Second Position

by Melody Grace

  My dance was an invitation, a reckless promise of something I didn’t know I wanted. And now...?

  Now comes his reply.

  I sway, unsteady on my feet, waiting for him to make his move. To take my face in his hands, press his lips down on mine, drag me towards that huge bed in the corner...

  Instead, Raphael places my hand against his shoulder, slides his hands gently around my waist, and begins to dance.

  It’s soft and slow, a lilting melody, and I shiver, sinking against his body, resting my head against his chest to sway with him in time. We’ve danced together before, we were locked together in this very same pose not hours ago at the restaurant, but this is different. Now there’s a charge between us, crackling like the dry electricity of a summer storm.

  Raphael’s body shifts, his fingertips roaming softly across my back, the barest of a caress, but I feel the touch blaze everywhere.

  I shudder, my nipples tightening against his chest, every cell in my body alive and aching for more.

  I don’t understand it, how I could have gone my whole life without feeling even a hint of this desire. Now it threatens to consume me. The scent of him, his deep musky smell; the taut curve of his bicep, wrapped tight around me; the feel of his breath, light against my cheek.

  Every sense is awake, every part of my body is calling out for him, but I find myself frozen, too scared to move from his embrace, too shy to reach up and bring his lips to mine. I can only wait, my heart pounding, until at last, Raphael strokes his hand across my shoulder and lifts my face to his.

  “Watching you dance...” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. Raphael’s gaze is searching, tormented. “I’ve never wanted anyone so much. God, Annalise... You’re incredible.”

  I tremble. His lips are so close now, everything I want only inches away. I can’t help myself. As if my body is possessed by some foreign force, I find myself reaching for him, pulling his head down towards me until at last, his lips claim mine in a heart-stopping, breathtakingly gentle kiss.

  I melt. The last of my doubts and insecurities dissolve under the softness of his caress; barely a whisper of pressure as his lips brush mine, but oh, I feel it everywhere. I kiss him again, stronger this time, tasting his lips, daringly parting them with my tongue so I can explore the dark, delicious warmth of his mouth; running my fingers through his hair, pressing eagerly against him.

  Raphael lets out a groan, and then he sweeps me closer, tight against his body. The kiss deepens, his mouth making a sensual assault on mine until I’m gasping and helpless in his arms. The music is still playing, soft and slow, but it’s all I can do not to sway from the sensation of his hands on my body, the deep craving slowly uncoiling in my veins.

  Raphael lifts his head, eyes dark with desire. He takes my hand, slowly spinning me outward, then back, turning me so that I’m facing away from him. The front of his body is pressed up against my back and I catch my breath, feeling the heat of him mold to me.

  Every muscle. Every limb. The hard planes of his stomach—and the promise of his length pressing into my ass.

  Dear Lord.

  I bite back a moan as his hands slide across my torso, his fingertips lightly tracing down my collarbone, sending shivers of pure quicksilver wherever they touch.

  The sensation is almost too much to take: the hard muscle of his body behind me, and the gentle path of his caress, relentlessly soft, teasing, as he strokes along my arms, over my stomach, up the center of my ribcage. My nipples tighten, aching for his hands, but still, he teases me.

  I close my eyes, falling deeper into the velvet darkness where nothing exists but the seductive chords of music, the drifting summer night air, and Raphael’s hands—oh, his hands—driving me crazy, setting every nerve in my body alive, screaming for more.

  As if he can hear my silent pleas, Raphael’s fingertips finally sweep across my breasts.

  I gasp, my knees buckling, but he holds me up, not hesitating for a moment, caressing me through my thin silk camisole in the lightest whisper of touch.

  Oh God.

  It feels like nothing else in the world, the shivers of sweet, hungry desire that spiral through me, pooling low and liquid between my thighs. My heart races, but he takes his time. The whisper of touch becomes stronger, fuller, palming the weight of my tender breasts in his hands until I’m mindless, writhing with desperate whimpers.

  I hear myself beg for him wordlessly, but it’s like I’m listening to somebody else, untethered from my own mind, from anything that isn’t his touch, so torturous, circling, teasing me, taking me to the edge of heaven, but no further.

