Then, Passion

They danced, possessing the floor completely. Their bodies pressed close, skin rubbing hotly against skin, sweat mingling together, hands touching and nails scraping over skin. His breath washed over her face as he pulled her roughly into his body and she tossed her curls back, staring up into his eyes.

They moved as one, neither caring for nor noticing the other patrons and dancers, who moved off to the side to watch their liquid movements. It was as if they had been created for the sole act of dancing together. Her heels echoed against the floor before disappearing into the static of appreciative murmurs. Her skirts alternately swirled about her and became tangled in her ever-moving legs, curling around sinuous muscles

Sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip; he could taste the saltiness as he breathed heavily. His hands, slick with it now, gripped her sides, guiding her needlessly through the motions. He heard nothing but the sound of his heart, their breathing, and the combined rhythm of their shoes on the hardwood floor. The music was unknown to him. He needed no beat, and neither did she. They were the dance, the rhythm, the music.

Sound came back to him as the dance ended, as he bent her lithe body backward over his arm, her hair brushing the scuffed floors. Applause thundered through the room, blending with the cacophony of glasses and conversation, of yelled orders and catcalls, all of it jumbled together suddenly out of the silence. He raised a hand to his forehead as they stood, staring at each other. His blood throbbed through his temples, red-hot and burning, a steady beat through the background of the raucous crowd.

She touched his arm, bringing him back to himself. "Are you alright?"

He forced a smile and slid his arm around her waist. "Si... just weary from the dance."

A smile mirrored itself on her face as she pressed close to him in his embrace. "You dance well, senor. It is rare to find such talent in our humble abode. You must allow me to reward you."

He smirked at this, guiding her through the crowd towards the bar to order two more drinks. "A reward, eh? Surely I do not dance well enough to have earned such a treasure." His hand stroked her side as he took a long drink from the glass set before him.

She laughed girlishly. "No, no, senor. After all, I cannot simply reward every handsome gentleman who happens to know how to dance. I would have no work, no money! But I am not stopping you from rewarding yourself." Her hand tangled in the fine hairs at the base of his neck, her nails scratching lightly against his skin and driving him mad.

His own fingers clutched at her waist as he sat down on a stood, pulling her forwards against his knees. "And how much would it cost," he growled softly, "to reward myself?"

She climbed atop his lap with almost feline ease, wrapping one arm lightly around his neck and placing her other hand atop his, drawing his hand up from her waist to brush against her breast. Then she leaned over and breathed an amount in his ear, following the price by a suggestive nip at his ear.

He turned his face to hers, his alcohol-moistened lips brushing against her painted cheek. "Sold," he breathed, a wash of liquor and sweat, then claimed her ruby mouth.

His kiss was hot and aggressive, pressing against tar-yellowed teeth with burning insistency. She allowed him to kiss her, to run his hands up and down her thinly-clad form, to slide his tongue between her make-up smeared lips. He pressed her back against the bar and pulled her close at the same time. Between a rock and a hard place. Though right now she wasn't sure which was which.

She was never one to do her work in public, and though there were no mattresses scattered through the less-than-reputable establishment, she was half-certain that her newest customer wasn't opposed to taking things to the floor in a moment. So after a few more moments, she pulled back from him and breathlessly murmured, "Upstairs."

Slowly, languidly, she slid to the floor, extending her hand to him. His eyes locked on her curvaceous form, he finished his drink and let himself be led from the bar. She took him up a winding staircase, her hips swaying seductively as he followed her wordlessly to one of the upper rooms.

* * *

She stopped outside one of the rooms half-way down the upstairs hallway and turned towards him. "Here we are," she purred, her hand snaking up the front of his shirt, cleverly undoing the buttons her fingers met.

He stepped forwards, pinning her against the wall. His hands slid down her sides to lift her up and she dutifully wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her lips to his. His fingers moved restlessly over her body, slipping under the hem of her dress to caress the golden flesh. Her skin was like fire, and he caught flame at the touch of her, left quite without water to tame the inferno.

