Poets logo



By Abigail WanjiruPublished 3 months ago 1 min read

Our eyes met and held for a moment, measuring each other. Then I said, "Last night was rash... reckless."

"Yet you accepted my invitation to ride in the country and brought no chaperone," he countered as his fingertips lightly caressed my cheek.

He wore no gloves and I was surprised to feel slight calluses on his hands. I'd expect that of my father or brothers, but not of a self-confessed English dandy. My thoughts spun crazily at his touch. His intense gaze mesmerized me until all I could think of was melting into him like wax in the Rwandan sun.

Rather than make a reply to his teasing retort, I raised my lips to his, initiating the kiss with a boldness that surprised me more than him.

I was a witch, an enchantress, knowing just what to do to drive him wild. He pressed me backward against the soft velvet of the curricle's seat, knowing full well we could not satisfy our desire in the small vehicle. He cursed the desperate impatience that led him to murmur against my mouth, "I want to touch every inch of you...caress...lick, taste...I can't get enough of you, Issa."

I moaned my assent as his knee moved between her legs and rubbed intimately against my thighs. The ache that throbbed wickedly in my blood now centered low in my belly and moved to that most secret place, which was untried but eager... so eager.

love poems

About the Creator

Abigail Wanjiru

Exploring the shadows of the soul through verses that bleed ink. 🖋️ | Conjuring darkness into poetry | Embracing the beauty in the obscure | #DarkVerse 🔮✨"

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights


There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.