Caught in the Rapture of…

I’ve become incredibly fascinated with the band on stage, feeling every chord within my soul. I watched this older man positioned close by the drummer play his guitar. His fingers moved casually against the strings like a father tending to his son, strumming along to the piano’s main melody. When his solo chimed in, it was as if he had been playing that same tune as a child, forming a small, sentimental smile on his countenance. I wondered if he remembers his love for music then; the first instrument he ever played. He must have known the power and freedom it carries, stopping a room full of socialites and fellow city artists to further engage in conversation and fall into his trance.

I take a sip of my martini and cross my legs in the chair, letting the slip of my plum, velvet dress drape to the side. The alcohol slowly warms my blood as I sought solace in the song, loving the impressions it had on the crowd.

Once I sit the glass down, I look over to my date across the table. He’s quite uninterested, I see, checking his phone every now and again as if he’s got somewhere to be. A couple behind him slightly sway their heads to the tune, and I know they must feel the nostalgia like I do, both the longing and intimacy within the jazz club.

When I turn my attention back towards the band, I suddenly feel a rise of heat in my cheeks, a slither along my spine.

I catch someone’s eyes staring back at mine; an aquatic blue piercing through the dimly lit room. He’s sitting close to the front of the stage, and I find myself unable to look away, peering into him without fear or remorse. He holds my gaze too, tempts me, seeks something inside of me that makes me melt within the orbs, within the desire, longing, and intimacy. Tension builds around us, between us, and there, I feel the air thicken as he begins searching my eyes, nearly begging to know who I may be. His lips part at the same time mine do, and I wonder if he feels it; the impulse, the need, the warmth and purity of souls, as if we were the only two beings–

The crowd erupts in applause. Snapping myself back to reality, I break contact to relay my gratitude to the band. I then look back over to the man with the piercing eyes, but he is gone.

I sigh, turning back to my date. “Weren’t they incredible?”

He gives a small smile, “Yeah, they were okay.” He takes a sip of his beer and checks his phone once again.

“I’m sorry, but are you waiting for a call?”

“No, sorry. It’s just…this isn’t really my thing,” he smirks. “Can we–”

“OMG! It is you!” A woman suddenly appears at our table. She looks at my date, mouth wide open.

“Brittany?!” He almost tips over his beer. Did his eyes just glisten? “Wow, it is so nice to see you!”

He stands up and hugs her immediately, a little too long to be defined as friendly. It’s a little comical, if I had to be honest; his surprise and sudden eagerness. Frankly, I’ve never seen him this excited since the Super Bowl.

She keeps her hand on his arm, and they begin to exchange stories about how long it’s been. He almost forgets about me until she acknowledges my presence. He introduces me and avoids any labels to my name, trying his best not to slip up on what we are, which, to be honest, is barely anything. I shake her hand and tell her how nice it is to meet her. She barely looks at me then, brushing me off, and continues to compliment him on how amazing he looks. Lovely.

After a couple of minutes, I am well aware that I am clearly the outlier here, and I am not going to pretend to engage in their conversation in hopes of being seen. So I take the initiative and decide to casually down my martini while she speaks about the last time they’ve seen each other. I raise my empty glass in the air as a gesture and politely excuse myself to get another drink. The last thing I want is to be a disturbance. Of course, the brunette happily takes my seat without a blink of an eye and fully focuses on my date. I roll my eyes, walking over to the bar. Well, it’s best if I leave them to it. I wouldn’t want to say something I would soon regret.

I wave the bartender over once I got to the counter and ask for another martini.

I’m not particularly sure why I’m with him, why I string him along to these clubs and events. We’ve only been dating for about a couple of months, and he’s not a completely terrible human being; I wouldn’t be going on these dates if he were. He can actually be kind when he wants to be, but he’s more selfish in bed than a businessman with an ego. Personally, I’ve just been so exhausted with this dating thing. I don’t have any willpower to go back on these dating apps and continue the same routinely dead-end conversations as if we genuinely care about our hobbies and what we do for fun. I’d rather write a New York Times Bestseller about the modern dating world than go on another date with a man who is too incompetent to understand that being chivalrous is not a threat to feminists.

The bartender brings me the drink, and I politely tell him to put it on my date’s tab.

I turn towards the stage while I take a sip and watch a woman get up on it. She stands in front of the microphone while another man adjusts the saxophone in his hands.

