(Rated Rg2: Women Readers Only)
Remember when I discovered your birthmark . . . in the far reaches of your bodily hinterlands?
It was a cold, chilly, hazy night. The dead of winter. I promised to relieve you of all shivers and quivers. My gentle methods proved effective, no?
I planted prolonged kisses upon and around that distinctive dermal marker. The fire I’d created in the hearth had just reached mid-flame, hitting its warm-the-room stride, lights silenced, the only electricity generated sourced from our touch-so-much duality.
Chemistry . . . in the dead of winter.
The outdoors frigid. The indoors rigid–in all the right places, at all the right moments.
You didn’t need me. Your self-sufficiency is legendary.
But you wanted me. In the dead of winter. Hearth aflame. Emotions inflamed. Mutual blame . . . leaves neither of us culpable to regret-making.
Second-guessing is for the foolish. Winter was calling. Was my methodology appalling? Or exceptionally enthralling?
And discovered . . . a hidden treasure in the far reaches of your epidermal hinterlands. I promised not to reveal to anyone outside of ourselves my discovery. A fierce promise keeper, I.
The dead of winter is saying its goodbyes, my love.
But I can’t.
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday. And I’m in the mood for rediscovery. With an eye toward spring.
The setting will be different tonight. The hinterlands are now the eden oasis of pre-spring. With champagne on ice.
My own birthmark is in need of a finder–tonight. You will be its keeper.
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love. Tonight.
Romance. The ultimate discovery. -Rg2
© 2014 Romance by Rg2®