...Dancer from the Dance
She dipped her little finger into the champagne glass, capturing the smallest drop of liquid -- complete with a few bubbles -- in the ridges of her finger print. With practiced ease, she brought her fingertip to her mouth and wrapped her lips around her French-manicured nail, pulling the sweetness onto her tongue.
She tried her hardest to make her actions seem unconscious -- thoughtless, even -- but she knew exactly what she was doing, the game she was playing. They both knew their roles.
The increased pressure of his hand against her lower back -- right where the low-low dip of the satin of her dress brushed against the top of her hips -- was reward enough. She could feel the warm metal of his wedding ring against her skin, and it sent an electric jolt along her spine; a tingling thrill at the knowledge that the ring around his finger did not bind him to her.
He slipped the fluted glass from her slender hand and it was whisked away on a tray that happened to float by. He took her naked left hand in his right hand, the weight of the gold band still planted firmly against her back, and ushered her to the dance floor, pulling her body flush to his. The familiar scent of his cologne overwhelmed her senses, making her head spin in excitement as he twirled her in time to the music. He pulled her close and dipped her low, leaning over her body, the day's worth of stubble brushing lightly against the exposed skin of her breast bone. The over-stimulation and the slight buzz of a few glasses of champagne had her giggling by the time he dragged her out of the dip and back into his chest.
He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, the gleam of the wedding ring catching her attention out of the corner of her eye. He noticed the direction of her eyes, and shifted his hand to cup her cheek, bringing their lips together. She momentarily marveled at how he managed to taste of spearmint, despite the lack of a discernable source. The brief kiss left her feeling slightly breathless. The whole situation seemed so surreal, as the dance floor whirled about them, leaving two lovers afloat in a future tragedy of their own making.
nt - 6/11/10
Notes: Title from William Butler Yeats' "Among School Children." Also, I appear to be fond of the em-dash today.
In other news, I have a headache. This is being remedied with Led Zeppelin, Mint Magic and getting some writing done (yeah, I don't know how that last one fits in, either). Anyway, Mint Magic is potentially the best tea ever, which has nothing to do with the fact that the picture on the box is this:
That wizard looks like he's using some serious mojo on that tea.
*Prompt taken from The Write Brain Workbook: 366 Exercises to Liberate Your Writing by Bonnie Neubauer