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Every nerve ending directed itself at Aleks, for he was the source, the catalyst for what approached. He’d been right to place import on feeling safe, for it allowed me to let go, to give myself up to all that was happening and relinquish control. I screamed and cried, and that was part of the joy of it, to be so released from appearances and concerns, held and connected, yet free.
I felt the vibration of his deep voice as he spoke reassuring words; it buzzed within me. I felt his orgasm as a desire answered, a craving met. I’d needed to feel him lose his own control with me.
His eyes were dark as he moved to look down at me again. “Malphia, my beautiful Malphia.”
He kissed a line across my face, and we became still, together, breathless and recovering.
“Are you all right?” he whispered, rolling us onto our sides.
His body left mine and I was cast adrift: a stretchy, relaxed thing, all languorous and floaty. I touched my lips and found them quivery and strange. I couldn’t speak.
He stroked my hair. “You are a revelation.”
I pointed a finger into his chest. He was the revelation.
“You will stay?” he asked. “Sleep here tonight? I very much want this.”
He smiled at my nod. The idea of leaving was abhorrent. To miss sleeping in his bed with him, and maybe getting to do it all again?
“I get us water,” he said and, without pausing to put clothes on, disappeared out of the room.
It was good to discover an ensuite bathroom, a nice normal one. There were discarded clothes on a chair, a towel on the floor, and shaving foam on the sink. I liked the foam. It smelled of Aleks.
I walked round his bedroom and admired the free-standing wooden drawer units and wardrobe. Catching sight of my naked self in the mirrored wardrobe door heralded the return of self-consciousness. By the time he came back, I was modestly clad in a T-shirt from the bathroom and my own underwear.
His face elongated in sadness. “I want to feel your skin against mine as we sleep.”
“Oh. Well…” I looked down at myself.
“You are being shy now?” he asked, and lifted my chin. “I see you. You are like the sky on a summer’s day showing different colours at different times. Sometimes pulls clouds across, hides beauty.” He tweaked the shirt.
A small smile was my only answer to the odd speech. He was talking like… I didn’t know what he was talking like. I had no suitable point of reference.
“But then, it is night.” He switched off the lamp, plunging us into darkness. “How is the starlit sky?”
I laughed at his continuance of the metaphor, and there were more kisses, soft and sweet. Clothing dispensed with, we faced each other under the blankets.
“You’re cold,” I realised and tried to rub warmth into his back and arms. “Your feet are like ice.” I sandwiched them between my own. “See, this is why people wear clothes.”
“In the arms of my angel, I am warm.”
The last sense to be stimulated before sleep was that of scent. He smelled like almonds. Marzipan. Christmas cake. Aleks.
Everything was gloriously right and as it always should be. I recalled talk of angels, and it was if they were singing: ‘Yes! Yes!’
His arm was stretched out under my neck as my eyes opened to take in the scene. His other arm was flung wide as were his legs. I was curled in the corner of his great big X shape. He was obviously used to having the bed to himself. His face looked younger in sleep but still as beautiful, the unshaven chin and tousled hair enticingly male and sexy.
I woke more fully. Of course he wasn’t used to being alone. Justin’s warning replaced the heavenly singing: it’ll all be over by the next day. Then I recalled Aleks’s own words: making love to you will be one of the… one of… one.
We’d shared an incredible experience, but that was it. Tears threatened. I had to go. The thought of him telling me, ‘I’ll see you around,’ or whatever got said in these situations was excruciating. The fact that my ballet shoes, and everything else required for college, were at home became a neutral fact to hold on to, a practical and non-emotional reason to leave.
I allowed myself one last look, but no kissing or touching, and I tiptoed out of the room, clothes in arms.
Quick dressing took place in the large studio room, interspersed with vibrant memories of the night before. The balcony. The piano. The theatre picture. I clutched my white rose and took one long and final stare into forever.
“You are leaving?” His deep voice was at once a shock and a relief. “I thought we would find each other again in the dark, angel. Instead I do this unheard of thing and sleep all night. You can be forgiving of me and stay?”
He kissed my ear and tangled his fingers through my hair, banishing sad thoughts, though one inconvenient fact remained.
