@intotheblve
the drink on his hand is the only thing keeping him there, since he’s not about to go and waste a fine scotch for nothing. his taste has always been fancy, too sophisticated for bars, and his attention has always been caught by what he thinks it’s unique. he’s a collector, he likes pretty things, and what he likes the most is a beautiful woman by his side. not any woman. pretty women are common, sexy women are everywhere, he likes a woman that makes him think of sin, one that with her confidence can put him down on his knees. he’s not expecting to find anyone interesting in this particular place, as fancy as it is, he didn’t come here for that. but he’s the one eating his own words when his eyes are set on a woman on the dance floor, hypnotized by the movement of her body.
she stands out in the middle of the crowd, but he wonders if she has the same effect on every men on this room or if it’s just him who can’t even blink, too scared she’s going to disappear. he can’t tell what it is. is it the music? is it the way her body seems to move to its own rhythm? is it the fact that he can only imagine moving next to her in that very same moment? or is it because he’s imagining how she moves in other situations? he knows about the female body, he knows it too well, yet hers is different, hers is a masterpiece he wants to admire. so he does just that. leaning against the bar and taking a sip of his drink, he doesn’t miss a single movement, he stares at her with no shame.
