Page 78 of David's Chase

The place is decorated for Halloween with cauldrons, jack–o–lanterns, and giant spiders, the atmospheric fog produced by the machine setting off the glowing lights.

The place is dark and sexy, with people dancing, drinking, and making out.

We no longer have profound conversations as we go straight to the bar and order drinks.

We pick them up and move to a private corner, where two bar stools and a matching table lean against the glass wall.

A lit candle spreads a faint glow over the table, while heated floors make the temperature pleasant.

Perched on my seat, I fuss with my dress, trying not to ruin it as he unbuttons his jacket and sits next to me.

He seems in his element here.

And for a second there, I wonder if he’s ever lived differently.

He must’ve.His life hasn’t always been like this.

He scoops up his drink, and I do the same.

We click our glasses and move our focus to the dance floor, yet soon after, I find myself looking out the window.

Drizzling rain makes the skyscrapers look wet and blurry.

He orders more drinks, and we talk about trivial stuff like why I study archaeology and what my plans for the future are.

I can’t focus on our conversation, and neither does he.

A slow tune comes on, and we dance, embraced, yet slightly guarded and reserved, different from the two people who flew to New York for dinner and a show, not in this order.

He doesn’t seem to be able to snap out of whatever dark mood he’s in. But, we get more drinks and sit at the bar this time, and the more alcohol runs through our veins, the more disinhibited we become.

We laugh and flirt with each other, and he drapes his arms around me while I stand in front of him, wedged between his thighs.

“I want to peel your dress off,” he says, his gaze tilted down, his eyes unfocused.

“You can do it,” I say, the cocktails I’ve downed obliterating the rational voice inside my head.

“I can?” he tosses at me, smiling, and I laugh, convinced that we’re joking.

Yet his hands move to my waist and smoothly travel to the cups of my dress.

My back is turned to the room, blocking the eyes of anyone who might want to watch us.

His back is turned to the bar.

And next to us, a man talks to his friend and has his back turned to us as well.

David rubs my nipples through the fabric of my dress, sending tingles to my legs.

As if that’s not enough, and I don’t already need to plant my hands on his shoulders to maintain my balance and not be all wobbly on my heels, he pushes the edge of the top down and touches my breasts.

“David…” I murmur, my smile fading.

His eyes bear a glint of hunger, and now I fully grasp that sex can dull any kind of pain, and while the results might be fleeting, that’s only an excuse to have more sex.

Sex helps us connect right now, and although I don’t think we should do it in public, I still lean into his touch.

“You like it,” he says, and I nod only for him to see.

---