Sinbad watched Ayda dance to the beat of the drums and the roar of the fire. Amongst the other girls wearing their bedlahs, she stood out the most in his eyes. The smile she wore always seemed brightest when she danced, raising her arms high, moving her hips in line with the quickening rhythm. He imagined those hips moving against his. Her soft lips curving into a soft smile against his own. Her hands, placed gently against his chest with his own resting on the small of her back.
Sinbad swallowed hard. He caught her eyes looking at him from across the crowd. Ayda smiled at him, beckoning. She mouthed his name. Sinbad. Come. Dance with me.
His feet moved unknowingly towards her. He unwound himself from the other women latched onto him. They cried in protest, simpering, pouting. But he didn't care, he didn't hear them. He could only hear her voice, even with the loud noise of the festival around them. The sun had set, but the night was still young.
Sinbad.
She whispered.
Sinbad.
He imagined her whisper it against his ears. Imagined himself grounding into her. Her quickening breath against his neck. Her fingers clenched on his back, dragging her nails down as her mouth parted in pleasure.
Sinbad.
"Sinbad!"
He wanted to keep walking towards her. To Ayda.
"Sinbad, it's time to go back. You have work to do."
He stood a mere four yards away from her. Jafar stood between them, but he could still see her looking at him. She smiled at him beguilingly. The festival fire outlined her body in a way he wished his hands could. He tried to ignore Jafar's incessant demand for him to go back to work. It was a festival, he argued in his mind, but he knew that his country's work never stopped.
Sinbad swallowed hard, again. He closed his eyes and walked away towards the palace. Her smile still lingered in his mind. Sinbad, she whispered. Sinbad, she would scream. Another time, he promised himself. Next time, she would scream his name until sunrise.