He had been sitting alone, in the semi-darkness for a while, when she pushed the door opened. He felt her presence, but didn’t aknowledge it, keeping his eyes on the cheap flooring of the room.
The old man had been reflecting for a while, now. His tired worked out fingers entangled together, he might have looked like praying, but he was no fool. If God hadn’t approved of his choices by now, praying wouldn’t be enough to save his soul.
She kept her distance but engaged in some lascivious dancing, ruffling the skirt of her vaporous dress on her moon-white thighs. In a bad movie, a sexy song would have led her slow twirling, bringing her closer and closer to him, but the only sound breaking the silence of the room was the slow paced breathing of her prey.
His eyes now shut, he wondered if he should feel any pinch of guilt. He didn’t, really, but he was under the impression he should be somewhat repentant. He hadn’t been the best of friends, nor the best father and certainly not the best husband and lover. But he wasn’t a bad man, per say.
Or at least he hoped not.
Lost in his thoughts, she had moved close enough for the silk to brush against his legs and his arms. She swayed, almost floating around, her hips ticking left and right with the precision of a clock hand. Pulling on her crow-black shawl, revealing her plump cleavage though he wasn’t looking, just yet, her perfume diffused in the still air.
He knew that scent… He knew it well. Deep, sweet and sour, inviting and dangerous. She smelled of fading lilac, with a musky twist to it. She smelled of late nights of panting lust, of forbidden pleasures savored on crimson velvet. Her flawless skin was a carnal invitation to give into sin without ever looking back.
He hadn’t always been perfect, but he had never crossed that line. Running his knotty hand on his face, he finally peeked at her, as she leaned over his lap, exposing her round and barely covered breasts. She smiled, her teeth shining in the dim light of the room.
You sure make it look good, Honey!
His voice, though absolutely calm, echoed on the walls. The words bounced around on the walls, deep soothing waves, as if he had thrown a pellet in the silence.
She sensually spun, offering her bare back to his inexpressive sight. Her gown was open down to the very frontier of her lower back, and he could easily imagine the feeling of his worn out fingertips on her silky skin…
Against his good will, he shivered as she sat on his lap. Light as a feather, her firm yet invitingly soft bum rubbing on his bony legs, she bent and arched her back, letting her black curls brush on his chest.
She was good. He pondered some more, although his thoughts were hard to gather back together, now. Wouldn’t it be a shame to give in, after all his struggles to resist? Running a hand up her thigh, he enjoyed her smoothness, until he noticed the inking on her hip.
666, the number of the beast. The discreet tribal tattoo brought him back to his senses, like a slap in the face.
Thanks, but no thanks, Sugar!
He threw his head back, and just as she turned to steal a kiss from his dry, wrinkled lips, her cold pout missed his last breath by a second.
He hadn’t been an angel, but he wouldn’t follow her to Hell.