AYLETH
They kissed, and they kissed, and they kissed. And Ayleth burned.
The ember he'd lit in her belly the night before had been fed and banked by her mother. Now his kiss, his touch, fueled it into a roaring fire.
She had never in her life felt the things she was feeling—as if her whole skin were alight. As if she needed something from him, or she might actually perish. As if she could consume him and be satisfied—but face only desperate hunger until she did.
"Etan, what is happening to me?" she pleaded when he opened his mouth against her neck and she groaned—groaned!
"I told you," he rasped. "You want what men and women who love each other want. Need. Yearn for." His breath was hot on her skin, his fingers trembling when he raised his hands to her face, her hair.
She'd been searching his body, stroking, grasping, all over him. But it wasn't enough. She needed his skin.
