I Like To Write Romance
In the cool crisp late summers eve, she stood in her elegant finery, he dressed to the nines in his top coat and tails. They danced under the moonlit night to the haunting melodies of tunes that spoke of passion and forbidden pleasure.
He took her hand, and without saying a word and as he met her gaze, he slowly peeled off her glove. His kiss was slow and deliberate. In that moment neither of them moved. Neither breathed. They just existed together. The tension melted away.
He felt her heat, her scent, her devastating sensuality enter his bloodstream. Beneath his hand, her body just brushing against his chest, the hum of that passion she kept so tamped burned through him.
He was hers now. She was mistress of the art and he was her equal. The kiss was long and satisfying, a moments madness where body ruled mind and passion ruled over reason.
He wanted her so badly, twas only an illusion, a dream, a desire so intense that it blurred reality. For distance separated them, they danced together in their imagination and in those interludes they reached the heavens and the stars shone only for them.
He took her hand, and without saying a word and as he met her gaze, he slowly peeled off her glove. His kiss was slow and deliberate. In that moment neither of them moved. Neither breathed. They just existed together. The tension melted away.
He felt her heat, her scent, her devastating sensuality enter his bloodstream. Beneath his hand, her body just brushing against his chest, the hum of that passion she kept so tamped burned through him.
He was hers now. She was mistress of the art and he was her equal. The kiss was long and satisfying, a moments madness where body ruled mind and passion ruled over reason.
He wanted her so badly, twas only an illusion, a dream, a desire so intense that it blurred reality. For distance separated them, they danced together in their imagination and in those interludes they reached the heavens and the stars shone only for them.
