Nadira

Nadira lay still on the bed, her naked skin a softly glowing shade of gold, as soft as silk, as if the moon had touched her. Her long, dark hair fell like a veil over her shoulders, her lips, slightly parted, looked like a promise. Even in her dream, she was aware of her beauty, an attraction that permeated more than just her outer shell. The world around her faded, dissolving into darkness that was warm and inviting. She knew she was dreaming – and yet it all felt too real, as if the dream itself was touching her. There was an energy surrounding her, invisible but irresistible. She felt like she was being watched, wanted, and this power came closer with every breath she took. Then came the touch. A strange hand, the heat of which barely touched her skin, but sent a wave of desire through her body. It slid over her neck, lingered at her waist, each stroke of the finger slow, deliberate. Nadira’s breathing quickened, her senses heightened, as if her body not only felt the touch, but understood it in a deeper way. This hand was more than a touch – it was a silent promise. Her lips opened a little more, a soft sigh escaping her as if she wanted to breathe in the sensation. Every movement was a melody played just for her, and Nadira let herself fall into it, deeper and deeper, until she felt nothing but the heat pulsing inside her. Her hands instinctively searched for the source, wanted to grasp, to hold – but found only emptiness. This emptiness only seemed to make the desire inside her even stronger. Then the dream began to fade. The darkness gave way to a faint whisper and Nadira opened her eyes. But the heat remained – an echo on her skin, a burning that lingered inside her. Her fingers slid gently over her own skin, as if she wanted to bring the touch back from the dream. And for a moment, she thought she could really feel it.