Like anyone would be
I am flattered by your fascination with me
Like any hot-blooded woman
I have simply wanted an object to crave

One hand reached back to clumsily open the door, and they tumbled inside, a mess of arms and legs and tongues and half-shed clothing. Blindly, they found the bed, collapsing on it in a sweat-slicked mass. Pillows were scattered along with scraps of clothing and fingers kneaded into threadbare sheets, clutching at them and at each other in the darkness.

Soft gasps were swallowed by the night and carried away as the flames subsided, leaving room for the stark cold of morning.

* * *

Dawn shed its unwelcome light on the pair entangled in the bed. The Argentinean awoke with a start and an even greater surprise at finding the woman still in his arms. He had spent the night. It had been a great many years since he had stayed the whole night with a woman- gone to bed with her and woken with her still there. He had always left after the lovemaking; had always been out on the streets before the sheets had even grown cold.

But the raven-haired woman was the same creature he had paid for the night before. She lay with her back to him, curls falling over copper skin in tousled waves. He rolled to his side, looking down on her as she slept. She was flawless, he discovered, her skin unmarred save for the markings he himself had made a few hours previously. Unthinking, he traced a thumb over her cheek, his digit coming away still slightly pink from her rouge. Most of it had come off in the night, revealing the woman beneath rather than the seductress that had been painted on. The result was lovely.

Many prostitutes required the benefits of their makeup to hide flaws and to cover up homeliness and to make the unattractive desirous. She needed none of this. Her lips were a pale carmine, her cheeks slightly flushed beneath their shading. The only defect was the circles that lined her eyes, the consequence of sleepless nights and overworked days.

She stirred at his touch, dark lashes fluttering open from hazel eyes before they widened in brief fear. Then, recalling where she was, her body relaxed. She turned on her back, drawing her legs up in mock-modesty, and smiled up at him. "Morning."

"Morning."

She blinked against the intrusion of morning's light. "You're still here." It was a strange concept, to have a lover that stayed the night, lingering in her bed. She had never known such a thing, having come a virgin to the life of the underworld.

He chuckled softly. "I am." A yawn stretched his mouth, lips still stained from her own, and rolled from the bed. She stared after him, her eyes taking in his tanned skin, the muscles bunching and stretching beneath the surface as he collected his clothes and fetched a robe from the corner to hand to her without knowing why he did it. She took it silently, wrapping it around her nakedness as a barrier from the cold seeping through the window.

Once he had dressed and washed his face in the basin on the other side of the room, he turned back to her. She had, by that time, gotten to her feet to collect the pile of money on the nightstand and hide it away before perching on the side of the bed to watch him leave.

She seemed so young now, innocent save for the way the robe fell open to reveal a flash of cleavage. His brow furrowed, and some voice inside him told him to leave now, to leave before he desired her again. Too late.

His hand lay on the doorknob as they faced each other.

But you, you're not allowed
You're uninvited
An unfortunate slight

"Adios, mi angel." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They hung in the air between them like a foul taste. And then he was gone, heavy footsteps echoing down the hall and fading away as he descended the stairway.

She shivered in the cold and drew the robe more tightly round herself before standing and moving to the window. Her hand quickly pulled the thick curtain, plunging the room back into semi-darkness before returning to the bed and crawling beneath the sheets.

They still smelled like him.

* * *

He managed to stay away from brothel for nearly a week, managed to impede his footsteps from going near there again. But he couldn't keep her out of his mind, no matter how he tried.

He threw back another drink before setting the glass down with a bang and motioning for more. He knew from experience how much liquor he could handle. Then again, he had also thought that he could handle himself with women.

There, he had been proven wrong. She haunted him like an apparition sent from Hell. Even now, he could feel her fingers on him, touching him in just the right way, caressing, burning.

She burns, that one.

Another drink burned down his throat, and his fingers curled at the sensation, nails digging into the burnished wood of the counter. And there was another burning... desire... as he remembered her, saw her lying beneath him in the smoky darkness, then beside him in the onslaught of morning light.

