The music pounds so fiercely I can feel the vibrations under my feet. The band the deejay is playing is a fusion of trip-hop, funk, old school rap, and rock. Guitar riffs rip through the air to be countered by a flute. An odd combination the crowd loves.
Sweat runs down my face and my black t-shirt clings to my torso, showing off my toned muscles. Bodies crush against me as we dance collectively. A black light provides the only illumination in the form of white shirts, pants, skirts, shoes, and socks glowing lavender in the dark living room.
She pushes her way through the crowd then claims the space in front of me and turns her back to me to face her friend. A glowing white tank top sticks to her curves and a dark skirt swishes around her hips as she dances with the friend.
She spins around to me and a wry smile appears on her lips as our gazes lock onto each other. She lowers her eyes and plays on my attention, swerving her hips side to side in a slow seduction despite the pulsing beat. Her body writhes snake-like in the small space, her arms slithering into the air above her for a brief moment. She lowers her hands and runs them over her sides then peers up at me with a come hither glint in her eyes.
My breath catches in my throat and my cock twitches.
Her gaze drops again and she does a short sashay to close the gap between us. Her body touches mine and an instant sway to the tempo forms between us as if that’s the way it always was. Her arms slink overhead again and undulate before settling on my shoulders. My hands rest on her rounded hips and draw her close enough for our bodies to meld. Her hands run into my sweat-soaked hair as her face inches closer. Her mouth claims me and my lips part for her willingly, welcoming the deep and heated tongue tangle. My arms wrap around her tight to keep her from escaping this perfect embrace.
I don’t even know her but it feels like our souls were destined to connect. She belongs in my arms. I belong in hers.
She’s ripped away from me as I finish that thought. Her friend drags her through the surging masses towards the front door. Her eyelids lower and she touches her fingertips to her lips, as if imprinting the kiss to them. She looks up at me again and her lips spread into a smile, just for me, as her friend hauls her away.
The shock of having her torn out of my arms dissipates. There is no mistake. I want her. I want to know her. I want to know what else makes her smile. I want her body pressed against mine again. I want to hear her scream out in pleasure and feel her shudder around me.
Desire propels me forward, to the door. I use my arms to separate the throng impeding my pursuit. I feel a drink spill on my jeans and seep into my Chucks. I don’t care. I have to catch up to her.
I break through the edge of the dancing swell and bolt for the open door. I run down the front stairs scanning frantically. Party goers mill about the yard and my heart falls.
©Debi Smith, 2014