Postcards From… Collection. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
The average retirement age for ballet dancers was thirty, thirty-one, tops. A few innovative ballet companies were taking on older dancers, women who’d had children then come back. But the reality was that ballet demanded an enormous amount from its practitioners. It consumed their bodies then abandoned them when they still had the bulk of their lives left to live.
He realized suddenly that he had never seriously considered the idea that Maddy might not succeed in her battle to be reinstated to her former role with the Sydney Dance Company. He’d been worried for her, certainly, but he’d been unable to conceive of a time when Maddy would not dance. It was so much an essential part of her—Maddy was a ballet dancer. She was only ever fully alive when she was en pointe, on stage, performing for an audience.
He knew exactly how much she had sacrificed to her vocation. Her distant, detached relationship with her mother, the result of Maddy having left home when she was fourteen to travel interstate to train at the Australian Ballet Academy. The trail of ruined relationships. The lack of any life outside her career. Maddy had given dance everything. Her life, in fact. And now she was about to discover what was left over for herself.
They were both silent a long time. Finally, Maddy began to talk.
“I can still remember my first ballet class. I bugged my mom for months before she took me. I was a year younger than anyone else, younger than they normally accepted into the class, but I’d seen Anna Pavlova dancing on television and I wanted to be her so badly that I harangued my mom night and day. That first class, Madame took us through the positions. The other girls had trouble with their turnout, with pointing their toes, with their arms. But it all seemed so natural to me. It felt like home.”
He smiled, circling his hand on her back.
“I used to pretend to my friends that I was going to soccer practice and then sneak off to my dance classes,” he said. “My maman was embarrassed, I think. I’m sure she thought it was the first sign I was gay. But Père told me that he had danced a little when he was young, and he always regretted letting his friends’ opinions matter more than what he wanted.”
“Thank God he did, because you were a beautiful dancer, Max.”
He pressed a kiss into her hair.
“And you were a star, Maddy. You dazzled. You lived the dream.”
“Yes.”
He could hear the grief in her voice again.
“Do you know what’s crazy?” she asked after a while. “People are always advising dancers to plan for the future, to save their money or study part-time or something. I never did any of those things because I could never bear to think beyond the end of my career. I mean, I’ve got some money saved, but I have no idea what comes next. No idea.”
“Something will come,” he said. “You’re smart, disciplined, hardworking. Whatever you put your hand to you’ll succeed in.”
He could feel her smile against his chest.
“My own personal cheer squad.”
“Simply telling it like it is. Just because you can’t dance anymore doesn’t mean your life is over, Maddy.”
“I know that’s true. I do. But right now, when I try to project into the future, all I get is…nothing. Emptiness.”
He could hear the fear and uncertainty in her voice. At least when he had walked away from his career, he’d walked away for a reason—caring for his father. Even in his darkest moments of self-pity and regret he’d known that he was doing something worthwhile.
“You don’t have to make any decisions straightaway. Take some time out. Let yourself get used to the idea before you start making any plans,” he said.
“Yes.”
She lifted her head and met his gaze.
“I’m sorry about The Nutcracker,” she said.
He shrugged to show how irrelevant it was.
“I could have at least saved freaking out till the end of the performance instead of the beginning,” she said.
“Maddy. Forget it, okay?”
Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth then flicked back to his eyes again.
“Have I ever told what a good man you are?” she asked. “You’ve never let me down. I bet you’ve never let your sister down or your father, either.”
She pressed a kiss to his mouth.
“Thank you. Thank you for always being there,” she said.
She hesitated a second, then leaned close to kiss him again. This time her lips lingered a fraction longer.
He could feel himself growing hard and he willed his body to calmness. The last thing Maddy needed right now was the knowledge that while she was seeking comfort, he was getting horny.
Then Maddy kissed him a third time and he felt the distinct wet roughness of her tongue sliding across his upper lip. Desire thumped low in his belly and his fingers curled into her back instinctively.
He pulled away.
“I don’t think that’s such a great idea, do you?”
Her eyes were heavy-lidded and smoky with need as she tried to kiss him a fourth time. He held back, refusing the temptation.
“Just for tonight, Max. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to think or feel,” she pleaded.
He hesitated. She closed the distance between them and he felt the tip of her tongue trace his lower lip.
She tasted of tears and need, and he was only human. He opened his mouth and her tongue swept inside, sliding along his own sensuously. As soon as he had one taste he wanted a whole lot more and he clamped his hand to the back of her neck and angled his mouth over hers.
She murmured her approval, her body straining toward his. His free hand slid down her shoulder and onto her breast. Her nipples were already hard and she arched into his hand.
His erection pulsed against her backside, eager to get in on the action. He flicked his thumb over her nipple again and again. She sucked hard on his tongue and dug her hands into his back, pulling him close. Then suddenly she was pushing him away and shifting in his lap so that she was straddling him as she reached for his fly.
Her hands were shaking, her breath coming fast. He tugged the straps of her dress down as she slid his zipper open. Her small, pert breasts fell free of her dress as he pushed it down and cupped her in his hands. Her hand snaked into his boxer-briefs and he closed his eyes as she gripped him.
He needed to taste her skin. With one hand behind her back, he urged her close and ducked his head to take a nipple in his mouth. She gasped, her body shuddering. He bit her gently then sucked hard. She groaned and started to pant.
“I need you, Max,” she breathed.
Her body arched forward as she rose up on her knees, and then her hands were guiding him into wet heat. The realization that she must have simply pushed her underwear to one side hit him even as she slid down onto his length, taking all of him at once.
“Maddy,” he groaned as she gripped him tight.
She started to ride him, her hips sinuous, one hand locked on his shoulder as she drove herself down to the hilt of him then slid up again. Her eyes were closed, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, her face straining with need as she sought oblivion.
He felt himself starting to lose it. She was so wet and hot, so greedy for it. He’d never been with a woman who was so honest about her own needs. It was the biggest damned turnon in the world.
He ducked his head to her breasts again, laving them with the flat of his tongue. His hands gripped her hips and he pumped into her, grinding himself against her.
He felt her tighten around him.