Archives

Seduced by Westerly Winds

Artist Ed Tadiello; pinterest.com

Romantic Descriptive Flash Fiction:

Gentle westerly winds touched the beach like the caress of warm, delicate fingers. Waves, petering off at the edge of the shore, sauntered up the sand like evocative tongues of foam, licking the beach and returning to the ocean. Heightening stimulation, intense rays of the sun palpated the sand and skin with swelter and kindle. In the breeze, palm fronds whispered words of love and making love and promises to satiate the thirst of the soul for that which fills and fulfills. The smell of coconut oil sizzling on her bare shoulders intoxicated even the breeze with its lingering kiss.

Waratah knew the beach well, the pleasure attained here, the encapsulation of beauty that not only surrounded it, but enfolded her as well. To this place, she would consistently return. To refresh and renew. To relax and unwind. To be one with the sun’s caresses, to know deep solace, resting, ruminating, rendering indulgence and in this place, gratification.

The dream of him here with her, caressing like the breeze, whispering like the palms, intoxicating like coconut oil, palpating like the sun, licking like the waves. It made her heart soar, her body tingle, her tongue wet on her lips, as she spread out on the sand, taken captive once again, here in this place.

The Story Within a Story

Artist Kai Carpenter; pinterest.com

Romantic Dialogue Flash Fiction:

“But he sought better days,” I recited to Cassia from the romance novel, “his life a long road of wistful adventures on the open sea, all of which having taken a toll on his health and his mental well-being. But her. She was the light through it all, the guiding star that pointed the way in his wayward heart.”

Cassia moaned contentedly, cuddling closer with her long, soft brunette hair splashed over my broad chest. “We all need someone like that for us, don’t you think?”

“I think I could relate,” I said, turning to Cassia and kissing her softly on her cheek before turning back to the book. We were so close that our cheeks lightly grazed one another. “But it doesn’t end there. She runs away. But he never gives up on her. It would be years of him sailing the seven seas to catch up with her.”

“Does he… eventually?” she asked, rolling over onto my chest, her breath warm on my lips.

I put the book aside, gazed into her tender eyes, and stroked her satin hair. “Cassia, you don’t want me spoil the whole story for you, do you?”

“I’m curious,” she replied. “Spoil away.”

My two forefingers drew her chin up to mine and I kissed her long and delicately on her silken lips. Finally I said, “Maybe it’s like our story. With you, my love, I’ll never spoil the ending. Instead, I want us to discover it on our own. Both of us together. It’s more exciting that way. Are you with me?”

Cassia softened her eyes and lay back, pulling my neck gently to lie on top of her. “Lead on, sailor.”

Kissing Belladonna

Vintage French Postcard; pinterest.com

Romantic four-line flash fiction:

Belladonna’s kiss was a magical voyage to a world that I only thought existed in illusory flights of imagination.

The instant our lips met, the spark of sheer passion, the blissful caress of our affections, shot through us like the flames of a roaring fire.

With our tongues voraciously dancing and interlacing, all I desired was to satisfy the thirst of her tired soul, forcing her with its sheer intensity to melt into the smoldering fire of my delicious consumption.

“I love you, Belladonna,” I whispered with warm, gentle breath on her ear, nibbling, caressing, my fingers touching her skin, our hearts exploding, our bodies sweltering with what we knew would come next.

The Kiss That Melts All Restraint

Artist Marco Ortolan; pinterest.com

Four-line Flash Fiction:

After a long, steamy shower that had washed all her cares away, Lucerne patted her bare feet across the cool tiled kitchen floor heading to the bedroom.

A warm cotton patterned blanket, the only thing she could find in his bathroom closet besides towels, wrapped around her slim shoulders over her naked body.

“I can’t thank you enough for your kindness to me,” she said to him, her eyes sparkling in his dimly lit kitchen, her heart bursting with longing for him, “for letting me stay overnight.”

Finally all barriers, all restraint, between them had melted away as he glided right up to her, scooping her into his arms, kissing her with fervent passion, the touch of their lips finding its prurience in their voltaic dance of ecstasy.

Didn’t You Hear the Sound of Love?

Artist Pruett Carter; picssr.com

Romantic Flash Fiction:

Senna closed her eyes and grinned, playing along.

“Listen,” Dalton said. “Now don’t peak. Just… listen. What do you hear?”

As her bare feet rested gently in the cool water that flowed over her ankles, Senna listened intently to the babbling brook. The water dribbled over rocks and tumbled down tiny falls as the current moved with soft intensity and gentle impulsiveness. High in the trees of the forest around them, birds sang their sweet melodies that Senna probably wouldn’t have heard over the rushing water of the brook if she hadn’t closed her eyes. She felt the cool breeze dance through the forest and brush against her cheeks as she breathed in the fresh air.

“I’m listening,” Senna said, opening her eyes after several minutes of quiet meditation over her surroundings. “The forest is truly alive, isn’t it?”

Dalton reached out to hold her hand and scooted along the rocks to sit next to her. Senna could feel his warmth nestle up against her, and her heart swirled with delight.

“Long winters fray, etching away,” he whispered close to her ear. “The forest dreams, its sound a charm that rings through every stream.”

“Mm,” Senna moaned, her cheek resting on his. “Your words touch me like nothing else can. Or was that a quote?”

“I just made that up. For you.” His lips kissed her gently on the closest cheek, making her whole body tingle.

Senna giggled, leaning into it, not wanting it to stop. Ever.