  “God, Annalise,” Raphael groans against my neck, landing a trail of blazing kisses along the tender skin. I press against him, needy and wanting, and then at last he drags his thumbs across my nipples in a harsh, delicious sweep.

  I moan, arching up against his hands. Raphael is unleashed. Suddenly, his hands are everywhere, squeezing, stroking me, rolling my stiff nipples between his fingers until the pleasure makes me cry out for more.

  As if the sound is his undoing, he sweeps me up in his arms, covering the distance to the bed in a few long strides. He places me down on the covers, gentler than I could have dreamed, then pauses a moment, looking down at me with a blazing dark stare.

  I shudder under his hungry gaze, my mind blank and dizzy, my whole body surrendered to sensation. But still, a part of me clenches in fear, not ready to plunge off the edge completely. “Raphael,” I manage, my voice a hoarse whisper. “I—”

  “Shh...” He presses his fingertip to my lips, his eyes meeting mine with silent understanding. “I know.”

  I exhale with relief, relaxing, but Raphael doesn’t take his eyes from mine. He eases my lips open, sliding his finger into my mouth.

  Holy crap!

  I shudder at the intimacy, at the feel of him against my tongue, and the look in his eyes, possessive and raw.

  “It’s time, my sweet. I’m going to teach you what pleasure feels like,” Raphael tells me, his voice rasping as he leans to drop a kiss against my earlobe. Every word sends a shudder through me, his mouth grazing my skin. “What it means to want someone, to beg for their touch.”

  Desire rises, clawing me from within. Raphael lifts his head again, his dark eyes meeting mine, black with promise.

  “You’re going to come for me, and I’m not going to stop until you’re mine.”

  12.

  I forget how to breathe.

  Raphael’s lips come crashing onto mine, ravenous and searching. I rise up, wrapping my arms around his body and answering the kiss with everything I have. Something has been unleashed in me, a desperate desire that I can’t control. I grab at him, hungry, sliding my hands over his body to feel the sculpted ridge of his shoulder blades, the solid weight of him, pressing me into the mattress. I kiss him until I’m undone, nothing but a collection of grasping limbs and trembling nerves and a fiery hunger that won’t be satisfied. He pulls back and traces my cheek, the edge of my jaw, the curve of my neck.

  And then his hand slides lower.

  I gasp, feeling the heat of his touch slip over me on a lightening path down my body, over my swollen breasts, across my stomach. Lower, lower, until it’s resting at the top of my waistband.

  He stops.

  Raphael lifts his head, looking down at me with an unflinching gaze. He strokes along my hips, my lower belly, making me shiver and gasp. Then his hand trails down my leg, to where the crumpled fabric of the skirt hem meets my bare skin. Raphael edges it higher, tracing tiny circles on the inside of my thigh.

  Oh...

  I shudder. My mind is reeling, but even amidst the jumble of nerves, my desire calls for him, stronger than any fear.

  I want him. Oh, how I want him.

  I hold his gaze, even as my cheeks flush with heat. “Teach me,” I whisper. “Show me everything.”

  Raphael’s face flashes with desire. He rocks back on his heels, sliding his hands under the waistband of
my skirt and slowly easing it down my thighs, until I’m laying almost naked in my thin panties and camisole.

  I twist, self-conscious, but Raphael places one hand on my stomach, holding me in place. His eyes consume me, roving over my body. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rasping and thick with lust. “Every inch of you.”

  He trails his hand up my body, eyes locked on mine as his fingertips stroke slowly across the apex of my thighs.

  I gasp.

  Raphael gives me a slow, teasing smile. He strokes again, bolder this time, rubbing slow circles around my clit.

  God.

  I shudder at the burst of pleasure. I can feel the heat of his touch, the sweet pressure, even through the lace of my panties. I’m wet and aching, bucking against his hand.

  Raphael licks his lips. “Let me hear you,” he demands. “Let yourself sing.”

