Read a NSFW excerpt from former ballerina Melanie Hamrick's novel First Position

If anyone knows their positions, it's a ballerina.

Melanie Hamrick, former choreographer and dancer with American Ballet Theatre, is putting that knowledge to good use with her debut novel, First Position.

The novel follows dancer Sylvie Carter, who finds her career in shambles after five years with the American National Ballet. When a troubling relationship erupts into scandal, she loses everything, becoming a version of herself she doesn't recognize. She vows to never make the same mistake again, but when she runs into a handsome stranger off stage during a rehearsal, she can't help but be drawn to him.

Hamrick, who is also Mick Jagger's partner, shares an exclusive — and very steamy! — excerpt from the novel, and answers some of our questions below. First Position hits shelves June 20.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: You've worked as a ballerina and a choreographer in the world of professional ballet. How did that shape or inspire this story?

MELANIE HAMRICK: People say to write what you know, and ballet is what I know for sure.

What do you think is the most misunderstood thing about the world of ballet and the life of a ballerina?

That we're all these perfect little jewelry box ballerinas. We're human beings with our own past stories, and this is our profession. We go into our job everyday like everyone else. I found that people's favorite questions to ask a ballerina are: "Is it a real job?" and "Can you do the splits?" And yes, these are both true things!

Were you inspired at all by other famous ballet stories, such as Black Swan, The Turning Point, The Red Shoes, etc.?

Absolutely! I loved The Turning Point as a child, [it's] one of my favorite movies. But I think I was most inspired by Black Swan. It brought ballet to a mainstream audience and was popular. Lots of people think of ballet as stuffy or boring and I loved what Black Swan did with it. People were curious about ballet like never before after. Of course, Black Swan is a fictional tale, but it's based on truths in the ballet world. That's what I wanted to do with my novel. Its fiction based on truths. And fiction is just so fun to write. You can make it as crazy or wild as you want. My goal for the novel was that anyone with or without knowledge of ballet will understand the ballet world better and enjoy the book.

This is a tale of lust and forbidden desire. What made you want to go so steamy? Did writing those scenes come naturally, or was there a learning curve?

Ballet is beautiful and sexy, so it just seemed natural to go steamy. I felt very comfortable writing the scenes as it felt like choreographing a pas de deux between two people, which can be very sensual.

Because of your history in the ballet world and the very sexy content, did you ever consider using a pseudonym? Why or why not?

It is a work of fiction, so I wasn't worried... I'm proud of all sides of myself and of my book. However, a fun pseudonym could have been from a ballet — maybe Odile von Rothbart!

Do you plan to write more novels?

Yes! I've just finished a rough draft of my second novel. I'm very excited about it. It follows one of the characters from First Position.

This interview has been edited and condensed for length and clarity.

Read on for an excerpt from the novel:

His face comes close to mine and then I feel his breath on my neck as his forehead touches my jawbone. My head falls back, exposing my neck and chest to him as if he were a vampire who could suck me dry — and has my permission to do it. It was literally intoxicating. I don't know how a voice or a touch can do that, but it did. I am powerless against it.

"What do you want, little swan?"

Chills run through me. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Tell me."

I think again about apologizing or saying I don't know, but then decide to be honest. "I want you to touch me."

I feel like I'm on hard, deadly drugs. My inhibitions have vanished.

He draws back almost imperceptibly, and I feel a reprise of fear.

"How do you want me to touch you?"

I nod. "Any way. Every way."

I am breathless.

I am so suddenly stolen away into the night of this feeling, and I don't even know how I got here. I can't remember the last time I felt something like this, and yet I am also feeling this ache with the skill of someone who has done it a million times over. My mind is hesitating, but my body has not a slice of confusion about what it wants. And the only reason my mind is hesitating is because I am truly afraid I have lost my mind.

"I want to give you what you want," he says, a slight rasp to his voice revealing that he isn't quite as in control as he was a few minutes ago. "Are you sure of what that is?"

His hand is on my waist. I take it and guide it quickly, feverishly past the waistband of my training sweats and don't stop guiding him until his fingers are winding around the sudden wetness of my leotard and nudging between the fabric and my skin.

"Mm." He makes the noise by my ear, crippling me yet further, "I believe you that you want it now."