“We’re going to add some R&B soul with this next song. Here’s ‘Coastin’ by Boney James and Lalah Hathaway,'” she says.

I lean my side against the counter and watch the older man begin to play the saxophone in a sultry tune, along with the drummer and bass behind him. She holds the microphone on the stand and starts to sing, couples suddenly filling the dance floor in front of her. I find myself instantly falling in love with her beautiful voice, with the soulful song, even though it barely began.

“Care to dance?” Someone asks.

Startled, I suddenly see the man with the piercing blue eyes stand beside me, looking directly into mine. I attempt not to gasp at the sight of him up close, widening my stare, almost splashing the drink on my dress. Shit, I’m blushing—I can tell—but I aim to convince myself otherwise that the alcohol must be responsible for the heat on my cheeks. He tilts his head and flashes a crooked grin.

“I, uh,” I swallow, wanting to shake off the tension. I attempt not to focus too much on his sharp jawline, or his perfectly groomed scruff, or his full, supple lips, or his… “Thank you, but I’m, I’m good. I’m actually with someone. I, uh, have a date. I’m on a date, too.”

He nods and tries not to be amused with my fumbles, “Ah, yes. I see. Is that your date over there?” He looks over to a table in the crowd. “He seems a little too…preoccupied for someone you are on a date with.”

I look over to my date and see him thoroughly engrossed in a discussion with the woman of his past. They are sitting closely now, and I notice her fingers circle his palm across the table. He must have made a joke, a stupid joke, because she laughs at him, a little too hysterical and dramatic for my taste.

I sigh, taking another sip of my drink, “Yes, well, it sure looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“If you’d like,” he says, now also leaning against the counter. “I wouldn’t be opposed to asking him if I can dance with you. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” I raise my eyebrows at this, surprised by the proposal. I glance over to him, and my reaction must be priceless. He then smiles and winks, “But of course, the decision is yours.”

I look back at the table. My date can care less about my whereabouts. He has barely looked up from the woman’s lips to even remotely wonder if I left him completely. Frankly, I think he accepted my invitation to come here so he can have a warm body to sleep with afterward.

I take a couple more sips of my drink—gulps really—and set it on the counter. Fuck it. “That won’t be necessary. I’d love to dance with you.”

He holds out his hand then, and once I place mine in his, I feel a violent stream of electricity shoot up my veins. I nearly pull back, but find myself reluctant to do so as he leads me towards the middle of the dance floor, surrounding us with bodies slow dancing against the beat.

“May I?” He asks.

I look up at him and nod, giving him consent to touch me.

I gasp when I feel his fingers curve along the shape of my waist, pressing our bodies closely together. I then slowly bring my arm up to rest my palm against his shoulder, and he takes my other hand in his. I let him lead as we begin to sway to the rhythm of the song; our feet creating a tempo, matching every step, and movement of his body. As we settle to the pulse of the music, I feel his head lower to lean his cheek against my own, and I find myself closing my eyes while we dance around in place, hips moving side to side—like a couple falling in love.

It feels right; warm, pleasant, easy—safe. It’s as if I knew him for years, decades, as if we’ve danced like this in living rooms and kitchens—jazz clubs in the 80s.

I feel his breath against my ear the closer he leans in, his lips suddenly tickling my skin, grazing them along the lobe. His fingers then gradually skim along the crossed strings of my dress, caressing my flesh there; the midst of my spine. My breath hitches at that, and I wonder if he notices the slight tremble of my body, the shiver along my back. He repeats that same dangerous path, trailing a pattern across my skin. He must have felt my heart skip a beat.

“I feel like…I know you,” he says against my ear. “But I don’t believe we’ve ever met before.”

I open my eyes, “I…I know. I feel like I know you, too.”

He slowly pulls his head away when I say this, his mouth dragging against my cheek to look at me. I part my lips when I feel his barely rest on mine, and then we both stare at each other’s, occasionally looking up to meet our eyes. He lingers over my mouth, teasingly, briefly touching them with his. We begin to slow our pace. I can almost taste his hot breath on my tongue; swallow it. It’s torture; how close his soft lips dance over the edges of mine. I run my tongue to moisten my own, and I watch him suck in a breath.

“If I,” he hesitates for a moment. “If I wanted to kiss you, would you let me?”

