Sex&Drugs&Rock&Roll ✭ Michael Jackson (18+)

Two

———   Two　———

When she stepped inside the Palace, an intimate and crowded club, in high strapped heels, a half-smile appeared on his face. She was wearing a red mid-thigh spaghetti strap dress with a white floral pattern. She crossed her arms out of discomfort and leaned against a pillar, scoping the room. Once she laid eyes on him, she was already enthralled by his appearance. Soft brown skin, brown eyes lined with black eyeliner, and faint pink blush on his cheeks. He wore a white short-sleeve shirt with a studded black leather jacket and heeled boots with buckles running down the sides. He sauntered to her as he took a drag from a long Marlboro cigarette in between his fingers.

He wrapped his arm around Dahlia's waist and placed his other hand on her jaw before interlocking his soft lips with hers. The sudden kiss made her mind go blank for a few moments. Dahlia didn't even know this man's name yet she was sharing a passionate kiss with him. The softness of his lips, cigarette smoke, and sweet cologne sent her to seventh heaven. The hand on her waist moved down to her thigh and underneath her dress, hiking it up. Feeling his rough hand slide up her thigh and rest on her bare hip sent a chill straight down her back. She never had a man this forward with her, especially in public. Dahlia found herself not wanting to break from this kiss. She wanted to go as far as he wanted to. You could imagine her disappointment when he pulled away to exhale his smoke from her direction.

"Do you always feel your girls up without warning?" Dahlia asked, breathily.

"No, you just look so tempting in this dress, Doll." He complimented, tucking her honey blonde hair behind her ear. "Innocence begging to be destroyed."

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "You know, I'm not as innocent as you claim I am."

"Oh, no?" He questioned, eyebrow raised. "What makes my Black Dahlia not innocent? What does your life look like?"

She lightly laughed. "What's with you calling me Black Dahlia? I'm not chopped in half."

"Black Dahlia was a sweet young girl with a tragic end."

"And I'm going to have a tragic end?" She asked, entertained.

"After I'm done with you, yeah." He answered with a half-smile back on his face. "Tell me about your life."

Dahlia chortled at that. "Fine, I'll tell you. I live in the suburban area of this city. I'm an art teacher at Whitridge Elementary School. Most nights, I'm at home grading. I go out with friends every once and a while. A very simple life."

He chuckled. "Like I said: innocent. My sweet and innocent girl helps children find themselves in art. That's cute."

"Your girl." Dahlia scoffed. "I'm not some little girl. I'm a 28-year-old woman."

"A sweet and innocent one. Perhaps I'll take you on the road with me. Introduce you to some rock stars. Gun 'n Roses, Foo Fighters, Queen, Pearl Jam, Bon Jovi, The Strokes, Kiss, Fleetwood Mac, Rolling Stones. The possibilities are endless."

"Oh, God, Kiss? I'm good off that one. I prefer to not have nightmares." Dahlia joked. "Thanks for the invitation, but I like my simple life."

"Yeah?" He asked, amused, before he took a drag from his cigarette.

"Yeah." She mocked, playfully. "I love its normalcy."

He almost chuckled as he turned his head to exhale. "No, you don't. You crave adventure. You want excitement. I saw it in your eyes."

"Yeah, well, you saw wrong."

Very closely, he leaned until he was a few inches from her face, looking at her with fierce eyes. "Then how come I can see it right now? I excite you. Why deny it? Are you afraid you'll like what I'll show you?"