Hi, Y'all!!! I hope you're already enjoying this story. Remember to leave a comment if you like it or even a gem. I'm here to reply to a few questions I've been asked through PMs. Here I go... UPDATES I do not have a schedule for the updates. Usually, I update every single day, from Monday to Saturday (occasionally on Sundays too), mainly around 6 pm CET (Central European Time), and I publish 1 or 2 chapters per day (1800 - 2100 words each). BALLET MATERIAL I never thought that a theme so 'unusual' like ballet could interest you, guys, so much. It was a risky choice, but you seem to enjoy it. I can't publish images or other types of info. I can only explain different moves. If you want to find out more, research every single online clip. I promise you that you won't be sorry. Ballet is the most beautiful form of art. A FEW MORE BALLET MOVES DEFINITIONS: FIRST POSITION - the heels are together, with toes turned out until the feet are in a straight line. THIRD POSITION - the
“Blaze… Chérie… No…”“Please, I can do it, Fab. I really can. I’m here, I’m available and you desperately need a model… Even if I’m in Paris for other reasons, it seems that fate brought us together again to help each other out in moments of crisis like the ones we are going through. Come on… Think about it…” Her passionate speech felt kinda flat, since, just by looking at Fabien, Blaze knew he was still going to say no. Blaze could tell by the way his eyes darkened and his jaw tensed. She had no idea if she was the right model for what he wanted to do. But as soon as the idea popped into her head, it felt right, perfect. Especially given the realization she’d woken to this morning.“Okay, before you say no, hear me out, please,” she said. “This morning, while staying in bed a few minutes more, I’ve started to think about my situation and I took an interesting decision that involves me and my future.” Fabien said nothing, so Blaze took that as a good sign
Her long, gracious fingers clenched around the tie on the bathrobe. Her stomach lurched with nerves. Blaze frowned, trying to work out why she was feeling… well, so damn shy all of a sudden. She’d never been self-conscious about her body in her life. Blaze knew she was in good shape, with not an ounce of fat on her, her muscles lean and defined. Okay, she wasn’t exactly a knockout in the… rack department, but that had never bothered her before. Big breasts would only have gotten in the way when she danced, and that had always been the most important concern in her life. But this morning, Blaze found herself wishing that instead of her half handfuls, she had a little bit more ‘action’ going on up top. Lord only knew how many women Fabien had slept with. She’d hate for him to look at her and find her lacking. Or, maybe, not too feminine, even. She sneaked a glance at the bronze figure she’d admired earlier. ‘Bronze Lady’ definitely had breasts. A g
Blaze’s breasts strained upward, and he could see her ribs expand and contract with every breath. Once again, Fabien was hopelessly torn between admiring her skill, wanting to capture her perfection on paper, and needing to touch her so badly his groin was aching with it. ‘Start drawing, you moron. You know very well that is going to be like this all morning. The sooner this painful session is over, the sooner you can have your sanity back.’ Holding his pencil in a death grip, Fabien started to sketch. An hour later, he’d captured a dozen poses and sustained a hard-on for longer than he’d thought was humanly possible. No matter what he told himself, or how many times he lost himself in the discipline of translating what his eye saw through his hand onto the page, his animal need, his carnal yearning for Blaze hummed constantly in the background. By the time he put down his pencil and shut his sketch pad, Fabien was literally shaking w
He groaned, a low sound that snapped her into focus. Heat rushed up her body, sending prickling tendrils beneath her armpits and the back of her neck before filling her face with warmth. Eyes glued to Fabien's trembling body, Blaze took a step backward, her shaking hand reaching for the door handle as she pulled it shut behind her. “Oh, my God...” she murmured. Her knees were weak. She felt hot, as though she’d been rehearsing for hours. She fanned herself, then suddenly remembered that Willow was waiting on the phone. The receiver was still in her left hand. She lifted it to her ear. “Uhm… Willow, I’m sorry, could you wait a second more?” Her voice came out as a croak. “He is just… getting out of th
It was late when Fabien eased the front door open. He paused on the threshold, listening. The apartment was silent. Blaze had gone to bed. Good! He carried the foldaway camp bed his sister had loaned him inside and propped it against the wall. Willow had raised an eyebrow when he’d asked if he could borrow it. His explanation was that he had an old friend staying for a few days but that hadn’t gone far toward satisfying her curiosity. She kept asking questions until he left her apartment. As Fabien suspected, Willow’s crisis was about the latest babysitter the agency had sent and that problem had been resolved in the first hour. Willow had really only wanted a stand-in for her absent husband, a shoulder to cry on while she expressed her fury and disappointment that her little girl had once more, been let down and misunderstood. Her gratitude had slowly turned to curiosity as the hours wore on and he’d stayed to help bathe Timéo and Mar
Despite the fact that it must have been years since he danced professionally, his form was perfect as Fabien began to spin on his left foot, his right leg raised and bent at the knee as he demonstrated a fouetté. His right leg whipped around his body again and again as he spun, powering his turns, while his arms were held extended at shoulder height.“Oh, yes! I remember now!” Blaze exclaimed. The sequence spilled into her mind in an unbroken chain. The ‘grand jeté’, followed by the increasingly frantic fouettés, then the despairing collapse and surrender at the end. Fabien stopped, barely breathing hard from the exertion.“You still got the old moves, Fabien,” she said admiringly.
She’d always loved Latin. When she’d first started out as a professional dancer, she and her friends would seek out the small Latin-American nightclubs in London and spend the night dancing for fun instead of perfection and achievement. Fabien used to come with them, she remembered. She’d loved matching her moves to his to the demanding beat of rumba or samba. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced for fun until she was sweaty and laughing and exhausted. Too long… Even before her injury, her life had become so defined by her career and her position within the company that her world had shrunk to rehearsal, performance, and more rehearsal. A particularly bitter gust of wind reminded her that it was too cold to be standing around. She returned to the street, but the rhythm of the music stayed with her. For some reason, Blaze felt calmer, more settled. If she hadn’t heard the music and seen the dancers, she probabl