Dance With Me - (Master Class 07)

Master Class 07

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 "There are some people you like immediately, some whom you think you might learn to like in fullness of time, and some that you simply want to push away from you with a sharp stick. "

Douglas Adams - The Long Dark tea-Time of the Soul

There were two prompts provided this week from fellow Master Class writer Troy, with an option to write using one, or both of the prompts in our post. I chose this one first (though I may add the other to a different story later) because the scene played out in a matter of minutes before me. I did not reread it yet (I may regret that later), but I wanted to get it out of my head and onto paper before I thought the raw right out of it. Please feel free to leave constructive criticism, it helps me to refine, and define my craft. Without any more blathering about that, here's my Master Class VII response to the prompt by Douglas Adams.

Dance With Me

Shira looked directly into his eyes as she tipped the hot cup of coffee over in his lap. Her smile betrayed the snake beneath her skin, though her beauty was alluring, even mesmerizing, there was a coolness about her that bordered cold. She could be ruthless, both as a lover, and a stranger. The line between the two was rarely clear.

"Oh, how clumsy of me," Shira said as she wiped the remaining coffee that had pooled on the table into his lap, leaving the wet rag on the table in front of him. She walked away with a deliberately slow sway in her full hips.

Markus watched her until she went through the swinging doors and then he used the napkins on the table to sop up the majority of the lap puddle he was wearing. The slick lines of his suit were now wet, but he wasn't focused on that, he continued to glance at the doorway, half willing her to return. "There are some people you like immediately, some whom you think you might learn to like in fullness of time, and some that you simply want to push away from you with a sharp stick" (Douglas Adams), Shira was all three.

Shira was difficult to understand, and Markus loved a challenge. The first time he met her they were in the pavilion, each on one side of the great circle fountain, feeding the birds. His approach was standard for a man of his caliber. The tailored sharkskin suit draped over his body like it belonged there. His waist was decorated subtly with a thin black leather belt, pants pressed with sharp creases to his shoes, which Shira could have seen her reflection in. She was used to this kind of man, he was no stranger to her touch.

"Would you like to have lunch with me?" Markus said as he grazed her with his eyes. "There is a wonderful bistro just a block down the road, we could enjoy the sunshine together on the way."

Shira did not answer him right away, instead she purposefully moved her eyes from his, down the front of his open suit jacket, to his belt, and back up to his face silently.

"Is that a yes?" he asked.

Still soundless, she smiled, rose, and took his hand in hers. "I prefer Sushi" she said, as she turned the opposite direction of the bistro and began to walk.

Markus was used to being in charge, but he was so intrigued by her style, that he went along with her, for now.

The Bamboo Dragon had a mellow atmosphere, with low lighting in shades of red and gold. The booths had curtains that could be closed to allow for a different level of privacy than most eating establishments near the pavilion. When the waiter arrived, she ordered in Japanese, pausing long enough to ask Markus if he would like a drink.

"A martini, shaken not stirred, be careful not to bruise it" he said to the waiter, not to Shira. "I would also like an appetizer of chicken lettuce wraps" he added.

The two danced without talking, while they sipped on their drinks. When the waiter arrived and set down a long, rectangular ceramic dish lined with fried rice noodles and chunks of chicken, and another dish with lettuce shells, Shira finally spoke.

"So, you prefer to have your meat cooked?" she asked as she maneuvered a rolled leaf with a few small pieces of chicken to her mouth.

"I eat my chicken cooked well" he answered without bothering to look up at her.

Shira waited until she had eye contact and then slipped her shoe off, and pressed her stocking-covered foot up into his lap. When he failed to respond, she moved her foot over the inside of his thigh and back down to the floor.

"I prefer mine raw," she said.

Lunch went off without a hitch, few words were shared, but phone numbers were exchanged. That was almost a year ago.

They continued to meet regularly, each time getting closer, but there was minimal conversation of the verbal kind. The night before she filled his lap with hot coffee, he had brought her a gift.  They met at his place. Pressed against the wall of mirrors in his living room, he kissed her deeply, making sure she was lost in his touch before he popped the buttons on her silk shirt. She could feel the shift. He wanted to control her, tonight she would let him.

His fingers skillfully moved over her exposed curves, until he heard her gasp. Then he dropped the box on the floor at her feet and walked into the bedroom without her. Shira was not used to being treated that way, she did not follow him; instead, she picked up the box, buttoned her shirt, and left.

It wasn't until she arrived at her own home that she took the black ribbon from the box and looked inside. There was a note that read: "Shira, I would have married you, had I not run into your husband in the pavilion yesterday. You really should have told me dear. I will expect you to meet me at the bistro by 11:30 tomorrow afternoon. Wear the collar. Markus."