by Valentina Bonnaire
(09/12/07)
Sabrine felt his presence between her thighs long before she ever saw him. How could she know the depths they'd travel together eventually? Or the place he would take her tonight? She didn't. It's just that between her thighs was some kind of longing for a man like him, and the whispery sea-tongued caresses he was going to invoke up her interior and kiss down her posterior in long arcing sweeps that made her flesh begin to prickle and tingle with an already opening longing, opening her thighs in anticipation even as she entered the dark and steamy nightclub.
Each movement of her legs swinging, her hips gliding forward, her eyelids fluttering, seemed to moisten Sabrine more until the
damp vortex between her thighs was trembling itself open like a little mouth, like a little voice saying please,
please, please there is something...
She stood, thighs slightly parted, with the crowd of people she had come with -- dear old friends who seemed preoccupied
with telling ancient tales she'd heard before, and she just didn't care, she didn't care at all when the first man came
up to her and asked her to dance. She lowered her eyes under her wide-brimmed hat and shook her head slightly indicating no,
and pressed closer to the man she'd come with.
There was something in the air that evening, in the atmosphere of the room, and the smoke, and the attitudes of the men
themselves that almost seemed to be tribal, as if they were hunters on a quest for something ancient and primeval.
They elbowed each other, jostling for a position, and many of them stared at Sabrine in her sleek black capris
and little pink alligator sandals and her black camisole. There was something about her that drew them, one by one,
closer and closer, and she felt their eyes on her like savages ready to take something apart. She pressed closer
again into her escort in an effort to ward another one of them off, but Thomas hadn't even noticed, except that he laid
a protective hand at her shoulder as if to say: "This one is mine, alone," to all of the interlopers.
One of the men had managed to move very close to her and was asking her in a quiet voice,
"Do you speak English?" and she'd replied, "Non, je ne parle pas Anglais" just to make him go away and
stop looking at her with those searching glittering eyes that tried to find their way up under the brim of her hat like some kind of spy.
The music got louder and denser, thickening the evening with a dark sweaty intensity and the taste of sex was in the club,
hanging like some kind of fragrant afterthought that had arrived on a trembling wing from out of nowhere,
and was now permeating the very atmosphere itself.
"I am going dance with you tonight, sooner or later," said his deep voice in a low rumble at her ear.
That voice had some kind of tone about it that she knew or remembered,
and it sent something boomeranging down in a ripple that spread all over her skin like a sigh shivering in a
dark wind up an alley in a strange landscape where one never goes but actually longs to.
"I want to see your thighs spread completely open, on red leatherette. I've been thinking about that since I first saw you tonight,"
the voice continued in a whisper at her left ear. She inclined herself toward it slightly, pulling away from the group of people she was with.
They were all engrossed anyway with so much conversation about nothing, really, that no one noticed when her hips quivered
a little as his hand encircled her upper arm and pressed there ever so slightly, as if to imbed a sort of meaning
deeply into the surface of her skin.
"You'd like that wouldn't you?"
Sabrine didn't say anything at all. Her mind saw a thousand images begin to play as his fingers curled themselves even more
tightly about her arm, pressing, pressing, and then releasing slightly. She saw herself letting him take her away from this dull
familiar menagerie, this dull conversation, away, away, and into a room called Red where she'd never quite gone before, exactly.
"Do you know how red leatherette is going feel against your naked thighs?" he whispered. "I want to watch you writhe against it, because I'm going to fuck you with my eyes alone."
Sabrine stiffened inside of herself silently. The man's hand pulled her further away from her companions.
It was only a matter of inches, and yet some kind of vast chasm had opened and she was falling, falling toward the sound of
his voice and listing her body toward him while at the same time trying to pull away slightly.
The pressure at her arm increased a little, and she swallowed, tightly, and became aware of just how dry her mouth was.
Between her legs the heat flushed intensely into some kind of torrential monsoon
and she felt like she might swoon back into him just so she could breathe normally for a moment. She was so wet suddenly,
as if his voice had drawn it from her, silkily, in slick warm strands that were compiling themselves into pooling softness in the folds of her capris.
"You're dripping now, aren't you?" he whispered, and his tongue tip raced quickly across just the tiniest place
at her shoulder as if by mistake, like some kind of violation against her skin boundary. Sabrine felt the small hot flickering
and she trembled as his fingers flexed and released her upper arm slowly and delicately. Her nipples jutted
against her camisole like small hard pearls, and she stopped breathing again entirely for a second and froze.
"Breathe."
"Clench for me there, like this," he said, as his fingertips increased their pressure at her arm, gently flexing
and releasing in an undulating movement that felt like something undersea opening and closing and rippling against her skin.
Sabrine's lips parted slightly and her breath deepened into his pulsing caress. They moved in rhythm together, as if inside a vortex
in the middle of a room full of people, and no one saw it, nobody knew how her thighs were trembling and his fingers were squeezing
as she flexed and clenched herself inside over and over imagining he was fucking her on red leatherette,
and all her silken fluids were bathing the black fabric of her capris and she was going to come, she was going to
come at just the pressure of his fingertips against her arm, undulating, and she could smell him, she could smell his cologne
all around her in waves on the air, and she had to contain it because it would be impossible to let out a sound as she was only
inches from her companions and they were all laughing and drinking and carrying on and what if they, what if they...
She saw herself floating in the middle of his vacant room, lying naked from the waist down on his red leatherette
ottoman with her thighs spread wide apart and his breath coming hot against her labia and he was fucking her with his
eyes and she was clenching and clenching over and over again as she moved herself in rhythm to his fingertips squeezing
her arm and she was sobbing with it, screaming with it, inside the middle of the dark nightclub and nobody ever heard the
tiny sound slip out of her as she came up against him trembling into his tensing fingertips, her thighs clamping
trying to hold it back but it surged over her in waves that were silent tsunamis and he wouldn't let go, he wouldn't let go
of her arm, and it was all involuntary the way that she felt swept away by the sea inside his whispers, the octopus
of his fingers circling her upper arm.
"I said I was going to dance with you tonight, didn't I?" he said quietly. "I wanted to fuck you with my eyes the minute I saw you come
in and now I have, if only in your mind. On my warm red leatherette ottoman."
"Haven't I?" he whispered, finally releasing her arm as quietly as he had taken it in the darkness. Sabrine stood trembling as the aftershocks passed through her one after another after another.
Thomas turned suddenly towards her and asked whether she was all right.
She looks so flushed, maybe it was the parade today or something. Perhaps we should all go now.
"Shall we?" he asked her, never realizing for one moment what had just transpired.
"Yes darling, let's," she whispered as Thomas took her arm and the entire group of them left the nightclub,
ensemble, and swept out into the starlit sultry evening air of summer solstice in a small town somewhere at the edge of the
sea in a place untouched by time, where the women never look back. But Sabrine did, glancing over her shoulder at him
as she slid away into the evening, a dreamlike smile secretly playing about her lips.
