She sat on the stool, her hand purse on the dark wooden counter. The barman put her tequila shot in front of her before she even got time to ask for it, and she reached out for the salt shaker nonchalantly.
She didn’t want to be there.
She smiled to the bartender anyway, waving her glass his way before licking the salt on her wrist and downing the liquor. She was sucking on her lemon wedge, when she felt his hand on her shoulder.
She didn’t even mind turning around to check if it was, in fact, him. She just knew.
I don’t want to dance…
She could feel his smirk. She knew him all too well. A draft of his sickening perfume slightly preceeded him, as he leaned over her bare shoulder. His soft, warm breath tickled her skin.
Of course you want to, darling.
She shivered. Why had she even dared stopping by again tonight? She knew he’d be there waiting. Not necessarily for her, but waiting. If at least she felt special when he turned around her like a vulture. But she knew if she hadn’t come, it just would have been another one, he would have tried to seduce.
She raised her empty glass and the bartender glided her way with the bottle, to fill it up. Before she reached for her wallet, his hand pushed a twenty dollars bill on the counter.
This one is on me.
Not glancing his way just yet, she picked another piece of lemon from the little glass bowl. Taking place on the stool next to hers, he offered one of his poisonous smiles.
Not waiting for an answer, he delicately wrapped his fingers around her free wrist and lifted it to his lips. Pressing them on her pale skin, he let his tongue run slowly, and she felt an annoying chill down her spine.
She could have pulled her arm away. Easily. But she was drawn to him, even though she hated to admit it. Mechanically, she licked the salt he had sprinkled on her wrist, drank the tequila and bit the lemon again.
This drink fitted them so very perfectly. The suave, salty taste of the communion of their skin… The warm feeling of his hand on her throat… and then, the bitterness he never failed to leave, behind him, like a foul after-taste in her mouth.
Before she even noticed it, he had led her to the center of the dance floor. She wanted to run back to the bar, but she knew she was doomed. As soon as she could feel the wood under her heels, and his firm yet delicate grip on her arm, there was no stepping back. A tango… She couldn’t resist tango.
He knew it damn well.
Holding her tightly against him, he stared down her soul, like he had done so many times before. She knew the steps, but she loved how he led her with authority. Once again, she felt the guilty pleasure of surrendering in his arms.
Their bodies moved so perfectly well together that their dancing was nearly obscene. Every now and then, taking a pause, he let his curly lips brush against the skin of her neck, making her sigh back before giving her a swift twirl, almost allowing her back to her senses…
They danced, and danced. And she found herself hoping the song would never come to an end. She closed her eyes and let him dance her in the dark. Her head was spinning, she felt her heart beating to the tempo.
And when the music died…
She opened her eyes, and noticed she was back at the bar… Alone. The bartender leaned her way, a sorry look on his face. He tipped the bottle, fulled her shooter, and pushed the shaker her way.
She knew she’d come back. The thrill was always worth the fall, as pathetic as it seemed.