and-she-has-some-sick-dance-moves

   she can barely remember the name of the city they’re in, let alone the name of the boy with a firm grip on her tiny waist while she rocks back into him, but she knows that he has pretty eyes and that his lips taste like dark liquor and that should be enough, shouldn’t it ? but her eyes still linger on the man in the shadows, keeping a harsh gaze on her because that’s what he’s supposed to do. it’s what he’s paid to do. but there’s something pooling in the pit of her stomach, some type of sick gravitational pull, that has her moving toward him on less than sturdy legs.  – you know you’re allowed to have fun, right ? she teases, nimble fingers tugging at the hem of her dress where it’d ridden upward from her previous actions.  that girl over there’s been staring at you for like – an hour. ask her to dance.