I moved into the narrow isle and prevented her passage. She was cornered. I stepped closer, watching.
Desiree glowed. Light crackled about her like a campfire in July. The effect was hypnotic and I stared, my mind empty save for the rising flames. I became lost, unaware of my actions, as smoke hazed my reason.
“Excuse me.” She said, trying to step past.
I didn’t move. The must of the basement was driven from around us, replaced by the cinnamon of her perfume. I gulped a deep breath and held it, allowing the spice to set fire to me. It felt as if I had swallowed napalm and brandy.
I moved my hand to her hip and she didn’t step away. Her body was lean and I could feel muscles tighten beneath the fabric of her short skirt. Did she welcome my touch? Was she hoping for more? A smoldering thought in the base of my skull assured me that she did. The reasoning was strong and difficult to ignore.
“I’d like to get through.” She looked towards my face, as if measuring my interest and intent.
Her voice echoed about me; the words, lost and meaningless, served as a siren. Each intonation drew me closer, heedless of the dangers that might be laying in wait. I marveled at the sultry tones that reached my ears and repeated the melody in my mind.
Her lips were painted crimson against a powdered face. They appeared to be floating apart from her body, moving in a slow spinning dance. I considered them. Moisture from her tongue glistened at the corners; honey on fruit. I wanted to taste them, to claim them as my own. The urge grew within me until I yielded to it, leaning down towards fulfillment.
Gleaming black strands of her hair, the color of coal at midnight, fell across her brow and over slender shoulders. They matched the eyes that blinked wider as my face drew near. I could hear her breath ragged and short, each exhalation steaming through my pores.
She retreated, avoiding my advance, her foot stumbling on the clutter scattered about the floor. I moved my hand to the small of her back, catching the hind of her neck with the other and leaned her against the shelves. Our bodies touched as she struggled to regain her balance in my arms.
“Wha-? No, I can’t.” She spoke in a hoarse whisper, conspiratorially low. She brushed her fingers across my cheek and pushed me away. “Not here.”
Her flesh was hot. A charring fever that caused my muscles to weaken and my blood to run thin. It held a promise hidden in a molten future. I pivoted from her, touching my singed features as she pressed her body past mine.
She faced me, red heat swirling about her, a piquant expression accenting flaming eyes. “Later.” She smiled and turned away.
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