A gasp escapes me as he touches me.

I glance half-heartedly around, making sure there is still no one near us, but honestly even if there was, I wouldn't have the power to hide.

The feeling he is giving me is a little like drowning. I'm losing myself more and more, feeling more and more deeply submerged in it, and losing the ability to do anything but give in with every gesture.

In my past, when I have been more prepared, I have often found sex to be as performative as the stage; I move my hips this way, toss my head that way, arch my back now, and fold before my audience. But this is making me forget I can even be seen.

I believe it's not just him, this man whose name I do not even know, but also how badly I need to feel free. In this moment, I don't care about anything but this.

I raise my hips and he takes the sign I can't believe I have communicated effectively and pulls down the sweatpants and moves aside the thin cotton of my leotard.

"Again!" Barks Diana on the stage. "But very good, Jocelyn. Very good."

"Yes?" he asks before putting his mouth on me.

"Yes, yes." I touch his hair, that gorgeous hair. It's even more perfect to the touch. I pull him by the back of his head, and push him where I want him. He moves out of his seat to crouch in front of mine.

The heat and the wetness and the surprise of it makes me feel desperate. My heart is pounding and everywhere I am throbbing and clenching and releasing. There is no longer a past or even a future. All that matters is now. And it is intense. It is taking everything in me to remain silent.

He exposes my thigh and runs his hand down the muscles of it, chasing his own touch with his lips, kissing, biting, and sending me into quick convulsions.

"This — yes, that, do that," I whisper throatily, my voice wild and quiet and nearly primal.

He squeezes my thigh and then smacks it. The sound reverberates through the auditorium and my head lurches up and he forces me back down and puts his mouth on me and begins to do something I do not even have a guess for. Sucking, kissing, licking, flicking, I have no idea whatsoever; all I know is that I am suddenly plunged into an ecstasy I have scarcely, if ever, felt.

My hips begin to twitch, I feel my insides throbbing and responding to everything he does. I let out a moan and he somehow does more of what he's doing, and I squeeze his arm to indicate that he's doing the right thing.

"Resa, swan, surrender."

In the moment of relief from his touch so that he can speak, my body yearns so desperately that when he goes back to it, it is too much. I let out a gasp of air and convulse into him, then again, again, and . . .

"Yes," he breathes against me.

I grip into his body as if I trust him with my life and surrender completely to him.

He doesn't disappear as soon as I am through. Instead he lingers on my thighs, kissing and touching me lightly. I lie there with my eyes shut, certain that my legs would go out from under me if I were to try to stand. I could sleep or slip into the devastatingly soothing heat of a warm bath.

But almost a moment too late, I register the sound I have just heard: the stage manager, Mike, clapping his hands and yelling at the theater at large. This is the moment when the dancers are summoned to the stage over the god mic for notes. I know what comes next.

"He's going to ask for the house lights up," I say, patting the stranger on the back, though he is already off me. "He's going to ask for the house lights up!"

I scramble into my sweats just as we both hear, "House lights, please!"

With the dancer's grace, I swing my leg over the stranger and twirl a few seats away, crouching silently behind the backs of the seats in front of me just as he leaps covertly over the other rows.

I catch my breath and register that Robert Calvo, our director, has joined Diana onstage. His shock of white hair is lush against his dark skin and he still moves like a dancer, even though he has not been on the stage in more than twenty years.

"Everyone gather round," says Robert, clasping his long fingers in front of him.

I stand and adjust my warm-ups as I prepare for the walk down the aisle. My inner thighs are weaker than they've been in years and I'm afraid there are telltale signs on me that I cannot see.

Robert does not wait for the full company to arrive before saying, "I want to introduce to you all, our newest principal dancer, "the great Alessandro Russo!"

The entire company erupts in gasps and applause from the usually impermeable girls. And I see a man begin to walk down the aisle. Chestnut hair. Broad shoulders. A perfect frame.

He glances at me as he walks by. He takes his right hand and touches his lips and nose. To anyone else it would look like a human gesture that meant nothing at all. But I know where that hand has just been.

"God . . . dammit," I utter.

He winks.

I have just made a huge, huge mistake.

From First Position published by arrangement with Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2023 by Melanie Hamrick.

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