Besides her way too low-cut top, she’s wearing a long, natural linen-colored skirt with flowers and some other lace or some shit decorating down the slit and around the hem. As she moves, her bare leg slips from the high-cut opening in the fabric.
Creamy, flawless skin shows through and I want to lick her from her toes all the way up until my mouth finds the sweet, wet heat of her cunt. My dick is pounding in time with the beat of my pulse.
I’ve never felt this sort of pleasure from looking at a woman. I’m ready to spill my cum in my pants and there’s no way I can hide my erection at this point. Let everyone look.
Let them talk.
And for whatever reason, I don’t give a shit.
She’s given me more pleasure in the last five seconds than I’ve ever experienced with any other woman. That missing something feels like it’s here. With her. Something besides my errant dick is growing huge and manic, ready to claim her for my own and drag her back to my cave.
What is going on, I’m not sure, but the tug in my gut is stronger than any logic my brain is trying to force feed me atthe moment. Barely able to control my own movements, I keep moving toward her.
Three steps more and I’m at the front edge of the crowd as they toss coins into hats and boxes surrounding the performance area.
Other dancers are there but they are clearly not the main show. Costumed men and women stand behind the dancers, playing instruments, but from what I can tell, all eyes are on her.
She spins again, her leg flashing out for a glimpse of perfect feet, dirty from the ground, and all I want is to cut her clothes off, take her home and sink her down in the the most lush bubble bath to bathe her for hours.
Her blue-brown eyes catch mine, glowing, lit light candles in the darkness and as she spins closer her light floral scent catches the last of my restraint and drags it from me, my balls drawing tight, and I’m on the edge of losing it standing right here in front of a hundred or more people.
As she smiles, I imagine her beneath me. I almost feel her skin against mine. A groan rumbles from my chest and I nearly double over, wondering if she can see the lust in my eyes.
Of course she can. She sees lust in men’s eyes all day every day.
The tempo of the music speeds and she is spinning again, her arms above her head, hair flying out along with her skirt, and I see the beads and colored, braided threads around her ankles.
As she moves away, my gaze follows and I see a few older men and women standing at the edge of the stage, assessing the crowd. They look more like overseers than entertainers, and something inside of me turns cold.
Two of them glance my way, then lean in and whisper to one another, nodding in some sort of agreement before the woman next to them turns and disappears behind the heavy curtains that arch around the back of the ground-level performance area.
The music crescendos and my twirling angel spins so fast she’s a blur. As the pace hits its height, then crashes, she drops to the dirt, skirt splaying out around her, head down and arms stretched out in front in a puff of dust as the other dancers end in the same position and the music stops.
The crowd explodes in applause, whistles and catcalls. I turn to stab dirty looks to a few of the men, and they must see the rage in my eyes because they stop and turn away.
Smart.
Many of the onlookers throw coins and bills into the basket there to accept the cash. As for me, my fingers twitch, my throat is dry and tight. A spring is coiled inside of me ready to release.
I want to give her more than money.
I want to give her everything.
Chapter Four
Kezia
Iheave a few deep breaths. The scent of the dirt just below my nose is familiar, yet this time the world feels different.
It’s as though the earth is new and the spinning in my head isn’t just from the manic twirling that ends my dance.
It’s because something in the eyes of the sheriff that stood in the crowd sent some odd electrical buzz through me when our gaze connected.
I silently count to fifty, then in perfect sync, I raise my head along with the other dancers and we line up, taking a bow as applause and whistles fill the open air. I glance back into the crowd and see his eyes, still trained on me, and my stomach flips.
Close-cropped deep-sandy-colored hair, perfectly pressed brown-and-beige uniform with a silver badge glinting in the sunlight on a chest thick and wide pulling at the fabric it covers. He’s holding an extra-large coffee in one hand, sipping it as Ipretend not to look, but how I wish I knew what his lips felt like sipping on me…
I’m confused, both because I’ve just never felt anything like this and second, I certainly have never felt anything like this for a person in law enforcement. In my world, they are the enemy, and both personal experience, and the stories I’ve been told since I was old enough to remember stories, tells me they are all corrupt. Trust no one outside of the family.
