The corner of the bar you're sitting in is dark, but you like it that way. It gives you the opportunity to survey the rest of the room without worrying about anyone seeing you.
Not that anyone would see you tonight--not even if you jumped up on the table and stripped. Not even if you had spotlights shining on you.
No--tonight all eyes are focused on /him/ . . . and he's completly oblivious to it.
You're no different--your eyes have been caressing him all evening, sliding down the lines of muscle so clearly defined by the skin-tight black clothing. He doesn't seem to notice the affect he's having on the collective sex-drive of all the patrons, but the rise in hormones is obvious.
He's huddled into a corner not very far from you, slinking back into the shadows and nursing the same drink he's had in front of him all evening. Countless women and no few men have approached him, but he rebuffed them all with the same calm smile and a few murmured words.
You haven't even tried. Huddled in the dark corner, you'd much rather watch him than try to talk to him. At least this way, he's not aware of your presence. Your eyes can glide over him to your hearts content.
The music has been getting increasingly wild as the night progresses, and the dance floor has degenerated into an extended make-out room. Some intelligent bartender lowered the lights a long time ago, so couples have the luxury of grinding together in the quasi-darkness, their illusions of privacy maintained.
Turning your eyes back to the man to your left, you feast on the sight of him, imagining in great detail what you'd do to him given the chance. To touch him . . . to feel him . . . to /taste/ him . . . your mind provides full sound affects to your fantasy, conjuring up his moans and growls as your eyes continue to slide over him.
You've finished another drink and a second go round in your fantasy love-making before he moves--and the direction he move in takes your breath away.
"Hi there," he says softly, sliding into the seat next to you.
"Hello," you respond, voice low. There's not much you can think of to say--not that wouldn't get you thrown into jail on a sexual misconduct charge.
"Don't like to dance?" he drawls slowly, tilting his head towards the dance floor.
"Not to this kind of music," you respond, daring to flirt a little. You give him your best sultry look. "I prefer something with a more . . . primal . . . beat."
"A lady of good taste," he teases, green eyes lighting. "If I promise to return in a few moments, can I trust you not to move?"
"What will you give me to make it worth my while to await your return?" you respond, feeling drunk off of the exhilaration of actually talking to him.
Warm lips seize your earlobe, and you feel a low growl as teeth nip at the sensitive skin beneath your ear. "Think about what you'll get if you're here when I get back," he purrs, and before you can respond he's gone.
You fingers dig into the table as you take a deep steadying breath, flailing around for proof that you hadn't just dreamt him up. One bit hallucination . . . a breathing, stalking, purring hallucination . . .
But no, there he is, stalking his away across to the man in charge of the musical selection. A few moments of conversation and he's turned around, prowling back towards you.
And that's what he's doing. Prowling. Hips swaggering back and forth, eyes focused on you intently, entire body undulating as he slides towards you. Behind him you hear the faint strains of a slow, steady drumbeat . . . a beat that sounds remarkably like the pounding of your heart.
"Would you care to dance?" His voice is a low growl, and you can see the barely leashed sexuality fighting to break free of the calm demeanor.
"It would be a pleasure," you purr in response. His hand clasps yours, tugging you from the seat, and then you're on the floor, crushed against him as the music takes control.
The drum beat gets steadily louder, and you feel his hips pressing into yours steadily, one arm locking around your waist and pulling you to straddle one of this thighs. You feel your skirt ride up as you press closer against him, the music shredding your control.
His other hand tangles in your hair suddenly, tugging your head back. Green eyes bore into yours, searching for something . . .
Whatever it is, he finds it. Warm lips descend to yours, an insistent tongue sweeping across your mouth and coaxing your lips apart. Unable to control it, you gasp into his mouth as he slowly, carefully unbuilds the last semblance of your restraint with his skillful lips. Moaning slightly, your arms go up around him, one hand kneading the muscular shoulder as the other latches onto his ponytail, crushing his mouth to yours.
The world spins out of control as the music picks up intensity, and before you know it you feel the firmness of a wall against your back. Large hands wrap around your waist, pushing you up until your hips are even with his. Only then does he break the kiss, green eyes boring into yours as he rocks his hips into yours with every beat of the music.
Almost without thinking you wrap a leg around his hips, running the other foot up and down the hard line of his leg, teasing him as you stare into his eyes. "Why'd you stop?" you whisper, waiting for the next beat and rocking your hips forward to meet his. He growls low in his throat, the hands around your waist tightening.
"Because if I don't stop now, I won't be able to," is the response, gasped out on a low moan as you wrap your other leg around him and arch your hips into his.
"Don't stop then," you reply, and it seems like the most logical thing in the world. You're pressed into the shadows, hidden from the view of all but a few of the bar's patrons--and those few who /could/ see you aren't exactly paying attention.
A quick glance over his shoulder apparently reveals the same thing to him, and before you can blink his mouth is on yours again, taking yours in a deep, wet kiss before his lips slide off your chin to your neck, teeth teasing your skin as you arch your head back.
"Yes . . ." your voice hisses between clenched teeth, and you push your body into his again. One of his hands slides down your legs and coaxes them down to the ground as he lowers you carefully. Before you can question, you feel the same hands sliding back up your thighs, shoving your skirt out of the way as his hips continue to sway against yours with the music.
Long, blunt fingers slide up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his mouth descending to yours to swallow your low moan. His body shifts to block his actions from the rest of the bar, and you feel one finger hook under your thin underwear, tugging it down slowly.
You lock your fingers onto his shoulders, clutching against him as his hand brushes your curls, dragging a moan from you that his lips can't completely muffle. His thumb takes up the rhythm of the music, making slow lazy circles against your throbbing bundle of nerves as his fingers caress you.
The music drowns out everything else as you circle your hips, tearing your mouth away from his to moan softly. His mouth latches onto your earlobe, teeth nibbling softly as he purrs into your ear. "That's it," he rumbles as you let out a low moan, grinding yourself against him.
You let out another moan as his other hand creeps up under your shirt, brushing the swell of your breast with a callused finger as his mouth descends to yours again. His tongue thrusts into your mouth as his fingers echo the movement, and he swallows your cry as you arch into him.
So close . . . you're so close . . . the music is in your blood, in his blood, throbbing and spinning the world out of control. Everything narrows down to his lips and his hands, hands that are caressing and teasing you so skillfully that you feel like you're teetering on the knife edge between tears and ecstasy.
His mouth slides away from yours to latch on to the sensitive skin beneath your ear. "Come for me," he growls, sucking harshly as his fingers begin to speed up, thumb making slippery circles around your nub. "Now . . ."
Your back arches impossibly as you cry out a final time, his mouth catching yours and swallowing the rest of your cries as your body trembles. You thrash against him, hearing nothing but the sound of the drumbeat fading slowly away as you tumble through the waves of pleasure. His fingers continue to coax you along, their caresses slowing as you come crashing down to earth.
For a moment you simply stare at each other, your hands locked around his neck, his resting on your hips. There's a silence as the song changes, and soft upbeat music begins spilling from the speakers.
Smiling slightly, you reach down and tug your skirt so that it's covering your legs again. Then you lean forward, running one hand across his hip to cup the hardness crying out for attention. He exhales on a groan, green eyes boring into you.
"Let's go somewhere and take care of this," you murmur.
"I've got that song on recording at my apartment," he replies, his hand grabbing yours. "There are a few other things it has a good rhythm for."
"I look forward to learning," you purr, following him obediently from the bar. In your mind, you can already hear the beat of the drums . . .
~*~
Fin