Page 2 of Glitter

A delicate index finger slipped between his rosy, lipsticked lips—Oh shit. Even his fingernails were painted a pretty peony pink—and I watched as the sharp edges of even, white teeth gently bit down on the tender flesh. As he slowly drew the digit back out—faintly shiny with the traces of his saliva—he dragged it against his lower lip, pulling it down and giving me a peek at the pale pink, shockingly lighter than the erotic vibrancy of his raspberry lipstick, softly supple interior surface.

Want, and need, and something that was almost too pure to be called lust, but that was most definitely lust, roared through me at the sight, and I almost missed my angel’s teasing greeting. “Well, hey, boo. For a minute there, I thought you were going to ignore me.”

The words were said lightly, as though he couldn’t imagine, any more than I could, that I, thatanyone, would possibly ignore him. Although, I could’ve sworn I heard the faintest edge underlying all that levity. But I was probably wrong. It was probably just the noise from the music making me hear something that wasn’t there.

“Nooo. No, no, no,” I babbled earnestly. “No. Not at all. Never.”

I still had trouble believing what was going on right now; that I was really in the presence of such an impossibly beautiful and shiny man. And that he was actually talking to me, and I was talking to him… Mind-blowing. The whole thing. But as surreal and as hard to take in as this moment was, how could I have ignored him or his silent summons?

There’s no way.

“Hmmm. Good,” he seemed to purr.

We were roughly the same height, an altogether average 5’8”. If anything, I had perhaps a scant inch on him, which surprised me. He was slender, which was especially obvious next to my own chunky, allover thickness. But he had such a presence, an aura of confidence and personality, that I’d anticipated him being taller than he actually was.

So, there was no need for him to tip his head back to look at me, but tilt his head back he did, with only the barest sliver of his eyes peeking at me from under his eyelashes. While seemingly unnecessary, I won’t deny I appreciated the way it exposed the length of his slender neck, or the way it caused his pink curls to tumble, inviting me to want to touch them and feel their texture with my fingers.

It was only once he casually commanded, “Dance with me, boo,” that I realized I’d just been standing in front of him, still amid a swarm of writhing and swaying bodies, doing nothing but shamelessly taking in his glorious prettiness.

“D-dance. Yes, dance. Sure.”

There’s no way he could know what he was asking for. If my stuttering and lack of saying anything intelligent hadn’t yet clued this bewitching, beglitzed angel that I wasn’t worthy of his attention, then my sad attempt at dancing surely would. But if having me dance with him was what he wanted, then that’s what he would unfortunately get.

I took a halting, jerky step left, then an equally ungraceful step to the right. I then repeated the motions a few times, and after about the fourth, I think I managed to catch on to the beat of the music. Having achieved that feat, I decided to add my arms into the effort, raising them up and bobbing my hands, alternating one then the other, to go along with the shuffling side-to-side movement of my legs.

It was going about as well as it could be, until I made the mistake of taking my eyes off my feet and looking back up at the glittery perfection of the man moving to the music like sensual, flowing water in front of me.

I lost all sense of time, space, rhythm, or how to operate my body parts and promptly tripped on air—or my own feet, or a stray patch of drool that surely must’ve accumulated beneath me that had dripped from my awe- and lust-slacked mouth. Whatever prompted it, I tripped, and, like a complete buffoon, lost my balance and lurched forward at my angel.

A nanosecond slideshow horror of how I was surely about to flatten this delicate, pretty man with my ungainly, oafish, blobby body flashed across my mind’s eye—complete even with imagined screams and gasps of horror, pointing fingers of accusation and derision from those around us, and, the absolute worst of all, tears of pain forming in pale blue eyes to trickle down over glimmering, pink plastic speckled adornment on an exquisite face.

To my vast relief, he was either not as fragile as he appeared or he was used to lumbering, stumbling nincompoops bashing into him, because he managed to stay on his feet with nary a wobble, absorbing the impact and even bracing me from completely falling to the floor.

“Oouf. Careful there, boo.” A dainty trill of laughter accompanied his words, hinting he wasn’t upset by my clumsiness.

Up close like this, mere inches away, he was even prettier—something I’d never have thought possible. I tried to time my blinks to sync with the flashes of the strobing light, wanting to eke out every possible second of being able to take in this stunning man.

“Sorry. I’m…I’m an idiot. A clumsy, clumsy, unable to dance idiot,” I gracelessly apologized. I was barely aware of what I was saying, too overwhelmed by the beautiful, sparkling angel I almost had in my arms.

His eyes were so very pale, but I could now make out tiny flecks of celadon green mixed in with the blue. And it had been impossible to tell from across the room, but the very ends of his bubblegum-y pink hair faded out to almost white, redoubling my desire to touch the pretty, tumbled strands. Even stronger than that though, was my yearning to press my lips to and taste the raspberry hue glossed onto his full lips, dusted and brushed upon the tender skin of his eyelids and over the crests of his high cheekbones. I’d gladly even endure the unpleasantness of capturing specks of the glitter on my tongue if it meant I could have my mouth on any portion of his skin.

The minimal space between us seemed both too much and not enough—I ached to be as close as possible but, at this distance, his agonizing beauty was nearly blinding, as was the light glinting off the glitter traced over his face.

“Yes, I don’t think dancing is your forte,” he agreed, gently patting my upper arm as if to console me for that failing. Hopefully, he’d think the fleshy mass was the relaxed bulge of muscle and not the squishy pudginess of actuality. I was about to apologize again, when he continued, suggesting, “Why don’t we see if we can find something else you might be more gifted at?”

Not immediately understanding what he was getting at, my brows drew together, my forehead crinkling. But I didn’t need to understand his words when his actions—sliding his hand down my arm, clasping my hand in his, then turning and gently tugging on that physical link—showed me what to do.

Still, I couldn’t help but ask, as my angel neatly and effortlessly sliced a way through the throngs of dancing revelers and led us off the dance floor, “Where are you taking me?”

Briefly turning to glance at me over his shoulder, the lights once more glinted the glitter on his face and torso turning them into specks of pink fire, while his teasing, rosy lips lifted in a playful grin.

“Don’t play coy with me, boo,” he stated. “You know exactly where I’m taking you.”

Except… No. No, I really didn’t.

Chapter 2

The couple of times I’d made the venture to Glitter before, I’d definitely had to visit the bathroom facilities—the bartenders tended to mix the drinks fairly strong and they tended to go right through me. And when I’d been in the bathroom, I’d certainly been aware of the activities, furtive and not so furtive, of the men tucked behind the stall doors—the sounds and the sight of knees on the ground and feet sticking out from under the doors did tend to give it away.

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