Note: I always listened to something while I wrote this story. That's not to say that songs were my inspiration, since Riddick and Vin were my inspiration, but music generally makes reading more enjoyable if it is suitable for the words. For you, as the reader, I would suggest some Aerosmith ("Outta Your Head", "Taste of India", "Luv Lies") to start, then Elton John (particularly songs from The Captain & The Kid, such as "I Must Have Lost It On The Wind"). LeAnn Rimes ("Break Me Down", "Satisfied"), Celine Dion ("In His Touch", "I Know What Love Is"). Enjoy :)
PS: I send my thanks to all of you who reviewed the first chapter. You have no idea how much I appreciate your comments!
Her leg swung around the cool aluminum pole, and she let her torso ever so slowly bend backwards. Her hand fingered a baton as she swung herself around the pole in a neat motion, propping herself on the baton as she let go of the pole. She raised her leg up high gymnastics style and then gracefully let it drop back down as the music came to an end. Her audience cheered and hooted and she bent down in a mock bow, taking her time to look around the room, as she always did, trying to figure out if she'd have any private clients tonight. Belly dances were her specialty and they all knew it.
When her eyes recognized the face of the man with the shined eyes, she held his gaze. She was surprised to see him there, and a little bit alarmed. However, she also felt strangely pleased and satisfied to see him sitting there, knowing that he had seen her entire show. She never took her eyes off him as she backed away from the stage, giving him an over the shoulder look when she turned around and sashayed herself away from view. The audience cheered louder and she walked back to the dressing room with a smile on her face.
Ten minutes later, her guard knocked on her door. "You've got a private," he said through the slit door. Her smile widened; she was doing well.
The smile was no longer genuine when she entered one of the rooms reserved for private audiences; she'd half expected to find Riddick sitting on the chair in the middle of the table. She hoped her disappointed didn't show. She felt a little bit of comfort when she saw that the man sitting in the chair was handsome, with his sandy blond hair cut in a Mohawk and his dark eyes fixed seductively on her face.
"One rule," she said as she dimmed the lights. "Only I do the touching."
The guy shrugged. "Fine by me."
Francesca gave him the show he had paid for, and by the time she walked back to her dressing room, small beads of sweat rolled over her temples.
Later, she waved at her guard as she left the club. Pulling her coat more tightly around herself, she fished in her pockets for some cigarettes. Her mind suddenly drifted back to the money Riddick had left on the table. Why had he done that? Did she seem so pathetic to him that he'd felt the need to leave her money, as if she was a charity case? Well, now he would know exactly what she was and how she earned her money and what was more he would see that she didn't need his help.
She heard footsteps behind her, and she spun around, seeing the dark silhouette of a man. He was tall, and obviously well built. At first she thought he was Riddick, and the knots in her stomach unclenched a little bit. Then she heard other footsteps. She turned back around and she saw that there was another, smaller man.
The larger man approached, and she realized that it wasn't Riddick. She began to panic and thought about trying to run.
"Empty your pockets, sweetheart," the leaner man said as he too stepped closer.
Francesca shook her head, thinking of the wad of cash in her pockets. It was her money and she had worked hard for it.
"Give me your money and we won't hurt you," the bigger man said, impossibly close to her.
Francesca shook her head again, feeling as if her legs were made of lead.
Someone grabbed her by her coat, and she closed her eyes, too horrified to look at who it was.
"This one's stubborn," the smaller man said.
The bigger man chuckled, and Francesca realized he was the one holding her. He threw her against the wall and pinned her there.
"Come on," he said to the smaller man, who approached and began to search her pockets.
Francesca tried to struggle, but it was to no use. "Hold steady," someone ordered.
"Aha, here it is." The small man held out her cash, and Francesca tried again to free herself from the other man's grasp. She managed to kick him, and he growled; he pinned her to the wall again, this time using more force.
She closed her eyes again as she saw his hand go up in the air, expecting it to collide with her face. It didn't; suddenly he let go of her.
"Motherfucker," the small man cursed as someone held a hand over his throat, pinning him to the ground.
