TOO HOT TO BE BORING

                          ~MARCELLA~

I take one slow step closer to him, letting the bass roll through my body.

I stop just close enough for him to smell my perfume—warm, sweet, dangerous.

Up close, he’s even better. Sharp jaw. Long lashes. Lips that look like they’ve never learned how to beg. Calm eyes that don’t rush me, don’t undress me openly like the others.

That alone makes me want to ruin him.

I trace a finger lightly along the edge of his drink, then tap the glass.

“You look like someone who doesn’t belong here,” I say, voice smooth, curious. “Too calm. Too… put together.”

His gaze drops briefly to my finger, then lifts back to my eyes.

“And what about you?” he asks.

I smile slowly. “Oh, I belong everywhere.”

I slide closer, my thigh brushing his, deliberately unhurried. I lean in like I’m about to share a secret.

“You know,” I murmur, “most men would’ve already asked my name by now.”

“And you’d tell them?” he asks.

I laugh softly. “No. But I’d like the effort.”

His lips twitch. Almost.

“I’m not most men.”

That’s interesting.

I lift my brows. “Is that confidence… or shyness?”

“Whatever you see it as,” he replies.

I hum thoughtfully, circling him now, letting my fingers trail briefly across his arm, testing.

 His muscles tense under my touch—but he doesn’t grab me. He doesn't pull me back.

Still holding back.

I step in front of him again, placing my hands on his chest this time, feeling his heartbeat under my palms.

“Dance with me,” I say, already moving.

He hesitates for half a second too long.

That’s all it takes.

I grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor before he can change his mind.

The music swallows us immediately.

I don’t give him time to think.

I turn my back to him and start moving.

My hips roll, slow and deliberate, wine-colored fabric hugging every curve as I grind back just enough to make a point.

I lift my arms, fingers threading through my hair, tossing my head to the beat, feeling eyes burn into my skin from every direction.

 I let the rhythm take over, pressing back into him, just enough to blur lines. 

My hands slide up my own body as I dance, showing him exactly what I know he’s thinking about.

My ass grinds against him slowly, deliberately, teasing instead of begging.

Most guys would already be gone by now—hands on my waist, mouths at my ear, saying something stupid and desperate.

But him?

He barely moves.

I glance over my shoulder, lips parted.

“Touch me,” I say, almost playful.

His hands finally settle on my waist. But that’s all.

No pull. No heat. No hunger.

I dance harder….twerking now, controlled, precise. The crowd cheers somewhere behind us. Cash flutters near my feet. I feel more eyes everywhere.

Still, he barely moves with me.

He’s there… but not there.

His hands hover at my hips like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch. His body is stiff, restrained, almost… polite.

I glance over my shoulder, smirking.

“Relax,” I purr. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

Nothing. No heat returned.

I spin around, facing him, and dance closer—too close—letting my breasts brush his chest, my lips hovering near his ear.

“You’re allowed to enjoy this,” I whisper.

His jaw tightens. “I am.”

But he isn’t.

I am lowering myself slightly now, rolling my body upward slowly, deliberately. I meet his eyes again, daring him to react.

He swallows.

But he still doesn’t move.

The spark flickers. Then dies.

The excitement drains from me slowly, replaced by something sharp and annoying.

I straighten, stepping back, folding my arms and studying him openly like a disappointing toy.

“Wow,” I say, shaking my head lightly. “What a waste.”

He frowns. “Excuse me?”

I step closer, lowering my voice so it cuts.

“It’s a pity,” I say, eyes sweeping him deliberately from head to toe. “You’re hot. Sexy. Handsome. Tall, broad shoulders, handsome face. The kind girls warn each other about. Exactly my type.”

I pause, then shrug and pull back, my eyes sharp now, smile gone sweet but edged.

“But you’re boring. And someone as boring as you shouldn't be in a club.”

That hits.

I tilt my head, smile turning cruel-sweet.

“I don’t flow with boring guys. You're too hot to be boring. You should really… up your game.”

I don’t wait for his reply. I step away from him, already dismissing him.

I turn and walk away, hips swaying with intention, already feeling eyes chase me. And I'm sure his eyes must be following me as I walk back to the crowd.

Another guy catches me immediately—confident, eager, smiling like he’s won something. 

“Hello, gorgeous. Can I have a dance with you?” He asks.

“Sure,” I reply almost immediately without thinking.

Time to show that boring, handsome guy how it is done.

The new guy steps in and matches my rhythm perfectly.

I back into him, grinding my ass against his cock.

His hands are firm, fingers harsh as they squeeze my ass.

He reacts to every move, every grind, every tease.

He’s into me.

Very into me. Too into me.

He's rocking my ass hard and his palm is slightly above my pussy lips.

He wraps a hand around my neck to pull me close.

Yeah! Just like that! I love this vibe!

I take the opportunity to study him.

He is a decent looking guy. Tall and muscular with a neat beard and dark eyes.

I dance with him for a while….fast, reckless, loud—till I feel the wetness through his trousers. He just released in his pants!

I smile a knowingly, seductive smile and continue to rock him hard, arousing him again—but the thrill fades quickly. I'm suddenly bored.

He isn’t as handsome. Not as sharp. Not as frustrating as the boring guy. 

I pull away abruptly.

“I need air,” I say, already moving without waiting for a response from him.

Outside, the cool night wraps around me as I step out, heels clicking against concrete.

I inhale deeply, letting the noise fade behind me, the bass now a distant thump with irritation buzzing under my skin.

Damn that boring guy! No one has ever rejected my seductions before.

Why do I care though?

I have thousands of guys that would do anything just to spend a few seconds alone with me.

The boring guy can go to hell for all I care!

I lean against the wall, folding my arms, annoyed at myself more than anyone else.

“Fuck, I left my cigarettes in my bag with Stephanie. I really need to smoke right now,” I mutter aloud.

Before I can think of what to do next—remain outside for a while? Or get back inside the club for my cigarettes?

I hear footsteps walking towards me.

Slow. Intentional.

I don’t turn around.

Some men don’t like being dismissed or being walked away from.

And something tells me… he’s one of them.