Short Story: The Hunt by Zubier Abdullah
When she walked into the room, every eye in that place rested on her, as though she was a magnet and we were all iron filings.
Sarika was her name—I found that out later, after my eyes had examined every inch of her body and her face from where I was sitting. A mad wave of desire swept over me and I felt as though I was possessed. Have you ever felt like that? I hope not. It was something which had no hint of romance in it. I had to have her. The last vestiges of propriety and polite behaviour that had been long back instilled into me were cast off, like winter clothes at the beach.
The club was noisy, filled with nameless faceless people, gyrating in time to the dull droning of one hip hop song after another. I walked over to her, drink in hand, a salacious smile on my lips. I looked around to make sure that she was alone.
I saw no other woman in the place looking at her without a flare of jealousy on their faces. The bartender, as well as almost everyone else was eyeing her. I won’t begin to describe her body because words would fail me. What got me most was her mouth—her mouth, her sensuous lips that I would have liked to bite at the first opportunity.
She wore a dress, more like a second skin—a black dress that highlighted every curve on her ample body. It ended slightly below the curve of her derrière and it took great restraint for me not to do something stupid and risk being kicked out of the club and possibly into jail. She had a haughty look about her. You know, the kind that I am talking about, don’t you? The look, women who are used to a lot of male attention have. Even from where I was standing, I could smell her perfume and now as I closed the distance between us it became stronger—a heady mix of sex and springtime, of lavender and lust. When she turned to order her drink, I caught a better glimpse of her voluptuous body and stopped dead in my tracks. My heart was beating hard—a staccato beat double the tempo of the song that was playing. My palms were sweaty.
What was going on? I was not a fresh faced kid who did not have the temerity to ask out a girl for a date. I was a king. I was one who slept with more women than I could remember. My list of conquests was long and various, yet this woman unnerved me. Her skin was pale, paler than the moon on a hot summer night and it seemed to glow as well. Her full figure, her effervescent smile, and the way she moved were all sending me wild signals that made me completely irrational. A mad lust consumed me just looking at her.
I had to be careful, I told myself. I had to have her and I could afford no mistakes—not with this much at stake. It had been six months since I had been out, prowling the night in search of prey.
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