The bigger man launched himself at the attacker, and Francesca saw him suddenly collapse without having heard the sound of a punch or of a gunshot. After the man collapsed completely, she saw that his throat had been cut.
The smaller man had taken off running as fast as he could as the attacker momentarily let go of him. However, the attacker caught up with him and managed to hurl him against a wall. Francesca saw the glint of a blade, and then the man crumpled on the pavement, writhing and screaming in pain.
Francesca ran up to the attacker, and she saw that he was holding a wad of cash in his other hand. He turned around and she gasped when she saw his bright eyes. She was close to him, but neither said a word.
He handed her the cash, and she took it reluctantly.
"Want to come up?" she eventually said, wondering how long they would stand in the deserted street with a bloody corpse lying at their feet.
He nodded and they walked away. She noticed that he was no longer wearing her brother's clothes. He had on jet black cargo pants and a wife beater; his signature look, it seemed.
She led him into her apartment, which she had cleaned before work. There were no more clothes on the floor, and the food cans had disappeared down the garbage chute. She hadn't touched the cash he had left her on the table, but the fridge was moderately stocked with drinks and food.
She saw him take in the few changes; when he eventually turned to look at her, she couldn't read the expression on his face.
"Beer?"
He nodded, and sat himself down on the couch. She brought the beers, and sipped quietly as she settled on an old lazy-chair. The room was dark except for three candles she'd lit in the middle of the coffee table. She curled her legs under her as her eyes scanned the room; inevitably, they landed on him. For the first time since she'd met him she began to wonder who he was, what he did, why he didn't go to a hotel… She sighed and set down her beer.
"You were at the club today," she said.
He nodded.
Francesca nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on him, taking her time as she studied him. He looked like he was worked well, like a statue, and the sculptor had paid great attention to every single part of him. Francesca as she thought of what she'd told him the previous day, in the bathroom. He was more than just a sight; he was something akin to a marvel.
"I'm gonna go take a shower," she said in a small voice and almost bolted out of the room, as if she was trying to escape her thoughts.
The warm water felt good against her skin as it washed away the traces of sweat and dirt she had accumulated from the dances. She didn't hear the bathroom door open and shut. She only felt a pair of strong hands as they touched her back, and she whirled around to glare at Riddick.
"What are you doing here?" she almost shrieked.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked and put his hands on her waist, stepping under the shower. He was completely drenched by the time he pulled her close to him and pressed his nose to her shoulder.
She put her hands on his wet chest and pushed him back. "No," she said with determination.
He stopped his hands from traveling up her back to her neck, and an eyebrow arched up gracefully.
"No," she said again and pushed him further away. His hands left her sides, and she stared at him for a moment.
She hesitated, unable to take her eyes off of him."Now look what you've done, you're all wet," she eventually said. She would've clicked her tongue if she could have made it work properly.
She paused, then tugged at his shirt. "You need to get these off you, and put them in the drier. She began to pull up the shirt, and he helped her get it off the rest of the way. Then she undid his pants, painfully aware of how close her hands were to him. The pants fell to his ankles once she undid them completely. She noticed that he was squinting a little, so she reached to the switch, and dimmed the lights.
He was quiet as she took his hand and squirted some sweet smelling shower gel on it. She then turned around and pulled her hair away from her back. "Wash," she instructed.
He didn't say anything as his hands went to work. Once he was done leathering her back she turned around and handed him more gel. He worked well, slowly massaging her skin, touching her everywhere; her neck, her collarbone, her stomach, her breasts. She bit her lip as he touched her. He raised one of her legs, and she leaned against the cold tiles, gasping at their surprising coolness against her warmed skin. He let his hands travel over the length of her leg, attending to every inch of her skin. He repeated the movements on her other leg, and she almost moaned in anticipation when his hands got impossibly slow to her most sensitive areas.
He was done too soon, and it was her turn to touch him. She smiled a sheepish grin, and set to work. His broad back took some time; her hands seemed too small as they traveled over his physique. The expanse of his shoulders felt glorious under her touch and she almost sighed. She turned him around and again she let her hands take on their own will. She basked in the way he felt as she touched him; hard yet incredibly smooth. She noticed that his bandages were off and the cut was healing nicely.
