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I collapse, empty. Abandoned.
The music drops as Heaven backs into the darkness, leaving me wrecked on the floor. Where I lay for several moments, my sobs echoing through the amphitheater.
A single scraping string sounds in the void.
I reach out, grasping for the black hands, the black-clad bodies of shadow. I gather them to me, huddling them around me, embracing my naked form.
The resonant note grows, shrieking and violent. The single note becomes two, dissonant. They are my rage, reviving me. My chest heaves up from the floor, once, twice.
I scream in pain as the music explodes again, returning to life. With it, I stand slowly, dragged up to my feet by the shadow dancers.
I’m wasted, battered, used.
My hair cascades in messy curls around my face. But as the hands raise me, the shadows surround me, shrouding me as they paint me in the deepest red, reincarnating me as rage herself.
The shrieking noise ebbs to silence for a moment as I come into my own, my fury boiling within me.
The shadows reveal me as I raise my arms out to the sides. And my mask changes color on cue. I bow my head, and hands attach my horns.
Then I spin, throwing myself into the next movement, the song erupting as I land. My arms sling out, hands pointed as I throw one kick high, tossing my head back and slamming my foot down.
Every move is a demand, railing at the fates to bring back what was taken from me.
The song reaches its peak, and I slam to my knees, throwing my head back, shouting to the sky, calling my lover down. Calling him out.
He emerges from darkness behind me, running one hand down the back of my head, down the side of my neck, clasping my throat, gripping hard. The choking grip is just tight enough to make me tense, my lust dripping down my legs, pooling on the stage under me.
My arm stretches up to clutch, right before he pulls me to my feet, but this time, I swing him around, throwing him away.
The angel spins away, caught by other dancers and thrust back into the fray.
Our roles are reversed.
From the audience, I drink in the avid, rapt attention, the waves of sexual energy.
I can imagine hands groping in the dark, feeling each other, swaying with the music. The idea that all of their eyes are on me and Evan sends shivers rocketing down through my body like the first drop on a roller coaster.
Evan lunges at me. I drive him away. He grasps for me. I slap his hands. He lifts me, but I slam back down to my feet, pushing him to the ground.
In a flash, I pounce on him, straddling him, tearing the golden mask from his face.
A black, fabric mask remains underneath, hiding his face.
But the rest of him lies beneath me, exposed, destroyed.
In that moment, I’m not Hellena, but I’m more myself than I’ve ever been. I am only my desire, my need.
So, I drive my hips down, my slick, wet folds devouring the entire length of Evan’s cock, filling myself with him. The stretch has me crying out, throwing my head back, my chin tipped toward the ceiling. I know I’m grinning from ear to ear, wicked, demented.
The dancers close in around us, hiding us just enough to taunt the crowd. Right then, the lights dim to a blood red fire, shadows flickering.
And I start grinding. He moans, echoing into the dome above.
Dancers all around us begin to touch themselves, each other, stripping away their black wraps to make love, kissing, groping. The forbidden nature of all of us losing control together sets the fires in my chest ablaze.
I grind to the thumping rhythm of the hypnotic music, thrusting on top of Evan over and over and over, my soaked skin slapping against his, his hands lifting me to ram me down. Deeper, harder.
My fingernails dig into Evan’s chest, making him yell wordlessly.
