My Desert Flower

Artist unknown - entitled "Lovers Under the Desert Sky"; photo: pinterest

Artist unknown – entitled “Lovers Under the Desert Sky”; photo: pinterest

Romantic flash fiction:

On the night I rescued you, the full moon was a lighthouse beacon guiding us to a destination of serendipity. The stars filled the desert sky like twinkling diamonds in the heavens, and the coolness of the evening contrasted greatly with the heat of the day as the breezy, dry desert winds tickled our skin. Lying on the blanket, surrounded by plush cushions from the caravan we had come in, you rested your head back on my chest, and I gently slid my fingers through your silky, jet-black curly hair.

It felt good to lie still with you, feeling your warmth against my body, your head tucked under my chin, your face within kissing distance, driving my internal temperatures to a level of salacious combustion.

“Hyaam,” I whispered your name in the windy desert night. You had told me it meant “deliriously in love.” Only I was the one who was exceedingly Hyaam with you. I told you as much and the words brought a smile to your face as you shifted around and lifted your lips to mine. The slow, wet, lingering kiss was a ride of indulgence that neither one of us ever wanted to depart from. You reached up around my neck, your fingers sliding through my hair, bringing my head lower to kiss you deeper.

As our tongues entwined in gentle velvet caresses, I thought of how we had come so far in such a short time. Just that morning, your caravan was attacked along the desert road by marauders who were desperate to take everything you had in possession, even your pride. From a shadow nearby I watched them surround you and tug at your flowing silk dress, ripping it across the top, revealing your bare shoulders and the soft skin of your upper breasts. You struggled to get free, but there were too many of them, and they had already tied up the sentinels that had accompanied you on the journey. But they hadn’t counted on me or my Winchester rifle firing into the sky, shaking them to the core. We held them at gun point – for swords and knives were no match for the Winchester – and raced away in the camel-led caravan even before we could free the sentinels.

All day along the route through the desert, I shared my life with you, telling you that I was an explorer from America doing research on my book about the Arabian Desert. You revealed to me that you were a princess, the younger sister to the heir of the throne. You were the one everyone overlooked, the one who lived in her sister’s shadow.

Somewhere along the way, we fell in love, and as we lay next to each other on the blanket with the crickets serenading us and the stars twinkling above, I told you how much I felt our meeting was far from coincidental.

“Do you like Arabian girls?” you asked me in your adorable sing-song accent with your beautiful eyes peering into mine after our long kiss. Those eyes, with heavily dark eye shadow, accentuating the beauty of large hazel pupils, melted my heart like chocolate in heat.

“I like you,” I replied tenderly. “And in Arabia or in America, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Your mouth turned up in a wide grin and your eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “Right answer,” you said, kissing me again.

“Come back with me to America,” I said when our lips separated, my breath warm on your mouth, my tone insistent.

You laughed and I felt your chest shudder against mine. “You joke.”

“No,” I said in all earnestness, my smile fading. “Come back with me, Hyaam. I’ll marry you and show you a new life like you’ve never imagined in your wildest dreams.”

Your smile faded as well, and you looked off into the distance, into the darkness of the desert dunes, before you turned back to me. “I cannot,” you said with such finality that it nearly broke my heart, but I understood. Your life was here. Your whole world was here. As a princess, you were bound to obligations that I knew nothing about.

“But one thing I can promise you,” you added, the smile returning.

“Tell me,” I said desperately.

“I will love you,” you said. “Now. In this moment. I will make love to you tonight under the Arabian stars. And I will never forget you for as long as I live.” As we kissed again, melting into each other’s embrace, I felt the light of the moon enfold us in warmth and tenderness.

I often think back to that day and wonder if you even remember the night in the desert when we fell in love. I wonder what has happened to you, if you have taken your place as a leader of your people.

The sounds and smells and feelings of that night are still fresh in my mind as I ponder that one treasured moment in time – forever eternalized – when serendipity came to me in the form of an Arabian angel, a precious desert flower.


13 thoughts on “My Desert Flower

  1. Wow sweet lovely beautiful story.
    And sensual romantic kiss, very passionate. Just the way Love should be passionately beautiful. Every kissed should be with impassion caressing lips and the heart with its bliss

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much for your gracious and highly encouraging comments, ajw! I almost exclusively write romance, so far anyway, but I’ve tried to mix elements of fantasy and adventure in some of my stories. I love the love story most of all, so this has been the center of every story I’ve written. But of course, I want to keep my options open in the future for other creative ideas if I decide to write outside the romance genre. Thanks again for your kind words and suggestion!


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