Once they were both rinsed she got out from under the water and fetched them both towels. He wrapped his around his waist and took her own away from her hands, drying her off himself. She smiled and raised herself up on her tiptoes once he was done. "Thanks," she said and kissed him on the cheek.
She walked away from the bathroom with the towel swung over her shoulders, aware of the fact that it was now pointless to try and cover herself. She shook her head slightly as she rummaged through her closet, opting to put on one of her brother's oversized white shirts. "What the hell are you doing?" she whispered to herself as she put it on and went past the living room and into the kitchen.
She found him there, peering in the fridge, with the towel still wrapped around his middle.
"You can take some of my brother's clothes if you want," she said and reached past him for a beer. Their bodies touched from the briefest second, and she felt her nipples become taut.
"I'm good." he said, and took a beer for himself. "So, wanna explain to me what that was, in the shower?"
She raised an eyebrow. "We took a shower. That's all."
She saw his eyes rest briefly on her breasts, and she knew what he was looking at.
"Tell me something, Riddick, do I turn you on?" she took another swig from her beer, looking as casual as if they were talking about the weather.
"Do you want to check?"
She put her beer down on a counter and walked towards him. She stood close to him as she unwrapped his towel, and found nothing alarming.
"Satisfied?"
She snorted as she wrapped the towel back around him. "As if you could."
His laughter roared from deep within his chest, and he didn't look the least bit offended.
She took her unfinished beer in her hand and walked past him, towards the living room. She looked in dismay at her other unfinished beer and wished she had something close by to toss it in. She turned on the TV, and swung her legs over the arm of the lazy-chair and put her arm behind her head, making herself comfortable.
He followed her into the room and settled himself on the couch.
She closed her eyes as exhaustion and sleep caught up with her. When she opened them again she was in her bed, and Riddick was on top of her, burying himself inside of her. She gasped and held onto his shoulders as he thrust and thrust, bringing her closer to her climax. Something buzzed, and she opened her eyes again. She was back on the lazy-chair, and when she looked over to the couch, Riddick was still there.
"You fell asleep," he said. "Bad dream?"
"Nightmare," she whispered, wondering if she had said anything.
"You said my name," he said.
"Is that good or bad?"
"Well…" his voice trailed off, and her cheeks colored. She got up from the chair.
"Night," she muttered and went into her room, getting into bed and pulling the covers over herself.
She heard the tv switch off, and then footsteps. They halted by her open door, and he knocked softly.
"Can we talk?"
She nodded, knowing he saw her in the dark.
She sat up on her elbows, and padded an empty space on her bed. "Come in."
He did, and when he sat down the bed dipped with his weight.
"I killed those men tonight," he said, and she nodded again.
"I know."
"I'm not…" she put a finger to his lips.
"I don't need to know what you are and what you're not. In my house you're Riddick, just Riddick, got it?"
He looked at her, and she saw that he understood.
Then he bent down slowly, as if he was giving her time to push him away. He pressed his mouth to hers, and she let him in without a moment's hesitation. Sparks went up inside of her and she put her had on the back of his neck and pulled him closer.
"You smell like me," she muttered when they parted for breath.
He kissed her again, and she felt urgency in his kiss which she didn't quite understand. He gently pushed her on the pillows. She ended the kiss and reached for his waist, unwrapping the towel.
He looked into her eyes as if he was asking her permission. She nodded slowly, and he pushed the covers away from her. He moved closer to her, and pushed the oversized shirt up over her belly. She arched her back, giving him an open invitation.
He bent down to kiss her again, and she anchored herself with her arms around his neck, expecting him. He went into her slowly. His pace increased steadily, their breathing becoming more uneven. His name escaped her lips as he buried himself into her all the way once, twice. She screamed his name when he sent a wave of acute pleasure rippling through her body, and he bit her neck as his own climax came soon after.
He rolled off of her and she gasped for air, taking in gulps of it as fast as possible. Soon, sleep overtook her. By the time he took her in his arms, she was fast sleep; only then was he able to fall asleep.