I suck in a breath as well, my pulse hammering against my chest. I attempt not to grin as I lean in a little closer, faintly scaling my lips against his, “Yes.”

I feel him smile at that. “And if I,” his palm lazily grazes down my back to press along my hips, the curve of my ass. “If I wanted to touch you, would you let me?”

“Even more than right now?” I ask. He nods. I lean in more, being careful not to touch his lips, smoothing my hand from his shoulder to his broad chest, “Yes.”

“But, what about your date?” He leans forward, and I pull my mouth away. He likes it when I tease him and play along. “Do you think he would mind if I…have a taste?”

I nearly collapsed at that; his emphasis and dare creating a pool between my legs. I feel it now; the craving, the thirst…the desire and lust inside my blood. He’s done it. He’s won. I’m irrevocably under his spell. That sly, sneaky, hot, charming, blue-eyed son of a– “No,” I choke out, attempting to keep my composure.

He tilts up my chin with his fingers so I can get a better look at his eyes; those intoxicating, hypnotizing eyes. He then runs his thumb over my lower lip, and it takes everything in me not to wet it with my tongue or completely suck it in. He licks his lips, his eyes starved, desperate. He then immediately drops his hand and takes mine.

“Come with me,” he demands.

Before I know it, he leads me away from the couples on the dance floor and the band already playing a new soulful song with a jazzy twist.

We pass by the bar and kitchen area, moving through a maze of tables and waiters, excusing ourselves between conversations and laughter. It seemed like we were heading towards the bathrooms, but before I refused and called him a creepy cliché, we walked through that hallway, past the bathrooms, to the back door of the club.  Making sure no one was in sight, he whips me around and backs me up against the brick wall, pressing himself against me. We’re outside in a dimly-lighted, empty alleyway, one where you would find hidden restaurants and outdoor seating, now all closed.

I gasp at the sudden warmth of his body, the pressure of his weight against mine—his mouth now only inches away. He then raises his arm to rest it above my head. “Tell me to stop. And I’ll stop.”

I place my hands on his chest and flush them along his dress shirt. I smile at his muscular frame, the scent of his cologne. “Please don’t.”

And then we finally kiss; softly, deeply, passionately, as if the Earth stopped moving and it was us alone. Immediate delicious shocks begin to electrify my body and boil the blood in my veins. And he must have felt them too as he dives in deeper, parting my lips with his warm, soft tongue, swirling and caressing against my own. I let a moan escape my lips, taking him in wider—needing more of it, needing more of him. I tilt my head so I can taste him, fully, so he can savor better. When we break apart to breathe, staring at our lips now wet and swollen, something satanic takes over us. All of a sudden, we’re on each other like beasts; completely animalistic and possessed, incredibly feral.

I begin to grasp and fist the collar of his shirt, holding him tighter, opening wider. He grips my bare thigh and pulls my leg up to his hips, grinding and bucking against me, telling me just how thick and hard he is below, how much he is dying and aching to fuck me. He bites and nibbles and sucks on my lips—roughly, deeply, hungrily—and I lean my neck to the side, having him gain access to the length of my throat, to lick and swallow my flesh, marking me, owning me, claiming me as his. He caresses my breast through the fabric, pinches my nipple, and I gasp and moan and whimper aloud, not caring who heard, not caring who sees. I plead for more as he moans and whispers dirty things into my ears, and I submissively answer with curses in his mouth, with violent, eractic yeses. He then bends to lift me off the ground, wrapping my legs around his waist, firmly slamming me against the wall. I moan at the sudden aggression, loving his dominant commands, tangling my fingers in his hair—needing, wanting craving, thirsting, begging him to touch me, hold me, lick me, choke me, eat–

The back door opens and we immediately stop. He puts me down and forces himself away from me completely, putting distance.

A couple of people walk out in the midst of a conversation, a little drunk and tipsy. They quiet when they turn their heads and see us. He turns around so they won’t see his evident bulge, and I look away to fix my uneven dress. I then notice my phone on the ground that must have fallen out of my dress pocket. I quickly pick it up and place it back inside. The women started to blush and giggle at what was obviously happening between us. They walk in the opposite direction of the alleyway, whispering and snickering about us, quite amused.

I look at him once they are nearly out of sight and watch him run his fingers through his hair, releasing a huge breath.

“Fuuck,” he says.