  My lips part. A moan echoes, and I flush with the knowledge that it’s coming from my lips.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this, laying here, watching him kneel between my thighs and touch me like this, but I can’t look away. It’s forbidden and bold, and so fucking sexy, the way his eyes darken, his breath coming quicker as he finds my tender nub, stroking in steady, delicious circles that make me groan, wordless with sensation.

  Raphael holds my gaze as he tugs my panties aside. Then slowly, he slides one finger inside of me, deep and sure.

  I arch up off the bed in shock.

  Oh God!

  This feeling, the touch of him, inside me. There. It is everything.

  He curls his finger, stroking me from the inside, sending shockwaves through my body as his thumb continues its relentless circling. I cry out in pleasure, my voice echoing, needy and raw in the empty room.

  Suddenly, Raphael yanks off my panties. He grips my hips and he rocks back on his heels, lowering his head. He kisses a searing path up the inside of my thighs.

  “Wait,” I gasp, trying to lift my head. My mind is splintering into a thousand pieces, but there’s still a part of me that can’t believe he’s... Is he really going to...?

  Raphael places one hand on my chest, gently pushing me down again. His eyes meet mine from between my thighs, devilishly wicked, and then he licks up against my pussy, long and slow, and I can’t think at all.

  God.

  Pleasure overwhelms me, fresh waves crashing through my body at every lick. Raphael teases me, lapping gently, faster now, his tongue swirling over my clit again and again, until I’m panting, mewling for him, gripping the sheets and arching up against his mouth, desperate for more. I don’t understand this dark pressure building, rising higher, the ache clawing, still unsatisfied. I’ve never felt anything like it, like I’m turned inside out, every nerve ending and sense in my system alight with some glittering black promise, so close to the edge, but not far enough.

  Raphael pauses, running his tongue down my thigh and back again, taunting me. “What do you want?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. But words fail me. I can’t be so shameless to speak, to ask him.

  “Tell me,” Raphael orders. He licks into me, spearing his tongue deep. Holy fuck!

  I gasp, desperate. “More,” I manage, my voice just a whisper.

  “I can’t hear you. Do you want my tongue on you, my sweet? Inside you?”

  Raphael lifts his head and watches me. His finger strokes closer, teasing at my slick entrance, running lightly over my swollen nub.

  I writhe, whimpering, shocked by how my body responds to his wicked words. I’m beyond turned on, and there are no words for what I am now: liquid, wanting, nothing but need. “Please,” I moan. “Raphael...”

  His eyes flash. “Say it again. Say my name.”

  “Raphael!” my voice echoes out, a reckless cry. “Please, more. I need more!”

  With a growl, Raphael yanks my hips closer and lowers his mouth to me again. But this time, there’s nothing teasing to his touch: his tongue laps and probes, his lips suckle my clit, devouring, pleasure surging through me, pushing me nearer to the edge.

  “Oh god!” I cry, reaching to clutch his head to me. I sink my fingers into his hair, mindless, pulling him closer into me, not caring how it makes me seem, only needing his tongue lapping firm against me, like that, oh God, just like that. “Don’t stop,” I beg, grinding myself against his mouth. “Please, don’t stop!”

  Raphael growls, his fingers biting into my thighs. He licks me, relentless, and suddenly I’m rising, spiraling, gasping for air as I feel the dark wave swell, lifting me higher, trickling like silver through my veins. I struggle, overwhelmed, trying to hold on to some part of me, some solid ground in the face of such power, but I can’t, it’s more than I can resist. Every stroke of his tongue, every new rush of pleasure brings me closer, closer, until I’m strung out, every muscle in my body screaming, every fiber of my being taut and shimmering and aching for release.

  “Raphael!” I scream, lost to desperate need.

  With another growl, he plunges two fingers deep inside my aching core. The fullness is incredible, and I bear down hard, gasping as he thrusts deeper. Oh God, I can’t take this. It feels so good. Too good.

  “Come for me, mia cara,” Raphael demands. “Surrender.”

  His fingers curl up to pulse against me, so hot and tight, so deep inside. He takes my clit between his lips and sucks hard and then I’m gone.

  I shatter, crying out his name, tumbling beneath the waves of pleasure that rise up, swallowing me, consuming me, breaking through my body in a relentless crash, over and over, until I’m left gasping and mindless on the shore.