“Didn’t you hear it, Senna?” he asked her. “When you closed your eyes.”

“I heard a forest that inhales and exhales through a babbling brook and a soft breeze,” she replied, matching his mood for poetic diction.

“That,” he explained, “is the sound of love. Every time the water rolls over rocks, the brook continues on, the bird chirps its song, you hear three words from the bottom of my heart – I love you. And I do, you know.”

She turned to face him, her smile glowing in the sunlight that broke through the trees from high above. “Do you really?” she teased with a lift of her eyebrow, snuggling closer, her lips inching towards his.

“That’s why I brought you here today,” he said. “To let you hear it for yourself, not only from me, but from the thousand witnesses of nature all around us. To give you this gift.”

Their lips brushed lightly before Senna melted into his kiss as he cupped her hands in his. It was a kiss that for just a brief moment pillaged all the vitality out of the forest, and if it could be harnessed, it would black out a city and light up her whole world in that one touch of his lips.

When their mouths separated, he grinned at her with sparkling green eyes. “Now open your hand,” he said with a mischievous, mysterious grin.

She felt nothing there, and she almost thought he was joking. Until she opened her hand. When she did, she caught her breath. She looked back at him in disbelief. He was still grinning as if he had planned it all along.

Senna suddenly closed her hand, clutching it so tightly that she imagined that if she didn’t, it might disappear as magically as it had appeared. She felt the diamond against the palm of her hand and shut her eyes tightly, now unable to control the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

“The other message of the brook,” he said. “Marry him, Senna, it said.” Choking up with emotion himself, he fought to get the words out. “Marry me, Senna.”

When she opened her eyes, they were glassy pools gazing into the eyes of the man who would father her children and give hope to her life in old age.

But then, just for a second, doubt suddenly crept in like a poisonous asp on the slippery rock. “But what about…?” she heard herself saying.

He shook his head. “I don’t care about that. I’ve never cared about that. I only care about you.”

She sniffled, fighting back her emotions. “I love you,” she said, mouthing the words, no sound coming out, but nearby a babbling brook echoing her heart.

The Things Time Can’t Touch

Artist Daniel Gerhartz: pinterest.com

Romantic Flash Fiction:

Morning sunlight streamed into the courtyard as the swallows who made a home here chirped their contented salute to the day. Nightingales were the loudest, their songs echoing like a symphony off the stucco walls of the elaborate Spanish home. A cool breeze tickled the air and the roses that grew in the courtyard gardens flourished in the spring dew. White columns lined the south porch near a stone staircase that led to the interior of the mansion.

You were leaning against one of the columns when I first saw you, where my breath was stolen from me for a moment, lost in the realization that I had been in the presence of heavenly beauty. I smiled at how the sunlight made your blonde hair glow like a golden tiara and how its delicate rays settled over your slim, creamy shoulders and melted into the artistry of your radiance. You were holding a rose, leaning against the column, your eyes melancholy, and my heart went out to you. Someone must have hurt you, and in that moment I wanted to slide into you and hold you and be the shoulder you could cry on.

Your eyes were distant, and at first, you didn’t even see me there watching you. You were twiddling with the golden pendant on your necklace, rubbing it languidly in your fingers, and I wondered if he gave that to you, and what special significance it held in your life. I wanted to know this and so much more about you. I wanted to step into your life like bathing in warm natural springs and making myself the heat that enveloped your skin, your heart, your tender soul. I wondered if you would even let me. I wondered why you were holding the rose, and if love was on your mind like it was on mine. Would you let me in if I revealed to you the light of my love, the sound of the birds singing in my heart?

Your eyes glanced up as if on cue to my thoughts that clung to your heart and refused to let go. You gasped and lowered your hand that held the rose.

“Who are you?” you asked.

“Coriander,” I said your name, coming closer. I sensed your discomfort but wanted to set your heart at ease. “We’ve met before. Years ago. Outside a quiet pub in the center of town, we shared a glass of wine and a kiss that I’ll remember to the day I die.”

Your eyes suddenly filled with recognition and your chest lifted as you lightly gasped. “Is it you? All those years ago. We were young, lonely travelers crossing paths in our journey to nowhere.”

“To somewhere,” I grinned, my heart filled with joy that you remembered.

“Barely old enough to drink.”

“But old enough to love,” I said, sliding into your personal space. You didn’t move, your face glowing in the sunlight.

“Yes,” you whispered, your eyes sparkling.

I took the rose from your hand and brought it to my nose, inhaling its sweet fragrance, closing my eyes and wondering if I was dreaming or really awake. I handed the rose back to you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked breathlessly.

“To find that woman I fell in love with back then,” I replied.

Your eyes returned to the melancholy woman I saw when I had first come in. “Time changes things,” you said.

“There are some things time can’t touch,” I responded, my fingers lightly brushing loose strands of hair away from your face. “Come out with me tonight. Let me show you.”

Spring is Among Us

Artist Bruce Emmett; pinterest.com

Romantic 4-Line Flash Fiction:

As a month of showers brought forth glistening pansies and tulips, so their love, which had found its way through a season of heartache, finally blossomed with every flower in the field that stretched for miles.

Spring was here and had made its home among them.

With the sun enfolding her with warmth, Laleh reclined in his embrace, his breath lightly fanning her wanting lips.

“This is the season, Laleh,” he whispered close, “when all things change, when despair succumbs to our destiny, and when our love forges a new path to the promise of a brighter day.”