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Hi! Welcome back. You might be joining the hop from Dani Jace or found me another way, glad you did.
This week's blog hop is flash fiction and becoming one of my favorite types of posts for Romance Weekly. Mishka Jenkins came up with this jewel and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
Flash Fiction Rules: Write a love letter 400 words or less (I used all 400) that has to include the words sweet, pumpkin, and brush.
My Dearest Henry,
I miss you terribly. I’ve used these letters to stay close. Not being able to contact you has made the past months agony. I won’t make it another two weeks until your return.
Did I mention how I found this magic box of stationary? I longed for your touch and took out my depression and unfulfilled desire on a painting (a horrible piece you’d hate). I ruined my favorite fan brush and shirt (yours). I stripped it off immediately. The cool air on my bare skin eased some of the ache I had for you. Once I refocused on my art all I could remember was the argument. We splattered each other with acrylics and what started with flat brushes and anger soon turned to fingers and hard muscle and a masterpiece of loving only alive in memory.
I hadn’t realized I closed my eyes and retraced our loving embrace around the studio until I tripped over that stupid paper mache pumpkin you forced me to create last Halloween (what an abomination). I kneeled on the ground and your sweet kiss flashed into my mind. You were there before me. Your warm hands caressed my face and traced my lips until they opened. Your tongue invaded my mouth and touched mine in a heat of forbidden passion. My ache for you entered my lungs. A deep moan flared between my lips. Oh how I missed you. But the pumpkin came back into view and I threw it against the wall. The memories weren’t enough to ease my heartache. I lay there. The cool floor over-sensitized my breasts and I wept for the loss of your comforting embrace.
How long was I there? I’m not sure. The next thing I remembered was the hum, low and strong. The box glowed under the worktable and called for me to open it. I know you’ll laugh at my foolishness but the magic is real. Each letter I write I experience greater pleasure in my dreams. Do you dream about them as I have? It’s as if you are here. They are vivid and real. I have only to write on this seductive paper and stamp it with my red lipstick and I see you, feel you in my dreams. Do you feel my lips on yours when I seal the envelope with a kiss?
Hurry home my love.
It was difficult to end the letter there. I sense more to the story but rules are rules. I hope to see you next week. Now, I'm anxious to read S. C. Mitchell's love letter.
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