<span style="color: olive"> "Well -<b>THAT's</b>- a lie..." </span>Isla grins impishly, her fingers dragging slowly along the lawyers outer thighs.  She traces small patterns in the fabric, elegant Art Nouveau curls.<span style="color: olive">"I hope someone pays you well to lie like that. " </span>She slaps the top of Megans right thigh with a playful, gentle swat.<span style="color: olive"> "BUT! i'm a liar too..see..I'm no 'artist'."</span>She admits.<br/><br/>Isla lets the lawyer linger for a moment. Letting her words sink in for a just a moment. Her gaze is still as penetrative and predatory as it was moments ago, it doesn't change. Her expression never falters. This is of course not a true depiction of Isla's feelings on the matter.  Sure..maybe on some level Megan just wanted to talk.  Just wanted to sort a few things out in her mind and learn a bit more about what was going on...but what was the fun in that? Isla knew there was a -very- large possibility Megan wanted -far- more then to just talk...After all the lawyer wasn't stupid.<br/><br/><span style="color: olive">"You want to 'just talk' the way Alcoholics just want 'a drink'. "</span>She starts finally breaking her silence.<span style="color: olive"> "But sure." </span>she winks biting her lower lip as she drags the tip of her nails up the top of Megan's thighs.<span style="color: olive"> "Let's talk."</span>, She whispers with a grin on her lips.<br/><br/>Isla stands , turns on her heel with out  a word, and moves to the other side of  the room where a small patent-leather studded chair sits .    Her hips sway back in forth in her tight leather pants.  She might not be a prideful woman, but she knew damn well that sexual preference and kink level aside..few could resist gazing at flesh if put on display, and while Isla's backside was clothed..it was certainly on display.<span style="color: olive">"So. The big guy in the suit out there...He's scary isn't he?" </span>Isla nods sympathetically, moving the chair right in front of Megan, turning it so that she can sit on it backwards. Her high heeled boots make her knees rest at unnaturally high level , while she rests her elbows on the back of the chair.  She looks entirely at ease sitting so awkwardly.<span style="color: olive">"He..is not a dancer. "</span>she whispers  reaching her hand out to let her fingers delicatly tip toe along Megans knee.<span style="color: olive">"Those girls asked for a Tango...they got the Macarena. "</span>she grins playfully.<br/><br/><span style="color: olive">"Complete surrender to ones basic instincts is The Tango...To lose ones' self in a moment of complete, perfect reckless abandon."  </span>Islas fingers make their way up Megans forearm, meandering slowly up her shoulder.<span style="color: olive">"Its a balance.  It's give and take.  It's knowing your partner and trusting them to lead without stepping on your toes." </span>Isla leans the chair forwards, her face inching closer to Megans,<span style="color: olive"> "It's not really the dolt in the suits fault he's doing the Macarena..some people just arn't meant to slow dance together.But then again..some people -Like- the Macarena...Sick fucks."</span>Isla gives a playful little smirk to Megan, trying her best to ease the girls tensions, her fingers making their way up the sides of Megans supple neck, doing all she can to suppress a tiny moan of pleasure.<br/><br/><span style="color: olive">"I like to slow dance." </span>she finally admits after a moment of silence and a gentle massaging of the lawyers throat,<span style="color: olive">"Especially with women who think they <b>can't.</b> "</span>she emphasizes the last word, hoping her wide swinging analogy is hitting home with the lawyer- giving her generalities while still being very obtuse.<span style="color: olive"> "But that's my secret..that's the 'art'. It's what I love....to find someone who thinks they have no rhythm..and show them how to dance.  Who think they can't perform, and show them they can..."  </span>Islas voice goes quiet as she leans in further on her chair, both hands resting on the lawyers shoulders while her lips are only a few sparse inches away .<span style="color: olive"> " It's the greatest gift someone can give to me...to trust me enough to teach them to push their limits...To work harder, push further, and give that last little ounce of themselves when they think theirs nothing left....and to accomplish something they think they can't.  To have faith that while we might trip over our feet sometimes..in the end? I'll teach you -exactly- how to Tango." </span><br/><br/>Isla's lips turn into the slightest grin as she stands from the chair, and roughly pushes it out of the way.<span style="color: olive"> "So in a way..to say I'm an 'artist' is a lie.  Performance art really..I'm more of a dance instructor."</span>She climbs up onto the couch, straddling Megans hips with a knee on each side of her legs.<span style="color: olive">"So..Megan."</span>she whispers , dipping her head in close, her lips full and soft and just begging to close the distance.<br/><br/>Her tongue skirts out, running along the edge of her mouth as she whispers breathlessly just milimeters from Megans lips,<span style="color: olive"> "Wanna dance?"</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>