diminutive wisps

“All right, now,” the young mother said, rising again from the floor, her fingers gently brushing down the white rings of soft hair on the small child’s head. A grin crossed my face. How gladly I would tickle hers, those diminutive wisps of gold curled against her lap. Diana teasingly raised her brows as she caught my gaze, easily reading my lascivious thoughts. Her hips swayed playfully as she walked. Sunlight sparkled in golden streams through her hair when Diana strolled past our kitchen window.

Lord Malinov, Journals of Lord Malinov

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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