Sway 2

I know the exact moment you see her.

Perhaps I wouldn't have known but for the distinct change in your demeanor. Perhaps I shouldn't have known even then, but for some reason I do.

As far as I can tell you're infallible, undeterred. But for the breath of one person.

You excuse yourself from the floor, calmly urging me to dance with a random body on the packed dance floor and I pretend to do so as I watch you walk away.

I understand; I've been there before.

I smoothly maneuver my faceless dance partner to a better position, amused that I so easily keep you within my sight, even as a twinge of guilt rushes over me for not being able to let it be.

She's there, standing near you yet so far away it's almost painful to watch, and I'm not really surprised that she has no face. She's a plastic shell of tousled hair and artfully applied makeup, wobbling on shoes she'll never quite fill.

She looks uncomfortable, you look a bit smug, and the sight of it makes me smile because what may have been a moment shrouded in awkward animosity has fallen victim to general apathy. And there's no better revenge than cool indifference, feigned or otherwise.

She says something to you, her features haughty and even a bit spiteful. I tense in reaction, frowning at the sudden urge to see her plastic façade shattered all over the floor.

But then you smirk at her more directly and say something I can't quite make out from so far away. She looks shocked then a bit wounded, her nondescript features barely managing to convey an emotion beyond insipid condescension.

Then you're walking away from her and I'm following, my eyes intent on her as she stares at your back, her mouth slightly parted as if she wants to say something yet can't quite find the words. I glance away as she manages to snap her mouth shut.

I brush by her, and she by me, and the quick glance she spares me is blank and naïvely superior. I ignore it and walk in the direction you disappeared, my intentions becoming clearer with every sharp click of my heels. I'm stalking you; you're now my prey.

I find you at the end of a hallway, your hand resting against the wall, your head bent forward in obvious concentration. You're breathing heavily, your shoulders tense, your fingers digging into the wall with just a bit too much purpose. But you're in control and recovering quickly.

I walk up behind you, slipping a hand around you and easing my fingers between the buttons on your shirt to caress the warm, firm flesh of your chest. You start at the sudden contact yet never turn your head or pull away. You know it's me; it's always me.

I lean into you, pressing my breasts against your back as my other hand comes around and pulls your shirt out of your pants. Your stomach muscles contract, my nails scraping over you teasingly as I do my best to distract you from demons too old to take hold.

I press closer, one hand still rubbing your chest and the other sliding inside your pants to brush over your cock teasingly. Your flesh responds immediately, quickly thickening and lengthening and I feel a rush of warmth at my center that makes me squeeze my thighs together in anticipation.

I ease you back away from the wall and move in front of you, ducking under the arm still braced above you. There's a small counter running the length of the wall and I boost myself up on it, yanking my skirt up and pulling you into the spread of my legs.

You come willingly enough, but you still won't look at me and your free hand is still clenched into a fist at your side. I jerk you a bit closer, a rush of heat washing over me as your breath catches and your hand flexes. You're breathing is shallow, your jaw tense, your eyes bright and aware.

I ease away from you, tilt my head a bit, my teeth worrying my lip as I assess the situation.

Without warning I grab the front of your shirt, yanking the two sides apart, a thrill running through me as buttons go flying. Quickly, I hook a heeled foot around one of your legs, sending you off balance enough you fall forward against me, your other hand coming up so I'm boxed in on both sides.

I take the opportunity to run my tongue along your neck, my teeth earning a shudder of awareness from your aroused body. I pull back, glancing briefly at your face, a small smirk curving my lips at the hooded darkness of your eyes staring me full in the face, and I know your previous tenseness is starting to shift into something else. Something raw and needful.

I raise my face, my tongue teasing your upper lip then brushing against your teeth in invitation. You remain passive, yet your eyes never leave mine and your hands shift a bit closer, boxing me in more securely.

I let go of your shirt, moving one hand to your back, and the other to the back of your head. My fingers stroke your smooth skull, urging your head down, my lips insistent on yours, my soft growl of frustration fanning over you as you neither deny nor fully reciprocate.

I tighten my fingers on your head, luring you closer, my tongue becoming demanding and seeking, my teeth almost vicious. My hand on your back pulls you tighter against me, my hips now on the very edge of the counter and I rub my pulsing center against the hard ridge pressing against the front of your pants.

You groan softly into my mouth and I'm not sure if it's a groan of defeat or victory, but I don't care and I let myself take it as an invitation. I remove my hand from your back, reaching behind me and pulling one of your hands from the wall. You shift slightly, letting me do as I please, new tension coiling as I shift back and place your hand between my legs.

A loud noise behind you startles me and I pull back abruptly, panting and hot with your hand on my bare, wet flesh. The room is quite dim, the pulsing music almost overtaking the din of conversation, but I sit up straight and peek over your shoulder, not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed that no one's watching.

You're oblivious to our surroundings, calmly bringing your free hand down to cup the back of my head and pull my face back to yours. You come alive quickly, almost violently, your lips firm and unyielding, your tongue actively seeking and dueling with mine.

You adjust your hand on my head, your fingers tangling and tightening in my hair, the pressure almost painful. You tug sharply, turning my head and trailing your lips along my neck to my collarbone where you nip and suck on my aroused flesh.

Your other hand continues to stroke between my legs, your fingers rubbing and plunging rhythmically, and I moan, perhaps too loudly, but I'm too far gone to care. You raise your head and cover my lips with your own, swallowing the sounds of my pleasure as you rub my clit harder and pull my hair a bit more roughly.

Gasping into your mouth I relinquish my hold on you, my hands racing down your body to your zipper. I pull the tab down, reaching inside to stroke your erection, the feel of my hands making you ease back a fraction, allowing me better access. I pull back and meet your gaze questioningly, even though I know you won't stop me just as you know I won't stop you.

It's not even a dare because to dare you have to believe there's a chance someone won't do it and we're both well aware there's no chance of that here.

I ease your cock out of your pants, my hands stroking your length, pausing to rub circles along the tip. I stare down at it, my tongue running over my lips hungrily even though I know there isn't time for that now.

You move your hands to my ass, pulling me closer to you and I spread my legs wider and rub the head of your cock against my sopping entrance. You press forward, your tongue in my ear, your fingers digging into my flesh, and I align our bodies, leaning my torso back as I take you in.

You bury your face in my neck, your teeth sinking into my pulse point as you thrust into me, your curse of satisfaction almost branding me. I clutch at you, my heels falling to the floor and I hook my legs around your thighs, my hips bucking as much as the position allows.

I press my mouth against your shoulder, doing my best to muffle the moans and whimpers rushing from deep within me.

It's quick and almost brutal, your cock pounding in short, hard bursts, my throbbing channel already spasming and dripping. You curse gutturally once, twice – a third time in absolute culmination and almost immediately I feel you begin to relax against me.

You lean over me, one hand still on my ass, the other braced against the counter beneath me, and I sag against you, reveling in the unnatural stretch of my thighs, the feel of your softening length inside me, the uneven pant of your breath on my skin.

I sigh in self satisfaction, my hands stroking your naked back as my gaze flits over your shoulder nonchalantly. No one's paying us any heed, countless bodies lost in their own little worlds, countless faces no one will remember tomorrow.

A sudden flash of movement catches my eye and I squint slightly at the scorn radiating from the doorway. I do my best to ignore it, fully intent on looking right through it, but I can't help the small thrill of bittersweet triumph.

I allow my eyes to collide with plastic contempt and I instinctively pull you closer. My tongue snakes out to touch the skin of your neck and I allow myself a self-satisfied smirk before dismissing the exchange as confirmation that cool indifference may win the battle, but scorching proof wins the war.