t know what it’s
capable of. But I’m going to show you, I’m going to taste
every inch.”

She lets out a mewl as I rasp my tongue across the tender nub. My
cock is straining against my jeans, begging for friction and release,
but I’m caught up in the moment. All I want to do it touch her.
Taste her.

Worship at the perfection of her sweet flesh and hot, shuddering
bone.

There’s a sudden noise nearby. I lift my head. Some drunk
couple stumbles around the corner, already all over each other.

Annalise yelps, covering herself with her hands. I move to block her
from view.

“
Scusi
,” the man laughs. He winks at me, and pulls
the woman back out of sight, but it’s too late. Annalise is
fumbling to pull her slip back up.

“Oh my God,” she stutters. “What am I doing?”

“Shhh,” I murmur, gently stroking her cheek. “They
didn’t see.”

“But I did!” Her eyes are wide with desire and a panic I
don’t understand. “I shouldn’t even be here.
Curfew. Oh God!”

She pulls away.

“Wait—” I reach for her, but she shakes her head.

“I have to go,” she insists. “What time is it?”

Time? The only time that matters to me is how long it takes to melt
that tension from her expression, put my hands and mouth back on her
body where they belong. But I see her panic, and it’s like a
cold shower on my fevered lust.

I check my watch. “Around midnight,” I tell her.

“No!” She gulps, looking around. “I really have to
go!”

She takes off, back to the party. I follow quickly, trying to catch
up as she ducks through the crowd. By the time I reach her, she’s
at the main gate.

“Please, slow down.” I catch her hand and press it to my
chest. “When will I see you again?”

“I don’t know.” She gives me a helpless shrug. “I
have rehearsals, I don’t know when I can get away ...”

“Thursday, we’ll be back in
Piazza Navona
,”
I tell her. “Come find me.”

I see a cab approaching on the street, so I lift my fingers to my
lips and sound a piercing whistle. It stops. Annalise hurries over
and dives inside, before I can even kiss her goodbye.

“Goodnight, Annalise,” I call after her. The driver
pulls away. Her face is framed in the window, pale and beautiful, an
angel sent to tempt me.

To torment me.

“Sweet dreams.”

Annalise

Even though I expect the entire dorm to be awake and waiting for me
when I get back, the building is dark and still. I sneak back up to
my room without any sign of danger, but as I slide into bed, sleep is
the last thing on my mind.

Raphael
...

My heart races, even here in the dark. If I close my eyes again, I
can almost pretend I’m back at the party, dancing with Raphael.
Feeling his body, the movement rolling through me.

The heat of his wet mouth caressing my tender breast, his tongue
driving me crazy with desire…

I roll over and let out a silent scream of frustration into my
pillow.

What is this? The fierce excitement burning in my veins. I feel
consumed, as if my body has been taken over by some foreign force,
sending all other thoughts scattered from my brain and leaving me
with only pure need.

Fire raging in my bloodstream. A damp ache between my thighs.

Is this what people feel all the time? How am I supposed to function,
to focus, now that I know that he is out there in the city somewhere?
That he might be thinking about me, feeling this raw craving.

“
Let me teach you… I’ll show you a pleasure
like you’ve never known…”

His tempting words echo in my mind, until finally, the first light of
dawn creeps through the windows, and exhaustion claims me at last.

His lessons have already begun.

I’ve barely slept a couple of hours when the alarm cruelly
blasts through the room, jolting me awake. I stretch, groggy, as the
wisps of sleep fade from my mind. For a moment it feels like the
party was just a dream—flashes of movement and light, Raphael’s
face, his eyes burning with passion—and then I see my crumpled,
wine-stained blouse on the floor and it all comes flooding back.

The party was no dream. It was real, I was there.

He kissed me. And so much more…

I bolt upright in bed. The shower is already running, and both my
roommates’ beds are empty.

“Hello, Cinderella.” The door opens and Rosalie enters,
dressed in workout gear from her morning run. “What time did
you get in?”

“Too late.” I grimace, feeling the ache of tiredness
still heavy in my limbs. “Was everything OK? Did anyone come to
check on us?”

“No, all clear.” Rosalie gives me a careful look. “You
were lucky though, anything could have happened.”

I cringe. It wasn’t just my own neck I was risking last night:
it was Karla and Rosalie’s too. They would have been in just as
much trouble if anyone discovered I was gone. “I’m
sorry,” I tell her, “I really didn’t mean to put
you guys on the line.”

“Never mind that!” The bathroom door opens, and Karla
comes out, wrapped in a towel. “Tell us everything! Was he
there? Was he hot? Did you make sweet, sweet love all night long?”

“Karla!” I throw a pillow at her, blushing. “I only
just met the guy!”

“Never stopped me,” she winks.

“We’re going to miss breakfast,” I deflect, leaping
out of bed.

Karla pouts. “Fine, but I want all the details. Leave nothing
out.”

We dress and grab our things, and head down the street to the
cafeteria we’re sharing with students at an American college
here.

“Is that bacon?” Karla moans pathetically, as we shuffle
down the line. “Oh God, it’s bacon. And eggs. And
sausage.”

She lets out a little whimper, looking like a puppy-dog eyeing a
treat as we pass the steaming hot food station. I don’t say a
word, taking my usual plate of fruit and fat-free yogurt, but I can’t
help but give an envious look to the other students around us,
loading their plates without a thought.

I was twelve when my mom first set a small silver scale on the
kitchen counter and showed me how to weigh the portions of food,
right down to the handful of almonds she gave me as an afternoon
snack. A dancer had to be slender, she told me. I had to leap and
soar as if I weighed nothing at all, and I couldn’t very well
do that with an extra ring of padding around my waist.

I remember looking in the mirror that night, anxiously pinching at
the baby fat still on my small body, imagining my partner straining
to lift me up onstage. She was right—a dancer’s
instrument is her body, and mine had to be perfect.

I had to be perfect.

And for a few years, I was. My baby fat melted away, and with
training, and our careful diets, I hit my teens with a perfect
dancer’s build: lean, muscular, and lithe. I remember
overhearing my mom, talking smugly with some other dance moms after
rehearsals. “Of course, we don’t have to worry about
Annalise’s figure,” she said proudly. “She has
discipline, she doesn’t let herself go.”

I thought it was simple. Then puberty hit, late for me, and suddenly,
all the willpower in the world couldn’t stop the weight
creeping on, new curves developing where once I’d been so slim.
The scales went back on the kitchen counter, mom designed me a brutal
diet plan, I cut out everything except the most necessary fuel, but
it made no difference. Now, I feel like I’m always ten pounds
away from my former body; ten pounds between me and the effortless
grace I used to know.

Ten pounds from perfection.

“Tell me how it tastes,” Karla is ordering Rosalie,
watching her bite self-consciously into a sugar-dusted pastry as I
take a seat beside them. “I want you to describe it, every
piece.”