Amber let her lips linger on the rim of her glass as her eyes surveyed the dimly lit room once more. Even under the cover of darkness, it was clear the now scantily clad Pussy Cat and the Naughty Pirate were enjoying themselves. Similar entanglements were happening here and there amidst candlelit corners and velvet curtain cloaked cabanas. The club smelled of alcohol, cologne and sex. If she hadn't smelled sex, she could've felt it on her skin, like the damp heat of a balmy summer night. She closed her eyes and let the rum slip slowly down her throat.
Someone brushed against her, startling her. A man dressed as Zorro, donned in a black mask and red cape, was pressing by, leading a sultry Cleopatra by the hand behind him. Amber watched them find their way over to a velvet chaise. Zorro motioned, cape in hand, for her to sit. She did as he asked, leaning her back against the cushion, semi-reclined, inviting him to sit beside her. He placed himself on the chaise, pressing close against her, and whispered something close to her ear. The whisper turned into rash of kisses upon Cleopatra's bronzed neck. Amber watch as his mouth snaked down to her collar bone and back up to her painted red mouth. With his eyes intently upon her, he traced her lips slowly with his tongue, and then slipped his tongue into her mouth. Zorro's hand moved to Cleopatra's thigh, and slowly ascended upward beneath her barely there golden dress. Amber felt her pulse throb between her own thighs as she watched them. Cleopatra's legs parted ever so slightly as her eyes closed. She threw her regally dressed head back, biting her bottom lip in silent passion. Zorro draped his arm over her, his cape now shielding them both from view. Amber gulped another drink and nervously shifted her eyes.
She had come alone that night. The two girlfriends she had planned to venture out with both had cancelled on her to be with their dates. She wasn't entirely put out. It was Halloween, after all, and like the jolly spirit people seemed to adopt around Christmas, people seemed to be considerably more mischievous and bold on All Hallows Eve. She figured finding a good time on her own would not be too difficult. Though, so far, it had been. She had anticipated the evening for days, but the evening was turning out to be anticlimactic for her -- rather ironic for this place in particular. No one in the room had caught her eye and she began to tire at averting her eyes from one heated embrace only to stumble upon another. The room was full of flashes of lips and tongues dancing from carnivorous looking mouths and snap shots of bodies grinding rhythmically in the strobe as if the entire club was one big orgy.
She could feel her skin was flush, her breathing quick and irregular from her arousal. Her head felt detached from her body. In her anxiousness, she seemed to have downed her cocktails a little faster than she was accustomed to. Swallowing the last of her drink, she turned in the direction of the bar, resolved to close out her tab and get some fresh air outside.
She let the club door close behind her, instantly dulling the heavy pulsing of the bass inside to a subdued thud. There was a pleasant coolness to the air, which caused her nipples to become instantly taught against the restriction of the black vinyl corset she was wearing. She took in the earthy scent of fallen leaves as she began to walk down a street lined with sleepy shop windows. Some were lit with the glowing smiles of jack-o-lanterns and orange holiday lights. It was a gorgeous night for Halloween.
Despite the chill, Amber felt the warmth of the alcohol color her cheeks. She turned toward the direction of what appeared to be the gate of a park. As she got closer, she began to make out the shapes of tombstones peeking up out of the low-lying fog. "To a bar alone, sure, but a graveyard on Halloween?" she thought to herself, while abruptly turning on her stiletto heel to walk back toward the street. At that moment, she saw a figure leaning against the fence of the cemetery. She could make out a leather jacket and a white shirt. A small fear began to rise from the pit of her stomach and she stepped too quickly from the sidewalk, catching her heel on the curb, causing her to fall to her knees on the pavement. Dazed and still a bit dizzy from the rum, she sat for a moment and grasped blindly next to her for her purse.
"Are you alright? Let me help you up." It was the figure in the leather jacket. He was holding out one hand for her to take and had her purse in the other.
"Um, yeah...I think so...Must've stepped wrong." She grasped his hand, pulling herself up and he handed over her purse. In the light of the street lamp, she could see his dark hair, slicked back on the sides and longer on the top, resting in a slight curl on his forehead. His eyes were dark like his hair. He gave her a dimpled smile and said, "Sure you're okay?"
She was staring at him - staring at his full-lipped mouth - at the tight stretch of his white shirt over his broad chest. She felt a pang of desire spark up like a little flame within her panties. She shook her head and stammered, "Y-Yes... Thank you." She went to take a step and her ankle gave way as pain shot to her knee.
"Looks like you may have sprained it. Where are you headed? I'd be happy to escort you."
"Oh no, it won't be necessary..." Amber blurted, attempting another step away, and coming close to another fall.
"I don't think you should put weight on your ankle just yet. Here, let me help you." With that, he slid his arm behind her back and eased her up, and began walking her back toward the direction of the cemetery.
"THAT way?" she said, tensing.
"There's a bench just over here where you can sit and rest for a bit." He smiled at her, his dark eyes glistening.
"I really think..."she murmured, glancing over her should in the direction of the street.
"I'll sit with you. You won't be alone." His smile was disarming. His mouth was sexy. She felt her face get hot and she glanced away.
The bench seemed a little deeper into the cemetery than she was comfortable with, but her intrigue with leather jacket guy was winning over her fear. Eventually, they arrived at the wrought iron bench, nestled near a large mausoleum wall. He set her gently down upon it and then sat facing her.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing out alone on All Hallows Eve?" An overused line, but coming from him, she didn't mind. However, Amber reminded herself she didn't know him from a psycho killer.
"I'm meeting up with some friends at the bar up there. I can't be too much longer or they'll worry."
"When you're ready, I'll help you walk there."
