A little too smitten by the little bird.
Can I gift tulips and quench the impeding tempo?
Can I lust over the new personas?
Can I gift her my bewildered mural?
Can I dance with you at the elder’s party?
Can Nyirika sniff out the islander in me?
Can she dine with the Queen of the Nyika?
Can she host a ball for the frosty caravan?
Can she trust the envoy commissioned by the Saharan Princes?
Can I borrow dusk from her unbothered hour?
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A cheeky request sent in vain.
A cunning vixen, dripped in linen sheets.
A satirical, lustrous column for the new parrots 🦜
A fencing opponent in disguise.
A promise folded like Kehlani paper boats.
A perky gift, enveloped by the Islander.
A jolly frisk, steeped in silk sheets.
A chirpy encounter with the nomadic.
A souvenir for the tech-nomad.
A Gift given for a given Gift.
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…when his phone rang for a second time, Kairo was still in bed. A seductive, lithe body carved a statue beneath the silk sheets beside him. As his gaze met Nyiri’s eyes, he fought the urge to rejoin her. At that moment, his appointments were more important, especially, after the letters he had read that morning. He wanted to tell her and be done with it. Or so he justified. But his mind was better occupied. He loved that she made time to see him during her tour and was growing fond of her. Why put out the fire in favor of notes and revelations? Right and then, no two people in the world needed more kisses for breakfast. Nyiri’s lips were soft and sensual, and no other decisions were logical at the time.
Her calls were deliberate. An attempt to spend the afternoon with him, cozied up in the guestroom. With a smile tugging at his face, he picked up his phone and strolled nude into the hallway, lest he spend the day listening to her pleasure-whispers as she folded beneath him.
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