The sharp, bold scent of Cuban rum hung heavy in the warm Varadero nightclub, the club's speakers playing some reggaetón song heavy with Caribbean rhythms that pounded in my ears. Tracing a finger along the rim of my glass, I took a moment to enjoy the plentiful sight of beautiful Cuban women living it up on the dance floor, hips swaying and bodies gyrating, a sea of rich tan tropical hues glinting under the colored lights. Women sipped their drinks, laughed and chattered, danced close to tall broad-shouldered Latin men — all snappily-dressed for their lovely ladies — as they moved around the room in the unspoken dance of attraction and seduction.
One woman in particular caught my eye: a slim, curvaceous beauty, with rich brown skin and thick curly brown hair, clad in a low-cut purple dress that stopped above her mid-thigh. She moved with an almost unnatural grace, hips rolling hypnotically while she swayed back and forth across the floor, the other dancers parting easily for her as if it were unthinkable not to. As she danced, her gaze caught mine, a glint of eyes I could swear were a rich gold, and her plump lips curled in a teasing grin as she shook her hips suggestively at me before disappearing into the crowd with a laugh.
As I sipped my drink, the rich taste of rum warming my throat, I found myself staring after where she'd been, and let myself daydream. There was something about her, something special beyond just another pretty face, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
After a few moments of being lost in thought, I felt a feminine hand come to rest on my shoulder, and I startled, turning around in my bar stool to find the golden-eyed beauty standing there, smiling coyly down at me. Long curly brown hair tumbled down her shoulders, framing an elegant face with plump lips and half-lidded golden eyes. Her skin was a rich brown, and her figure was slim yet curvy. A purple dress hugged her curves, cut low in a V-shape, which showed off her ample cleavage.
She leaned forward slightly, and even in the din of the nightclub, it seemed to cut through the sound and hit straight into me. "Ay, qué guapísimo," she cooed, her voice a pretty Latin lilt, "Andas sólo, o tienes novia?"
I'd taken Spanish in middle school, and I was middlingly confident I could figure out something of what she'd said. Let's see, she'd said… words, and they were probably good, judging by the playful smile on her plush lips and the teasing lilt to her tone. Frankly, she could have insulted me and I would have been none the wiser, and the abrupt reminder that I was a fish out of water in a foreign country made a hot, somewhat-embarrassed blush rise in my cheeks. "Sorry, I don't speak Spanish," I admitted sheepishly.
The woman laughed, an oddly musical thing, all eerily-perfect notes like a siren song luring men to their doom - and I wanted to be the hapless sailor leaping into the sea after her. "No te avergüences, mi frutíca madura," she purred, making a soft amused noise at my sudden embarrassment, "Don't worry, bombón, I speak English, too." Her eyes sparkled with interest, and she smiled, exposing the tips of oddly-sharp canines. "You're an American on vacation in our paraíso latino, sí?"
I nodded — I remembered enough Spanish from the travel brochures to understand she'd said 'Latin paradise', and sunny Cuba definitely was. "Yeah, the island's really beautiful," I agreed, and she looked pleased, or perhaps amused, as she slid onto the bar stool next to me.
"Me llamo Maritza," she introduced herself, tossing her hair slightly and flashing me a roguish smile, "But you may call me Mari. It's a shame for such a handsome man to be all alone, hm?" She ran her tongue along her upper lip sensually, then glanced at me meaningfully. Her pupils were a thin, pointed vertical slit, and I found myself mesmerized by them, unable to look away. "Maybe we should do something about that. You want company tonight?"
A part of me wanted to say no — I had only just met her, after all — and I hesitated, struggling beneath the inexplicable force that drew me to her like magnetism. At my hesitation, Maritza leaned in, resting a hand on my thigh. "Venté conmigo, y te enseñaré un buen tiempo," she purred, "It'll be the best night of your life, handsome."
"Yes," I breathed, and she smirked, taking me by the hand, and I was helpless to do anything but follow her into the warm summer night outside. Maritza's lush brown skin was far colder than it should have been, and even the warmth of my own body seemed unable to penetrate her cool skin. My breath caught as she led me through the Varadero streets, and I followed her lead without question, watching her curly brown hair and shapely rear sway as she walked a step ahead of me, leading me away from the neon glow of the nightclubs and hotels and deeper into the darker areas of town.
As soon as we were comfortably nestled out of plain view, Maritza moved with an inhuman swiftness. In a heartbeat, she opened a door and pulled me into a small house, one hand gripping my shirt collar, the other resting lightly on my belt, and I froze as the brown-skinned Latin beauty gazed down at me with those strangely luminous golden eyes. "Eres supersticioso, yuma?" she purred, low and dark, "Are you superstitious?"
I shook my head wordlessly, arousal warring with instinctual self-preservation — and right now, arousal was winning hands-down. I wanted, and what was the point in resisting?
"Good," Maritza purred, giving me a slow smile that showed her pointed teeth. She leaned in to kiss me, tasting of mint and rum and sweet cane sugar. She nipped at my lower lip just enough to draw a single bead of blood, which she readily lapped up, and the motion sent a rush of heat straight to my cock as her hand crept down my waist. "Then I think it's time I show you just how good Cuban women treat their men in bed, handsome," she purred.