He grabbed her hand as the blood ran from her delicate, pale finger and began to pool in the center of her hand. As the red tendril of blood began to run from the pool in her palm down to her wrist, his tongue snaked from between his lips and licked the line from the wrist back up to her palm. He lapped the blood pooled there, like a kitten lapping at a bowl of warm milk. He omitted a noise like no other she had ever heard. A deep, low hum -- almost like a fan was running inside him.
He lapped faster and faster like he couldn't get enough of her essence. All the blood was gone in seconds from her palm. She felt his tongue probing the cut on her finger. It was an odd feeling, not really unpleasant and not painful -- more like a low, sexual tingle, close to the pleasure/pain threshold.
She watched him like a theater patron watching a play. She could feel the warmth of his tongue as he hit the middle of her palm with the length of his tongue, causing warmth there. Felt the tingle, a slight burning sensation as his tongue licked from her palm to the cut on her finger. As his lips clamped one final time over the cut, a fireside, drugged, sleepiness overcame her and she dozed briefly. She woke in her car and operated on auto pilot as she drove home. As soon as she lay down on her bed, her eyes fluttered and she slept.
The sunlight streaking across her cheek awoke her. She moaned and rolled over, out of the path of the burning rays, her head a dull ache. She glanced at the clock -- 8:32. She sat up with a start, what day was it? It took her a panicked minute to get her bearings. Saturday, it was Saturday. She fell back against the pillows. What had she done last night? She raised her hand to her face, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes and shake the cob webs from her brain.
Something brushed her cheek; she held her hand in front of her face -- a Band-Aid. She flashed back to the night before; everything came rushing back to her. All the prior evenings events rushed her at warped speed, she felt like she was watching a movie in fast forward.
She had met him clubbing while out with her girlfriends. He was the dark mysterious type. He had bought her a drink from the other end of bar, at the last stop of the night. She was sitting at the bar, in the corner at the Cross Light - a bar on the outskirts of town. All her friends had paired up for the night and had left the bar, either with the man they came with or with one they picked up that night.
As she sat there and pondered whether she would order another drink, the bartender brought over a drink, "It's from a gentleman who said to enjoy the drink, and if you would like to join him after that one at his table, you are welcome to do so."
She was caught off guard, her cheeks flushed as she took the drink and glanced around the bar and then back to the bartender, "Is it the gentleman in the black turtleneck? Over there?" She motioned with a nod over head.
"That is correct, the man in the black." He said as he wiped down the bar in front of her.
She was feeling warm from the drinks she had already finished, combined with the attention of a handsome, mysterious man who had sent her the drink. She wanted to play coy, so she crossed her legs, sipped on her drink and glanced across the bar at her mystery man again. Her face reddened even more as he was staring directly at her, a smile on his face. He lifted his drink in her direction as she quickly looked back at her own, took a big swig and pulled her cigarettes out of her purse. She rolled the cigarette on the end of her tongue, enjoying the menthol tingle there. She slowed her breathing as she enjoyed the rest of her drink, pulled on her smoke and could feel his eyes on her.
Twenty minutes after he had sent her the drink, she finished the last swallow from her glass, put out her second smoke and rose from her bar stool. She put the tip on the bar and turned and walked to the ladies room. She preened in the mirror -- still not sure if she was going to leave or stroll over to his table. She would make her decision as she walked. She pushed the door open; she had to walk past him to either leave or to join him at his table. As she neared his table, he rose from his chair and pulled a chair for her from the table, "Miss?"
"Oh, ummmm, thanks." She was thrown off guard again as he held the chair and motioned for her to sit.
"Glad you decided to stay." He said has he sat beside her.
Did she really make it look that obvious that she wasn't sure she was going to stay? "I hope I am glad I made that decision." She said as she smiled nervously.
He held out his hand, "We haven't been introduced, I'm James. My middle name is Levanth, and that is what I prefer to be called."
She noticed his slender hands, the sleeve of his black shirt went past his wrist, a silver watch and then he was holding her hand in his, pulling it towards him as he bent and kissed the back of her hand.
"Diane, I'm Diane. Most people call me Di." She managed to get out of her throat as she felt the lingering feeling of his warm lips against the back of her cool hand.
She felt her face redden again as she pulled her hand back, so much for playing it cool. The bartender brought over another round of drinks. They chatted for the better part of an hour, his voice soothing and putting her at ease. He talked of traveling all over the United States and Europe. Asking her about her life, her work, and her travels -- which in comparison to his were meager at best.
The bartender made last call at a quarter till two.
"I'll walk you to your car?" He said, more of a statement than a question.
"Sure. Thanks." She said with a little bit of hesitation as she stood and slid her purse over her shoulder. She felt under a spell when she was looking directly into his dark eyes. When she wasn't look into them, she felt a little un-nerved.
All of a sudden his voice was behind her, "Here's your coat." He said as he held it out for her to put her arms in. His fingers grazed the back of her neck as he slid the coat into place. Shivers travelled down her back from his touch.
She barely knew this man? What was her issue? She chided herself as they walked towards the door. He held the door open for her; she noticed the black coat over his black shirt, black pants. Did he always dress so dark?
He took her arm as they walked. Was she leading him to her car? He almost seemed to be steering her and she didn't know who had arrived at the bar first.
"How do you know which car is mine? She asked.
"Just following your lead, dear. Not really sure which car it is." He said as they walked up to her blue Ford Escort.