Must be strangely exciting
To watch the stoic squirm

He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply from it, feeling the nicotine enter his bloodstream and calm him. Exhaling, the smoke surrounded him, and he was once again in the brothel, watching girls pass from beneath wreaths of smoke.

And from that smoke she emerged, still in white, stark against the grime, pure against the filth. An angel. Surely they had taken her wings from her and kept them hidden away, making her dance and love for their safe return.

He took another drag and let the plume wrap around him, making his vision hazy and easier to escape into.

She danced again for him, writhing snake-like with the fingers of smoke. No. She was the smoke, drifting on a breeze, hot and sultry, eyes like embers, burning, calling him, lips lava-red, burning red.

She burns, that one.

He let out a pained curse as the fag burned down too low, singeing his fingers. Stubbing out the cigarette, he stood, unsteady for a moment, and exited out into the night.

* * *

Finding his way back to the brothel was the easy part. Stepping through the door was what troubled him. He wasn't entirely sure why he had come. He could go to any brothel, any street corner, to satisfy his lust. But he had come here... had returned her... returned to her. He had never gone to a woman twice, never had the desire to. Once had always sated him before.

What had she done to him?

This would be it. He would not return again after this. There were other women... hundreds of them. He would not need her again. He would see... her mystery would be gone this time, the charms broken now that she had been despoiled. It was a waste of his time and money to even attempt it again.

And yet he could not convince himself to turn around.

So he did the only thing he could. He entered the brothel.

It was the same as before, smoky, with hints of opium in the stale air, the music too loud, the alcohol flowing too freely. Bella was there again, working the bar and the customers, and he turned away quickly, losing himself in the crowd and searching... searching.

She was not dancing. A moment later, he caught sight of her in a corner, flirtatiously propositioning a greying man in his forties. She was not wearing white tonight, but a deep red with an even deeper neckline. His eyes locked on her and he knew, somehow knew, that even this would not be enough for him, that he would need more of her touch, of her kisses. He craved it now, craved the feel and smell and taste of her. He longed to flood his senses with her until sleep took him.

Like any uncharted territory
I must seem greatly intriguing
You speak of my love like
You have experienced love like mine before

He moved towards her, through the drunken patrons and prostitutes, pushing through until he reached them, reached her. He gave the elder man a dark gaze as he stepped between them. "Roxanne," he greeted her.

She looked startled momentarily but regained her smooth composure. "Buenas noches, senor. You missed me?"

"Oh, si, si," he breathed, his hand dropping to her waist, fingering the delicate bone beneath the thin layers of material and skin. "I need you. Este noche. Ahora." His voice was tinged in desperation. He needed to have her again and be rid of her. He could not go on like this.

She nearly shrank away from his touch. He should not be here... he was like the others. They had come back, had begged her. They had even offered her an escape, marriage, a life. To all of this she had said no.

But this is not allowed
You're uninvited
An unfortunate slight

And here was another one. She should have known. It was too late now. He was lost, like the others. She started to pull away, to disentangle herself from her, to make an excuse that she must go. He would leave in the end. They always had.

But there was something in his eyes that stopped her, made her turn back. What would one more night hurt?

She bit her lip, tasting the colour there, as her eyes searched his. What was she doing?

I don't think you unworthy
I need a moment to deliberate

"You're still here."

"Wear gloves."

"You must allow me to reward you."

"We have a dance! A tango."

"You're still here."

She raised her eyes to his and reached for his hand. "Come," she whispered. "One more time."

END CHAPTER THREE

Nota: Again, apologies for the time between posts. But I was simply not inspired, and this is a story that needs inspiration to turn out the way I intend. I am particularly pleased with the way this chapter turned out, and hope you liked it as well.

The song used was "Uninvited" by Alanis Morissette. My apologies to those non-fans of her.

Translations:

Este noche- Tonight

Ahora- Now