"R"

Eyes circling, always circling. Not a moment unaware, Michael absorbed every nuance of this smoky, caliginous environment. “Cordis Junction”, not that the name of this place mattered, because it could have been any hole-in-the-wall bar. They were all essentially the same. Experience provided the ability to tune out the “noise”. Men and women blended with indiscriminately with chairs and tables. Nothing stood out.

Coming towards him, a pair of swaying hips covered with sand-washed silk of silvery color. The fabric caressing every curve beneath caught the light with each step. Instinctively his eyes followed the length of the skirt to its mid-thigh level and down creamy white-skinned legs to four-inch silver-toned shoes.

The legs paused, widening their stance. Immediately Michael’s eyes jumped to the face above. Saucy, pouty lips moved side to side, and though distance would not permit it, he could imagine the tisking sound created there. Reluctantly his gaze moved from the delightful, provocative mouth to the wide blue eyes above it.

His breath dragged hot across his bottom lip at her wink. Pulse quickened, palms hot against the black leather that covered his thighs. Redemption in the form of a thin, blue tank top provided just enough ventilation to cool his boiling blood. Schooling his expression, he reigned the line of erring thoughts concerning his partner.

The smell of vanilla and musk reached him before she did. Settled on a bar stool beside him, she created a rush of air that fanned his fiery flesh. A side long glance watched the crossing of her legs which brought the skirt’s length up a few inches. The angle of her reclining posture brought her breasts outward and upward - a request to be ambushed as the tight white shirt left nothing to the imagination. Blinking slowly, Michael forced his attention to the crooning soloist. Side by side and barely touching her, his pulse pounded mercilessly.

Nikita brushed the tangled wisps of blond hair from her face, regarding for a moment the twitching muscles of Michael’s upper arms appreciatively. With an exaggerated sigh meant to draw his attention, she obtained a handful of peanuts. Creating a funnel with her closed fist, the salty treats fell into her open mouth. Licking the crumbles of salt from her lips, she took in the surrounding dance scene with one sweeping glance. Coming full circle her eyes innocently returned to Michael’s still form on her right. His attention was devoted to taking in the each aspect of her face, focusing mainly on her wetted lips.

With a deep sigh he pulled his gaze away from her and spoke to the crowd he eyed. “We’re not finished.”

Nikita’s lips flashed upward briefly as she toasted some anonymous person across the room. “Been 2 hours.” She returned, matching his flat tone.

“You think we should abort.” He surmised.

He felt an unfamiliar hand loop through his upper arm. Slurred voice and the stale stench of beer greeted his investigation. The stranger began rubbing his shoulder and neck suggestively. Politely but firmly, he removed her errant hands.

Nikita watched, somewhat amused as the woman persisted in her efforts to lure Michael. For a moment Michael allowed the entangling of the slender fingers through his hair. Then with straight-lip demeanor, he turned and murmured something which sent the woman scurrying away, blushing.

Nikita leaned forward, trying in vain to catch the interplay; but the inopportune clattering of dishes prevented her eavesdropping.

“How do you do that?” she murmured, more to herself than to Michael.

“The same way you do.” He returned.

“Me?” She challenged. Wiping her mouth, she paused to study his face.

“You.” He acknowledged. “Thirty degrees to the left, he’s been staring at you for the last fifteen minutes.”

Her eyes discreetly followed his directions, and an attractive man in his early thirties smiled and raised his glass to her. A half-smile curved her lips, acknowledging him briefly before turning away from her admirer.

Forgetting for a minute they were even on a mission, both started at the sound of Birkoff in their com sets.

“What?” Nikita murmured into the shelter of her hair.

“This guy’s not gonna show. We’re stuck here for another two hours waiting for transport, and I’m bored.”

“What didn’t bring any computer games this trip out.” Nikita replied saucily, rolling her eyes.

“Your broad scope of pick-up lines is always entertaining, so I rarely bother.” Birkoff retorted with a snort. “Anyway, I propose a game."

"Ooo," Nikita mocked.

"Fifty bucks says Nikita can get a kiss before you Michael.” Birkoff’s voice challenged.

Nikita laughed out loud at the proposition, sliding off the stool as if this was her cue to leave. Michael’s hand pulling her backward halted her progress.

“I’ll give you a head start.” Michael offered solicitously, whispering the message into the exposed nape of her neck.

