Always Cambridge

Always Cambridge
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Saturday, 7 May 2016

#MySexySaturday I Dance Only For Him... #Flashfic

Welcome to the 140th week of My Sexy Saturday.
 
This week’s theme: A Sexy Dance
Readers, please visit us at our new Author Central where we’ll be sharing even more from our authors besides Saturday’s snippets. We’d love to have each and every one of you there as we’re starting new things this month with fun and prizes along the way.

This week’s theme is A Sexy Dance. 

Here's an extract from a WIP, yet to be named...

I stand on my mark towards the back of the dias and  focus  on him. Our eyes lock. I strike my pose. The lights lower, it’s my time to shine. The sad haunting music starts. 

All alone I begin to dance, just feel the music, let the words and the strains soak into my soul. This part is for me. Where I am happiest. I dance with my body and my heart, shutting off my mind. I find fluidity. Peace. The rest of the world disappears.

As the song goes on, I dance for them. My audience. I have their complete attention. I feed off their energy. For a time I feel loved. I have reason. I am alive.

Then I dance for him. Only him. Even with the light trained on me, partially blinding me, I know where he is. There's a magnetism. A connection. One he can’t deny. And neither can she. She stands at his side. His sentry. But I block her out. I disengage from everyone but him.

I pirouette, then stretch dramatically reaching for him, then bend and cave at the waist, at his rejection. I sing the haunting lyrics and I use my body to paint him a picture. Slow sinewy, sensual yet graceful movement.

His entire frame is tense. His broad shoulders bunched and tight. His jaw ticks. He’s like a coiled spring. But his eyes never stray from me. I have his total unadulterated focus. I have his heart. I take his very soul and make it my own.

My heart pounds. I begin to perspire but not just from the hot lights. I am aroused by his stare. I run my hands over the soft brocade of my corset, trailing my fingertips between my breasts. His gaze follows. His hands curl into fists. My nipples harden, they ache, straining against the tight fabric. He directs me with his eyes, he wants more. I do his bidding, letting my hands work downward. It’s a heady feeling. On stage. We are lovers. This is our place. Where no one can come between us.
 

© H K Carlton 

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