Calla
Gathering all of my hair and draping it over one shoulder, I push my hips back into Blake’s, feeling his grip tighten around my waist.
The crowd ebbs and flows in a continual wave; moving with the beat of the soundtrack, disappearing, only to reappear, with more alcohol.
I’m pleasantly buzzed but not plastered. I’m aware of my surroundings and the very attractive man dancing behind me.
Although, I don’t think Blake is much of a dancer, not if the way his feet are planted to the floor, unmoving, have anything to say. But that’s fine. I can dance enough for the both of us. I have the dance classes I attend once a week, held by a stunning woman named Giselle, to thank for that.
I’ll have to give her my thanks at the end of my next dance class.
Lacing my fingers through Blake’s, while trying not to stare too hard at the size difference of our hands, I move them down from my waist to my hips. My skin flushes warm at his masculine touch. It’s been a while since I’ve been this close to a man and my god does it feel good.
Addictive, even.
Releasing the tension from my hips, I grind backwards, relishing in the solidness of Blake’s toned body. My nipples bead against the thin, polyester material of my princess costume when I graze a slight bulge, Blake’s immediate reaction of pulling me even closer to him, until there’s not a sliver of space left, only serving to heighten my arousal. Raising my arms in the air, I sing along to the tune, my terrible singing voice quickly swallowed up by the loud beat and the other voices mouthing too.
I feel alive.
I feelfree.
And I fucking love it.
Bending my elbow, I wrap my left arm behind Blake’s neck. This close, I can smell the scent of his aftershave; something spicy and expensive smelling, I want to bathe in. It’s a much more edible scent than yeasty hops and the usual men’s body spray they’ve been using since school. Blake relaxes a little more under my touch, draping his front over my back, following the movement of my hips with his own.
Against the curve of my arse, I can feel him, half hard.
A delighted shiver runs through me at the very knowledge.
I dance until I’m sweaty, the fine hairs at the nape of my neck, and around my hairline, damp and sticking to my skin. With a dollop of adrenaline, the tiniest teaspoon of alcohol and a cupful of arousal, running through my veins, I spin around to face Blake.
“Still keeping up?” I ask on a giggle, projecting my voice to be heard.
He narrows his pretty green eyes at me with a smirk. The twin hands wrapped around my hips squeeze, once. A warning of some sort.
Well, two can play at that game.
Creating a little bit of space for myself, I raise my arms high in the air, closing my eyes and allowing the music to flow through me. Blake’s eyes burn hot against my exposed skin, rippling over my chest, along my arms, down the length of my bare legs. I dance like nobody is watching, moving wildly, inhibited, free, brushing off the weight of their stares.
The only person I want watching me is Blake.
For a heartbeat, I wonder if he’ll be embarrassed to be seen with me.
I’ve had that said to me one too many times; the insult searing its way past the protective barrier of my skin, aiming right for the heart.
So much so, sometimes… alright –mostof the time – I’m sure it must be true.
I’m too much.
I’m too flighty.
I’m too wild and out there anddifferent.
Non-fucking-conformative.
And people don’t like it. Mainly, I think, because it makes them uncomfortable.
So, I’ve learnt to tone it down; tonemyselfdown. To become quieter and smaller and more appeasing. But there’s something about tonight – something I can’t quite put my finger on – that has me dropping my mask, letting down my guard for the real version of myself to peek through.
