The Memory of Leonardo
For years, the image of Leo had been etched into the back of my eyelids. He was the boy who had haunted my high school days—slender, with chestnut hair and light brown eyes that seemed to hold a secret I was desperate to uncover. He possessed a youthful grace that made my heart race every time he entered the room.
The memory of his embrace on my birthday still burned in my mind. He had held me close, whispering words that sent a surge of longing through my veins. I had been too shy to tell him then that he drove me insane, that every inch of him was a territory I longed to explore. Now, as an adult, those shy desires had evolved into a vivid, consuming hunger.
When we finally reunited, the tension was an electric current between us. One look was all it took to bridge the years of silence. As he pulled me against him, the familiar scent of sandalwood and rain enveloped me, and the world outside ceased to exist. His lips met mine with a desperate hunger, confirming that the fire had never truly gone out.