Dancing: Kifo Island Project for #StaD May 31
Come let me tell you a Story A Day, all May long…
In June and July, I’m drafting two new Kifo Island novels. I know something about 5 of the 6 point of view characters, and I’ve got a sketchy idea of the plots – but I need to learn more about these people and their stories.
I’ll follow A Month of Writing Prompts 2016. I’ll play while moving through my planning efforts. Some of these stories may become part of the eventual novels, but my goal is to invite these characters to show me how their lives fit together to make a novel.
It’s now the final day of the challenge, – so off we go to May 31 – that was yesterday, which means I’m officially caught up once this posts. The prompt? “Go BIG!” – this time, with dancing!
Warning: Rated R for adult themes. Probably NSFW.
She watched him there on the stage, watched his erection pressing hard against his fly, and wondered if he knew that his hips were thrusting forward and back just slightly, but in a lovely rhythm that made her feel like dancing, like pulling him in close, rubbing and teasing against him, feeling the rush of wind as they moved together, became attuned to one another, breathed together…
She crossed her legs over the ache between, that pulsed and spoke of another kind of dancing, one more intimate, more private, needing no music.
He wound down, and she laughed for him, because he was way better than this place. He deserved a proper audience, dozens of adoring young women all salivating over that bulge that teased her, to have his choice of partners for any kind of dancing he wanted to do.
She was the only woman here.
And she wanted to dance.
She applauded him, then came to the stage, waiting there by the side stair. She didn’t want him to leave, or to be unsure that she wanted him.
“You laughed,” he said, and his eyes seemed to caress her, head to toe and back again. He stood there uncertainly, and shuffled his feet.
She climbed up to him, took his hand without saying a word, and led him down the stage stair and out of the squalid little club, and, once they were outside in the steaming night, she led him along the boardwalk, and, shyly, his arm circled her waist, pulling her in close.
Neither of them spoke. No with words, anyway.
Their bodies spoke eloquently to each other, hips swaying in, then away, dancing…
A deep pulse from the distance, and they looked at one another and Yvette kicked off her heels, and carried them, and they held hands and ran across the sand, because the moon was full over the incoming tide, and it was a faster way to reach the place where the music came from.
Into a night club, the salsa beat pounding through them like the waves, the floor thick in sand, so it was like the beach contained in a room, and they whirled and spun and it drove her a little mad when she wanted to be grinding in against him, but then there was something in his arms that said that he wanted it, too, and that they were dancing another kind of dance, one that was part a hunt.
Finally, finally, their hips crashed in together, just for an instant.
An instant that left her wanting more, so much more. She was aware of her skin, the sweat slipping along her spine and into the small of her back, and her thighs were wet with wanting, while that hard tempting bulge pressed in for just a second, then away, again and again, and she moved her body, swaying like sea grass in the wind, and teased him, loving the moan that parted his lips, the way his eyes sparkled, pupils wide in the dark.
Finally, finally, they were grinding and circling, and Yvette knew it was the moment, the moment that would invite, tempt, and promise –
She thrust her hips against him, clawed her way up to him, and dragged him in for a kiss, thrusting her tongue boldly into his mouth, tasting him, tasting his desire, the promise of sex, of a man.
He gave himself to her, took nothing she didn’t offer, but gave her all she wanted of him.
Then, before the beautiful dance could be shattered by reality, Yvette turned and ran off alone.