I start to laugh, hysterically laugh.

Surprised, he opens his mouth but then closes it. His smile widens and then begins to laugh as well; a wholehearted, from-the-belly laugh. “That was crazy!” He exclaims, clutching his stomach.

I touch my chest and attempt to calm myself, “So crazy! Like, what the fuck?”

“What the fuck?” He laughs. He then smiles, “We were definitely going to fuck in an alleyway.”

“We were definitely going to fuck in an alleyway,” I repeat with a grin.

He walks towards me, becoming a little serious as I lean my head against the wall. “But you feel it too, right?” He reaches out to run the back of his fingers along the length of my arm, and I feel that tingle again down my spine. I close my eyes for a moment to relish the sensation and open them to find him gazing at me. I then take hold of his forearm, smoothing my fingers against his skin. I watch his jaw tense, his breaths quicken.

I nod, “I do.”

He then takes a couple of steps back and sighs. I furrow my eyebrows at this, but before I can comprehend his action, he reaches out his hand, flashing me his infamous crooked smile. “I’m Jacob, by the way. As someone who almost fucked you in an alleyway and ripped off your clothes just a minute ago, I feel I should formerly introduce myself.”

I smile and clear my throat, trying to be serious; a professional. I reach out my hand to shake his, “Ah, yes. Well, it’s so nice to formerly meet you Jacob. My name is–”

The back door swings open again. A couple steps out, and it’s–oh, great.

“Shit,” my date says, unhooking his fingers from Brittany. “Hi! You know, I was just looking for you. We were looking for you.” He looks back and forth between Jacob and I. I’m sure he can tell we still look flustered; Jacob’s lips, I now notice, are faintly smudged with my lipstick. “Looks like you did more than just find the bar.” He addresses Jacob with a twitch in his jealous right eye, “And who are you?”

“Jacob!” Brittany says.

She moves past my date to run up to Jacob and gives him a hug. I raise my eyebrows, and Jacob just looks at me confused.

“Uh, I’m sorry. Do I know you?” He asks.

“Oh don’t be silly!” She releases him and hooks her arm around his, “We went on a couple of dates last year? You know we met through Hinge.” She looks at me, finally acknowledging my existence. “You know, he’s actually my friend’s brother’s friend, Johnny. I didn’t know that until after we met through the dating app.”

“Johnny,” he repeats to himself. “Ah, Brittany, is it? Yes, Brittany.” He grins at her, but it clearly doesn’t meet his eyes. “Of course. How could I forget? I didn’t even recognize you. You look a bit different than I remember.”

She smiles and pats her nose, “I mean I did just get my nose done.”

I smirk, but before her eyes can send darts, I cover it up with a couple of coughs. I look at Jacob, and he attempts not to laugh at my reaction.

My date continues to eye Jacob like he’s his next meal and then looks at me, ignoring Brittany’s comment, “Anyway, we were just…Brittany invited us to hang out at her friend’s place and I thought it would be fun for us to go. I just closed out the tab. Or I can just drop you off at home.”

“Jacob, you should come! It may not have worked out between us, but Johnny would be so happy to see you!” Brittany exclaims, tugging his arm like a child. He really went on a date with her?

He runs his fingers through his hair, hesitant, about to refuse. But then he looks at me instead, intently, “I’ll go if she goes.”

“I…” I begin to say. Everyone’s eyes bolt to meet mine, but the only ones I care to notice are Jacob’s; yes, those piercing, aqua blue, like a wicked, enticing spell; always captivating and inducing me. I then begin to remember the sweet taste of his mouth, the grip of his hands on my thighs… “Yes, sure. Why not?”

Brittany gasps in excitement while my date sighs in clear disappointment. She told everyone to follow her as she rushes to my date and pulls him along to start walking into the street. He looks over his shoulder at me and he puts his arm around her. This will definitely be an interesting night.

Jacob and I walk side by side together, closely, following distantly behind them. He whispers to me about sneaking away once we get there, and when visible relief washes over me, he laughs.

We settle into a conversation, delving into our admiration for jazz and blues. And as I feel his fingers casually graze against mine from time to time, even hooking his pinky around my own, I find myself smiling, wholeheartedly, unable to keep the blush raising in my cheeks Certainly, this wouldn’t be the last time I’ll see him. That wouldn’t have been the last dance.

I know that now. And I think he knows that too.