Page 18 of Anger

Finishing my beer, I order another, pay for it, then push away from the bar to approach her cage.

She’s still lost in the music, completely unaware of her surroundings and the predator stalking toward her.

Not that I’m normally the type of guy a woman needs to worry about. There isn’t a sick bone in my body. But I do have moods, some of them more genial than others.

Tonight is about finding a good time.

It’s about bleeding out something toxic that’s poisoning me slowly.

I’m not approaching her to make a friend. I’m heading her direction simply to use her for what she can provide me.

A distraction.

A release.

An hour or two of something that can help me forget everything that’s not right in my head.

Climbing the stairs, I keep my stare pinned on her, enjoying how she’s lost to something else, completely unaware I’m so close.

I reach her cage and grab one of the bars above my head with one hand while taking a sip of my beer with the other.

It’s theft, really. This stolen opportunity to study her up close while she dances without a care in the fucking world.

To see this woman at a distance is enough to make your heart pound a little faster, but to see her up close is something else entirely.

Her body is perfection, at least for a man like me. Slim in all the right places while stacked in others.

She’s the type you could double fist her ass cheeks and pull her to you, her tits high and tight, bouncing to the beat of music just as much as her hair.

Everything is toned and strong, her arms, legs and stomach just begging to be explored with my fingertips or my tongue.

Not that it’ll go there.

Not tonight.

I’ve never paid for sex, and I don’t plan to start now.

But if there was ever a woman who could convince me to do it, it’s this one.

I’m not sure how much time passes while she continues dancing, and I stand a breath away, so damn close that I’m surprised she can’t sense me staring at her.

She’s that lost to what she’s doing, so far gone from this moment and everything around her that I can imagine her becoming the music.

And fuck … she can move.

I’m as lost to her as she is to the beat, and I can’t imagine anything more intoxicating or intriguing.

At least until she finally opens her eyes and discovers me.

You would think my close proximity would startle her, that she’d lose that perfect pace she keeps with the music pumping through both of our veins.

She doesn’t.

Not even in a little.

Instead, her eyes remain locked on mine for a few seconds, her full lips parting just a touch to draw in a deeper breath.

At first, I think it’s the swirls of color crashing down from the dancing lights above our heads, but then I realize her violet eyes are natural, a shade I’ve never seen in another person.

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