Something in your smile caught my eye. Was it the explosion of neon light reflecting off nicotine stained teeth? Or the lewd promises your tongue traced over bruise-bitten lips? Something in your scraggly face called to me, tugged the corners of my mouth up, and pulled at the strings of my soul.
Triumph lit your eyes like the red tipped cigarette that bounced joyously as you ordered another whiskey. The bartender watched as I sauntered closer. My mascara thick lashes flashed a wink in his direction. His jaw dropped and he overfilled your glass, spilling the precious amber liquid.
Stiletto boot heels clacked across the dark stained concrete, echoing hollow as I halted by your side. With honey-bronze eyes locked to yours, I swallowed down your drink; smooth burn singed my throat while cool drips traced down my neck. A finger twitched at your side, control slipping - the gleam in your eyes belied your desire to lick me clean.
I smirked. Clean? Not how I intended to spend my lonely Saturday night. I curled a perfect manicured hand around your dust covered jacket and pulled you to the edge of your stool. Crimson lips crushed chapped cracks, cigarette dropped in surprise. As the bar top burst into flame, I whispered, "Your place or mine?"
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