The bar is dark and smoke-filled but under the lights of the dance floor a goddess moves, enchanting the throng surrounding her, men and women alike. Her hips cast a spell over the club until there is only the thick beat and her body, moving in synchronicity. People push closer, drawn to her power, but she keeps them at bay, eyes warning signs. Slicking hair off her sweat shiny neck with one hand, the other stretches in your direction, beckoning. Powerless against the magnetic pull of her eyes, you move until you feel the beat pulsing through you and you are lost in her body, moving against you, around you, weaving an intricate web into your skin. And you are happy to be her prey.
Your hands move to her hips, holding her against you. She allows herself to be stilled, maintaining her rhythmic motion, shifting beneath your palms. They grasp instinctively, kneading the flesh, pulling her tighter to your body, her back to your front. Your hands slide across the smooth expanse of her stomach; one works its way to lie against her skin. Her muscles twist, tightening with each roll of her hips. She throws her head back to rest against your shoulder. You must be under an enchantment because your head dips down and you press your lips to the salty column of her neck. She responds by tilting her head, offering you more of her skin, and pressing her hips back. You growl against her neck and she has to be able to feel the vibrations, antithetic to the music you no longer hear. Your tongue traces a line from beneath her ear, gathering the beads of perspiration as you move down her neck. Unable to stop yourself, you bite lightly at the junction of her neck and shoulder, and you feel her moan, the noise lost in the music.
Then, the beat picks up and the moment is shattered like so many beams of light ricocheting off your bodies. She pulls out of your grasp and spins to face you. Her smile is triumphant, feral, like a predator that has trapped its lunch and simply needs to pounce. And pounce she does, pushing off from her toes, she launches herself at you, arms coming around your neck, and her mouth collides with yours. One hand moves up to thread itself through the strands of her damp hair, the other goes to the small of her back, pulling her into you. You forget about the people around you because her tongue is dancing against yours. You forget that you are in public because her body is ceaseless motion, shifting and pressing into yours in the most delightful patterns. And you forget that you should not be kissing her like this, not you, not here, not like this. But her mouth is pressing insistently into yours and her hands are running over your back and you forget.