Nikita raised an eyebrow at this before turning to face him. “Winner takes all. Separate comm. channels.”

Michael nodded, and the game was afoot.

Backing away from Michael, Nikita blew a kiss before bumping into an unsuspecting victim. Winking at Michael over her shoulder, she looped her arm through her prey as they made their way to the dance floor.

Michael circled the crowd much as a lion would stalk his prey searching for the weak and vulnerable.

Nikita’s partner could scarcely contain himself. His high-pitched whiny voice grew increasingly tiresome, and soon she felt her attention drifting. Her thoughts went to Michael, pondering his progress. Meanwhile, in her ear Birkoff passed time making jokes at her partner’s expense.

Michael circled the group until his attentions found a lost soul not unlike his own. The woman’s expression was that of discontent, and her partner was less the dancer - the “lion” had found the “infirmed”.

The music slowed, and the couple that Michael studied paused awkwardly as they navigated the positional changes.

In the dark recesses of the hazy environment, Nikita cursed the luck which placed her in this predicament. What had seemed like a good way to have fun was fast becoming on of her worst nightmares. An exhausted Birkoff has resorted to faking sounds of snoring before falling interminably silent.

Part of Nikita was wishing that Michael would rescue her from such madness. The ideal of winning no longer held appeal, and the endless prattling of her partner was enough to draw Z’s from anyone. Not that the economic structures of third world countries wasn’t interesting, but really.... Eyes panned the room, trying to locate Michael in the crowd of swaying couples.

The thrill of the hunt lies not in the kill itself, but in the chase. Michael was skilled in control. Winning was secondary. This evening would prove to be interesting - kiss or no kiss.

Nikita was only vaguely aware of the hands that stroked the small of her back. Drawn closer to her partner who had finally managed to shut his mouth, she rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.

Eyes closed, Nikita could almost imagine that it was Michael’s arms which circled her waist, his hot, throbbing manhood which pressed against her right thigh. His whispery voice that told her she was beautiful. Fingers pulled at the clasp which held her hair suspended; tresses cascaded in a breath around her shoulders. Instinctively, her head pulled back slightly to feel his somewhat labored breathing against her forehead. Lifting her chin, she silently offered her lips a sacrifice to his attentions.

“Hey, Buddy!” The lips so close to hers turned in anger to the iron-grip closed over his left shoulder.

Michael’s hazel eyes flashed silent fire, ignoring the outburst of Nikita’s partner and the subject of his attention this past half hour.

“May I have this dance?” Michael questioned over the man’s shoulder. Nikita nodded, suddenly mute.

“Look...” the man started. His objections ceased as the flat of Nikita’s palm in the center of his chest pushed him firmly away.

Michael regarded Nikita’s nervous shifting. Her eyes avoided his, ducking behind the loosened curtain of hair.

His hands covered her hands, pressed firmly against her side. His fingers traveled slowly upward caressing shoulders and appreciating the resulting tremors.

It took a minute for Nikita to recover, but theirs had always been about control. Hands snaked around to cup his buttocks, and she lifted her chin defiantly. “You cheated.” She whispered.

“Did I?” He pulled her impossibly closer, enjoying the breath that he heard catch in the back of her throat.

“I was winning.” She managed, over the quivering of her lower lip.

“Then win.” He pulled back slightly, his face paralleling hers. Lips evenly matched.

Her eyes searched his for hidden meaning. The music around them stopped and people were clapping, but they had not stopped moving.

“Win.” She repeated, stalling the inevitable.

He didn’t reply. Lips parted slightly as if to answer, but instead they softly covered hers.

Hesitation flew out the window, and Nikita claimed the lips offered her. Nothing come could close to the taste of Michael, and no sensation could compare to those that were overwhelming her entire body.

Ending the kiss by some unspoken mutual agreement, Nikita stared appreciatively as did Michael. Stepping back, she smirked at the confused look that colored Michael’s normally straight-faced demeanor.

“Guess Birkoff gets his fifty bucks.” She winked.

He nodded, the heat of his eyes scorching her lips.

“What do I get?” She licked her kiss-swollen lips.

“Winner takes all.” He answered, lifting his palms upward.

“Hmm.” She raised both eyebrows in response, felt Michael’s finger claim the circular tab behind her ear.

“Let’s go.” He instructed, hand extending chivalrously to lead the way.

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