Tag Archive | Reading

Our Night is Young

Artist Frank Frazetta; pinterest.com

It was a warm summer night, the cool evening breeze tickling your skin, wafting under your sheer purple nightgown… as you waited.

And then I appeared and with unrelenting seduction, you grasped my hand and drew me into yourself, our bodies crushing to one another, heat transferring like a sulfuric geyser springing forth from volcanic earth.

And then I kissed you and my hands caressed the place that drives you wild as utterances like the moaning and howling of a wolf escaped your lips.

Lightly biting my lower lip, you growled as I drew your leg up to my hip, my hand sliding along your velvety thigh as my mouth breathed hot into your ear, “This night, my love, has only just begun.”

Tonight You’re Mine

Artist Coby Whitmore; pinterest.com

Celosia’s deeply seductive eyes fixed on me with intensity, ferocity, and potency, potent for making love, which she was so tumultuously good at.

She slithered closer until I could feel her hot breath on my ear, the tip of her tongue trailing gently along the edge of it, teasing, goading, tormenting, forcing flames of desire to ripple to the surface of my rock hard body.

“Tonight,” she whispered close, “you’re all mine.”

For my reply, my mouth slipped delicately through loose tendrils of blonde, finding her ear, whispering with defiance, “No, Celosia, you’re mine.”

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.”

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.”

The Fire in Our Hearts

Artist Robert Berran; photo: artnet.com

Artist Robert Berran; photo: artnet.com

Romantic Flash Fiction 2:

As snowflakes tapped against the window pane in meditative rhythms and rhymes, stormy winds outside howled like wolves on a hunt. Tall pines swung in the blizzard like drunken seafarers on a voyage to snowy depths as powdery drifts lifted and swirled and danced to a chaotic cadence. In the distance, snow-peaked mountains watched over the violent storm like sentries at their posts, knowing all too well that the cold, unrelenting winter had brought its most stalwart onslaught this season.

But in the midst of the squall, there was a fire. It burned strong and bright and hot and made us forget that a storm raged beyond the stone and log walls of our private lodge. More than that, my love for her stirred so deeply within me that it warmed that place in both of our hearts where the fire couldn’t touch and the storm couldn’t enter.

Sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, I leaned back on the couch, slipped my hand around her waist, and gazed into her eyes. She lay on top of me and with one hand around my neck and the other sliding up my silk shirt, she said, “Kiss me again.” And I did, and it was lovely. Slow, sweet, and delicious, like a creamy cup of hot cocoa.

I had the feeling that we could have stayed that way forever, our lips allied to the other in their euphoric sway. “I want nothing to spoil this moment,” she said with her breath on mine like cinnamon spice. “We’ve traveled so far to get to this place. Couldn’t we stay one more night?”

It was true. We had traveled long, weary miles to get here, but we had never given up. We knew we’d find this place and we eventually did. The fire that warmed our bodies was nothing compared to the one that now warmed our souls.

“One more night,” I replied, “and an eternity after that.”