She wishes he would write something for her.
A fantasy of endless, velvet, star-filled skies.
Of a wild, round, luminous moon hanging like a silver lantern. Of a warm, perfumed breeze stroking her hair and tugging gently at her dress.
Of the distant strains of a yearning, lone violin fading and rising through the whispering trees.
Of his hands releasing the pale silk gown from her eloquent shoulders, and it running off her naked body like a caress and falling with a sigh at her feet.
Of her perfect, dangerous, wondrous curves laid out by him on a cool, crisp white linen sheet. Of her arms and legs stretched wide. Of his tongue, his lips, his fingers over every inch of her tingling skin, upon her sensual mouth, her exquisite breasts, and her urgent, swollen, fragrant sex.
Of him filling her with pleasure, with joy, and with himself.
In every way.
.
She wishes he would write something for her.
He just has.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Fabian Perez
I wrote and posted this three years ago, and since. Definitely the Romantic side of RD. I am rather fond of it. I hope readers do not mind the repeat
