Her powerful and provocative artistry fails to capture the hearts of those who don't quite understand her message. Often overlooked in the art world, Beyoncé has struggled for years to gain the respect of her peers. That all changes when she meets A...
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now playing: "Cross My Mind" by Jill Scott
There was an intoxicating scent of rain, the aroma of wet cobblestones and the faint trace of the Thames intertwining into an intoxicating perfume.
A shadowy figure stood tall in the distance.
As I journeyed towards them, the world around me undulated, mirroring the rhythm of my quickening heartbeat. Rain-slick streets transformed into paths lined with dew-kissed roses blooming in secret London gardens, their velvety petals whispering tales of forbidden pleasures. The city's usual glow morphed into the sultry luminescence of the moon, its silver light painting it with a seductive enchantment.
The silhouette in the distance began to take form, but remained elusive, their features obscured by the veil of night. Still, their presence beckoned me, the magnetic pull a familiar force, a nostalgic reminder.
Almost there...
My heart pounded in anticipation as I reached out to touch the ghost of a love that once was.
But then, the figure turned, and my breath hitched.
It wasn't him. It was her. Bathed in the sensual glow of the moon, she was a vision of desire, a siren calling me to uncharted waters.
A wave of realization washed over me, leaving me breathless and yearning. It wasn't him I had been longing for this time; it was her. My heart pounded a different beat, a rhythm woven from threads of newfound desire.
Her fingers reached out, yearning to trace the contours of my face, to explore the landscape of my body. Her lips parted, a sensuous whisper spilling from her lips, drawing me closer. My skin tingled and my senses were on high alert, a fluttering anticipation coursing through my veins. Her proximity left me drunk, lightheaded and dizzy, and as she leaned in, her lips hovering dangerously close to mine, the world faded away, nothing else existing but the two of us, a tempest brewing between us, threatening to consume us both.
So close...
And then...
"Shit."
One of my hands lay softly on my chest, a cold reality instead of the warmth of her presence. The other clutched my dead vibrator tightly, clicking the button multiple times to no avail. Panting, I stared blankly at the ceiling, frustrated and unsatisfied as I pulled my yoga pants back up. My heart was still racing, my skin was still hot, and the dull ache between my legs persisted, the daydream having left me on the edge.
This was the fourth time this week.
Groaning, I covered my eyes, sighing heavily. There was no doubt my dreams were haunted by her, an entity both welcome and unwelcome. Since the party, she'd been a constant in my thoughts, my dreams, and now—strangely enough—my more intimate fantasies. Her image had replaced his in my mind, her touch replacing his. The dreams had become more explicit, more enticing, more...real.