  13.

  When I wake, the bed is empty beside me. I yawn, trying to figure out where I am. Then I see the golden Rome view from the window, and my skirt, crumpled on the floor, and it all comes rushing back to me. Dancing for Raphael. His hands on my body. His mouth, making me cry out in ecstasy...

  I flush, sitting bolt upright and scrambling for my panties. I pull them back on and look around for the rest of my clothes. Then I realize Raphael is nowhere to be seen. The apartment is empty, but the door is ajar.

  I hear voices from the hallway.

  I wrap the sheet around me, and shuffle across the room. I can hear Raphael, speaking in hurried Italian, and then a female voice comes. I reach the doorway, and peek around. It’s Francesca.

  My heart catches. What’s she doing here so early in the morning? Is something really going on with her and Raphael?

  I look again. She’s angry, gesturing wildly as she speaks. Raphael tries to calm her, putting his hands on her shoulders, and just the sight of him touching her makes me feel sick to my stomach.

  Raphael said there was nothing between them, but I know what I’m seeing, and Francesca has jealousy and rage written all over her face. Insecurity washes over me, all my happiness falling to pieces as I think back over everything that happened last night.

  What if it meant nothing to him? What if I just made a huge mistake?

  I stumble back and hit the door with a dull thud. The noise makes them turn.

  “Annalise...” Raphael looks surprised. Or is that guilt flashing in his dark eyes?

  Francesca screws up her lip with disdain. “And there she is,” she switches to English briefly and smiles sweetly. “Your little American puttana.”

  I don’t know what the word means, but Raphael tenses, moving to stand in front of me.

  “You don’t speak to her like that,” he warns Francesca. I catch my breath, confused by the sudden anger rippling from Raphael’s body, his muscles strained with barely controlled power.

  “I can call her anything I like,” Francesca snaps back. Her eyes drift over me from head to toe, and she sneers. “You would throw it all away, for this?”

  The scorn in her voice is clear. I shrink back, my insecurity rising again, a tide of self-doubt. I know I’m nowhere near as beautiful as her; even early in the morning, she’s polished and sexy in tight jeans and a draped silk top.

  Why woul
d he pick you? I think to myself, miserable. Just look at her.

  “It’s time for you to go,” Raphael says, and for a terrible moment, I think he means me. Then I feel his arm around me, strong and reassuring, and I realize he’s talking to Francesca. He holds me close against him, protecting me in the warm circle of his embrace.

  “You’re going to regret this,” Francesca glares, still haughty.

  Raphael is resolute. “We’re done,” he says, with quiet steel in his tone.

  Realization slowly dawns. Francesca’s eyes flash with anger and real hurt. She says something else in Italian, then she flounces away, slamming the elevator grate behind her with a crash.

  Raphael waits until she’s gone, then he releases me.

  “What happened?” I ask, nervous. I feel incredibly exposed, walking in on their scene wrapped in just a bed sheet, with no idea how Raphael feels about last night. “Is everything OK?”

  Raphael slowly shakes his head. “She won’t dance with me, for the audition at the end of the month. She came by unexpectedly, and saw you here.”

  “Is she jealous?” I ask, but I already know the answer and my heart twists.

  “She has no reason to be, no claim on me,” Raphael says firmly. Then he looks up, as if he’s noticing me for the first time. A satisfied smile spreads across his face. “Look at you,” he murmurs, walking over to me.

  “I look like a mess!” I blush, trying to drag my fingers through my tangled hair.

  “You look beautiful.” Raphael sweeps me up in his arms as if I’m weightless, striding back into the apartment. I giggle as he sets me down on one of the dining chairs. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “Let me make you something.”

  I shake my head. “Just coffee is fine, if you have it.”

  Raphael winks, and then sets a professional-looking cappuccino machine to work, hissing and spluttering.

  As I sit there, the enormity of his fight with Francesca begins to sink in. Raphael may have brushed it off just now, but this is a really big deal. A fight between friends is one thing, but between dance partners? That’s a whole different relationship just ripped apart.