The Black Velvet Room I

 

The club was a place where time stood still, or at least felt like it. It smelled like incense and the velvet on the walls drank in the sweat of dancing bodies. The lights were low, throwing hues across the room in pules. On the piano Tariq, moved his hands over the keys, playing music that didn’t just move people, it seduced.

He wasn’t just performing, he was hunting. His eyes glinting with a dark desire, his gaze moved over the crowd. Until he missed a note.

She walked in like a dream almost unreal.

Ebony.

A beautiful masterpiece. Tall, confident, with legs that stretched to the heavens, lips that could take souls,  wrapped in a gold dress like a piece of the finest chocolate. Her dress shimmered with each step. Her fro’ crowned her hair like a halo and her presence could even part the Red Sea.

People stood aside as if the universe parted for her, but she didn’t notice. Ebony was too busy looking around the club, her mind far from the sultry looks tossed her way.

“Lemme buy you a drink’ came a raspy voice from beside her.

“I’m good, thanks.” she replied to the stranger.

Tariq saw her and his pulse skipped.

He couldn’t hear her thought but could feel her intent. She wasn’t here for a good. No, she had a purpose. He could sense it.

She slid onto a wood barstool, her back to the state. Just as she sat down, the bartender handed her a drink she didn’t order.

“I’m sorry, this can’t be mine. I didn’t order anything.”

“From the smooth brother on the piano.” the bartender said, nodding toward Tariq.

Ebony glanced over her shoulder, her eyes locking onto Tariq’s dark, smoldering gaze. For a second, the club seemed to fall silent, the music fading beneath the weight of that single moment.

Tariq didn’t smile. He never had to. His eyes held hers with an intensity that both threatened and intrigued. He gave a slow nod, acknowledging the spark between them. She raised the glass, not in gratitude, but more like a challenge.

“You know, flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Ebony said, half to herself, but loud enough for the bartender to hear.

“Oh no, no, no. It’s just southern hospitality, sweetheart. We always buy the finest thang in the room a drink” came a voice from behind her. Smooth. Low. Seductive.

Ebony tensed, then turned to find Tariq standing at her side, leaning against the bar like he’d been there the whole time. His presence was magnetic. His cologne, a hint of sandalwood and ylang ylang, hit her senses before the sound of his voice did.

“Well, what about her?” she quipped, taking small sips and looking at an attractive woman to her right. Her lips curved into a small smirk. “Or her?” she looked to her left.

Tariq chuckled softly, a sound as intoxicating as his scent. “They’re stunning.” He stepped closer, the warmth of his presence brushing against her skin. “But maybe I saw you walk in and forgot they existed for a second.”

Ebony arched a brow, surprised at the ease with which he admitted it. “Careful. You might make a girl blush.”

“Red’s my favorite color.”

He tilted his head, his eyes drinking her in with an intensity that bordered on deep desire. “I doubt anything rattles you, cherie.”

Her smirk widened, but inside something shifted. As well as her legs. Tariq was smooth, too smooth. Yet, he had some danger to him. And something in his eyes that felt primal, ancient, lustful. There was something about Tariq that made her want to lean in just to find out of the attraction between them was real or something else.

“So, you always seduce your audience from the stage?” Ebony asked, putting the glass down and turning to face him fully.

“Only when they’re worth it,” Tariq replied, his voice low, sending shivers down her spine. “And you, Ebony, you’ve been worth it from the moment you walked in.”

She blinked. “How do you know my name?”

His lips quirked at the corner, almost like a dare. “I make it my business to know, my uh, next source of inspiration.”

Ebony’s eyes narrowed, the cocktail of attraction and suspicion swirling in her mind. She leaned in, just close enough to whisper. “And what else do you know?”

Tariq’s gaze darkened, his breath teasing her cheek as he whispered back, “That you’ve been looking for someone. Someone like me.”

Her pulse quickened not from fear, but something else. Before she could respond, Tariq straightened, his smoldering gaze never leaving hers.

He gave a nod toward the stage.

“Stay a little longer. I promise you’ll hear something you’ll never forget.”

And just like that, he was gone. Back at the piano, fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys once more. But this time, the music had changed. It wasn’t just for the crowd anymore.

It was for her.