The Tiger

When he thought on the affair he always thought of the colour red. Red, the colour of unquenchable passion. He remembered those nights feverently. When she had purred so gently in his arms and then her lust unleashed with the prowess of an untamed animal. Rose stained kisses on his chest. Crimson streaks down his back. Desperate hands knotted through scarlet hair. Ecstatic limbs casting dancing shadows in the moonlight. White sheets falling and sighing against the tangle of rouge desire. And then her sultry breath on his neck, in his ear “Liam…”. And he his eyes would hungrily devour her voluptuous figure in the afterglow. And his breath would stagger, knowing that he could never hope to pick this English rose. They were from two different worlds and could never be. All his affluence, his fame could never hope to buy him the woman he truly loved. Oh but for those nights he held her affections and she held his heart, always.

(Prompts: stereotype map, Liam Neeson)

by Hayley Rutherford

Advertisements

drop some thoughts

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s