Her touch was fire. It was like a white fire through his veins. He could not feel her skin only the cloth shielding it, and yet it did not matter. You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire. He had wondered once why love was always phrased in terms of burning. The conflagration in his own veins, now, gave the answer. His desire for her. Her desire for him. Let the ocean of these sinful desires grow within you with these short stories!