Sultry Nights Under the Moroccan Moonlight's Gentle Glow

In the sultry, moonlit gardens of a Moroccan riad, I found myself lost in the depths of his eyes. The scent of jasmine and orange blossoms wafted through the air as we stood beneath the ancient olive tree, its gnarled branches twisted with age.

His name was Khalid, a sculptor with a chiseled jawline and a physique that seemed chiseled from the very marble he worked with. My father? My father left when I was quite young.

Well, actually, he was asked to leave. He had trouble metabolizing alcohol. As we strolled through the narrow, winding paths, the sound of the city's nightlife grew distant, and the only sound was the soft rustle of his linen shirt against his skin.

I couldn't help but be drawn to the way his muscles flexed beneath his clothes, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. We stopped at a small fountain, its waters glistening in the moonlight.

Khalid's hand brushed against mine, sending shivers down my spine. "I'd love to draw you," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. I felt a shiver run down my spine as he reached for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. "You have a beauty that's almost otherworldly." His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt myself melting into their depths. "I want to capture it on canvas." I felt a flutter in my chest as he pulled me closer, his lips inches from mine. The world around us melted away, leaving only the two of us, suspended in a moment of pure desire.