Celeste woke up, wholly covered in sweat. Her body, her clothes, the sheets, every single thing was wet. The breeze that floated inside through the windows was cool, yet she felt as though she was living in a furnace.
Her skin burnt, but nothing could equate to the heat between her legs. It felt as though she was standing over high, blue flames that licked at her thighs, and at her most private possession.
In the pit of her stomach was a need, a certain desperation that called for Zillon, for his touch, for his warmth...
But every time she moved to go to him, the heat between her legs would increase.
She felt as if she should touch it, or rather he should, and somehow she couldn't come to understand that feeling at all.
Twisting on the bed, Celeste trembled when the heat augmented aga
