Rhythmic

She listened to the rhythmic beating of the steel drums. It was both deep and powerful. She could feel herself moving to the rhythm. She got up to dance.

Back and forth she sashayed her hips in slow motion. The sweat dripping down between her breasts. The music made her feel better. She forgot how good it felt to dance.

To dance away her troubles. She had so much trouble. She needed a reprieve. On this island where no one knew her. She could be free.

Free to breathe. Free to dance.

Each beat of the drum seemed to propel her into a space of pure euphoria. She was dancing away her problems.

The beat was both exotic and tempting.

Michael watched her in slow motion.

He wanted her.

He felt the longing not just in his loins but in his heart.

He could see she was beautiful and fragile. Life had been hard on her. She moved like a skilled dancer. Her hips were hypnotizing him. He needed her.

Approaching slowly from behind Michael pressed his body to her. She moved into him. He smelled her sweet scent. Lilac. He loved that smell.

He rocked with her and swayed to the beat. Nothing but heat between them and sweat rolling down their bodies. They were as one.

He whispered “I know what you’re running from.”

This post is inspired by the Daily Post. The word was rhythmic.