Red.
He gives me an almost imperceptible nod and I inch forward. He tilts his chin down, the fire spinning by flashing wickedly across his sinister face, one corner of his mouth inching up. I feel a shiver work its way down my spine, a sudden urge to flee in the face of his eerie countenance.
Luke narrows his eyes at me and offers me the smallest shake of his head, as if he can sense the panic trying to well up within me. I take a deep breath to steel my nerves and his smile widens.
I can’t hold back any longer. My feet inch forward of their own accord. He looks so very satisfied as I am pulled into his orbit. Closer and closer.
Time feels like it slows. The cheering of the crowd fades away. The firelight drifts slowly across his face as the poi appears to spin slower, the whooshing past my ears dissolving into tiny separate sounds instead of one quick swoosh.
Every detail of his face comes into sharp focus. His smooth forehead. Platinum eyebrows. His strange yellow-green eyes, framed by thick lashes. They are white at the roots and flare to auburn at the tips.
My eyes follow down the harsh knife edge of his nose to his curled mustache. Finally, I find his lush lips, tipped up in his signature feline smile.
I see the red tip of his tongue sweep out along his bottom lip and I’m done for. I don’t remember closing the remaining gap between us or the first brush of my heaving chest against him. All I know is his searing hot mouth is on mine. His cinnamon flavor bursts to life on my tongue like it is the first flavor I have ever tasted.
There has never been a taste before his fiery cinnamon, and I never want another taste after. I don’t know which of us started this kiss, but I am so exceedingly thankful. I was absolutely starving for it. For him.
He bites down on my bottom lip, hard, and I taste the coppery tang of my blood. Red. It startles me into opening my eyes and I find him staring back at me. Then he sweeps his cinnamon tongue into my mouth and its scorch chases away the copper.
I feel consumed by the fire that is Luke. I’m worried all that will be left in his wake is the burnt husk of my body—nothing but an ashy shell. He consumes my oxygen like fuel, and I have to break the kiss as stars dance behind my eyes, breathless.
He never blinks.
I suck in lungfuls of air, and time abruptly returns to its normal pace. The firelight flickers across his face, his eyes completely black, just like in my dream in the stairwell.
“Turn around,” he commands darkly. I obey without hesitation. He steps forward and plasters himself against my back. He puts his lips next to my ear and says, “Dance with me.”
The heat radiating off his body feels like a sunburn, even through my clothes. This angle is thrilling and terrifying. Instead of staring into his eyes, I can see the flaming poi spinning in front of my own.
I keep my arms plastered to my sides as he brings his hands together and spins the poi in various configurations. In my periphery, I see the other woman dancing; her scythe cutting through the air. I can’t see beyond the stage, but I can still hear the crowd going as wild as my heart.
He pushes further into my body, and I can feel his hard length against my back. I’m a little shocked, but also thankful that I’m not the only one of us so affected by being part of this performance with its scorching fire kiss.
He nudges me forward, and like a dancer, I follow his lead. Before I know it, we are miraculously moving in unison, spinning in a circle while he expertly handles the fire poi. It seems as if we’ve been doing this for hours, but in reality, it must only be a few minutes.
“On your knees,” he rasps in my ear.
Gladly.
I fall to my knees, and he dances around to face me, his leather-covered bulge tauntingly in front of my mouth. Faced with his hard length straining against his pants, my mouth waters.
I’m just about to stretch forward and undo his pants when I remember I’m on stage in the middle of a show. Instead, I reach back into my addled brain and pull out some of my late-night fiction reading. I place my hands on top of my thighs, palms up, and slightly spread my legs, sitting back on my heels.
“Good fucking girl,” Luke growls out, looking down at me. I shiver and feel my pussy flood my panties. No one has ever called me that before, and although it sounded hot when I read about it, to hear that phrase roll out of Luke’s mouth, I’m just about ready to have my first public orgasm.
He glances down at me and repeats, “Don’t move.”
He steps forward just a bit, bringing his crotch even closer to my face. Tease. He brings his hands together above his head and spins the poi at lightning speed, putting the fire out. He throws them off the stage and snags the bottle out of the air that comes sailing toward him.
He reaches out and grabs my braided top knot with one hand while he squeezes fluid from the bottle into his mouth with the other. I can only watch him as he holds me by my hair, effectively immobilizing my head. He winks at me and then tilts his head back and shoots an enormous length of flame up and out like a damn dragon.
I marvel at how he breathes fire, but then I’m overwhelmed by the deafening sound of the house coming down around us. The lights dim on the stage, and I can see the audience now, standing and cheering.
The performers circle the stage and Luke helps me to my feet, leaning in and quickly licking my mouth, pulling away before I can even respond. I lick my lips and taste burnt smoky cinnamon. I will forever crave his unique flavor.
Next thing I know, both he and the beautiful redhead take my hands and raise them above our heads, and then the three of us bow. We spin and repeat the process several times, applause raining down on us. It’s a heady feeling.
I hardly did anything, yet I feel the adoration of the crowd, and it's intoxicating. They cheer and roar. The performers all wave as the people shuffle out, the show now over.
