“Speak French to me. No, speak Spanish. No…”
Raising a suggestive eyebrow Richard’s way, I locked eyes with him.
“Rather my dear sir, speak Arabic.”
I giggled, saying the last word naughtily, the way Richard might sound if he were speaking Arabic to me.
“Whisper in my native language the romantic words of love. Let thy tongue roll forth its red carpet and welcome me to your sweet lips. Hold me, my king.”
I took hold of Richard.
“No, please, hold me tighter. I yearn for that powerful feeling, like that of a rushing heat wave, in which the warmth is my security. Your fragrance is so strong. Richard, may I kiss your neck? May I touch your face? I wish I could just stare into your eyes all evening and unravel the mystery lingering in your mind. If I had a penny, I would give you one for each of your precious thoughts. But, then again, that could destroy me. It might bring me to a quick reality along with a new realm of feelings regarding Edward.”
I pull away from the embrace as a tear rolls down my cheek.
“This is an unhappiness I choose not to discover…”
Medieval Bedazzle---Copyright © 2009 by Tecoa T. Washington, B.Sc., M.A. All rights reserved.
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