YEP, I’m re-running last week’s prompt.
There are acorns! Acorns. If that’s not a story starter, I don’t know what the hell is…
So….
Here’s the genre: Cheesy romance.
Here are the prompts: Butter knife, roaring fire, acorns.
You know what to do. (But if not? Click here) And if you don’t want to click, here’s the gist: WRITE!
Cheese me out!
I do so like the cheese.
yep. i’m in. for real this time.
“Finally,” he said while pulling her to him. “We’re alone.”
The wind around them undulated and whispered as they clung to each other, like acorns on oak.
“Do you think he’ll find us?” She breathed uneasily, but sexily too.
“I hope so.” He said with bravado. “Now be quiet.”
He kissed her with a fervor usually reserved for roaring fires.
“We mustn’t!” He’s the king, you’re the court baker! He’ll kill you if he finds out!” She pulled at her corset. “Untie me.” “No don’t.” “Now! Do it now!”
He fumbled with the corset’s ties. “Hold on,” he murmured softly. “I’ve almost got it.”
She squirmed impatiently on the muslin blanket they’d brought to cover the forest floor.
“Hold still a moment, my love. You’re as twitchy as a sixpence in a jester’s pocket.”
She willed herself to stay immobile as his fingers reached under her silk gown. She pulled him closer. “You smell of sugar and cinnamon,” she whispered. She couldn’t stand it any longer. “Untie me!”
“I’m trying, crumpet. I’m trying. Wait –” He reached into his pocket.
She uncrossed her legs, breathing as heavily as a hound at a fox hunt.
“This should do.” He pressed closer.
“Is that a butter knife or are you just happy to see me?” she tittered coquettishly.
“It IS a butter knife my royal rum tart. Now come here and let me take care of that corset.”
With a sigh of relief, she gave herself to him completely, and he greased her muffin until the cows came home.
I’m in, too. Because I like to be with my wife.