Modern Romance June 2016 Books 5-8. Tara Pammi
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Again he didn’t answer her and Anya knew he would not be allowed to reveal his new identity. He should not even be here as visiting the past was strictly forbidden.
‘Roman.’ Anya answered her own question, for he would always be Roman to her. Yes, maybe the details had changed but he was still Roman to her heart. The feelings she’d had for him had never left, now though they heightened.
‘Are you still in the legion?’
‘No.’
‘How long were you there?’
‘Ten years.’
Which would have brought him to twenty-eight, and, given he was almost thirty-two, it meant that there were four years missing.
‘So, why are you here now?’
Because, despite so many promises to himself, he’d been unable to stay away.
‘I had to see for myself that you are okay.’
‘Then you’ll leave?’
‘Yes.’
He had to.
He did not want to complicate her life.
Always he had.
And he had read that she was dating Mika. He had always assumed male dancers were just pretty boys in tights.
His opinion had changed tonight.
‘Anya, I just came to see that you were doing well and it is clear that you are.’
‘Then go.’
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.
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