My chest heaved. My cock strained beneath the silk, leaking a steady stream that left the fabric dark and clinging to the head like a second skin.
She watched all of it.
For ten seconds.
Maybe thirty.
Or it could have been minutes.
“T-Tora!” My body screamed for the flame. Every nerve ending she'd touched was still alive, still vibrating, still reaching toward her like flowers turning toward the sun. “P-please. . .”
The air felt cold now.
Empty.
Wrong.
My skin ached for the heat the way a junkie's veins ached for the needle.
The garden was back, but now empty. The children were gone. The cherry blossoms had stopped falling. Istood alone by the koi pond, and the water was black, still, and cold. No fire. No warmth. Nothing.
She let me suffer. And when my breathing started to slow—when the desperation peaked and my body began to accept that the flame wasn't coming back—she brought the fire to my ribs.
Oh God!!!
The heat hit three times harder on sensitized skin.
I screamed through my teeth. My back bowed off the stone. My abs locked so hard they cramped. The sensation crashed through me in waves—each one taller than the last, each one pulling me further from the shore of anything I recognized as myself.
The garden returned and erupted. Every tree caught fire at once. The koi pond boiled gold. The children's laughter came back louder than before and the dragon shadow spread across the sky.
I was shivering and sweating at the same time. My heart pounded in my skull. My blood ran hot, carrying fire to every part of my body. Adrenaline surged in waves, making everything sharper, brighter, louder.
Higher than any drug could take me.
And she was the one doing it.
My Tiger. My Tora. Standing over me with flame in her hand, burning me alive, and I had never loved anyone more.
She traced the hydra on my ribs. The heat followed the creature's coils and I felt it in my lungs.
In my blood.
In my marrow.
I moaned, "Tora, please."
She tilted her head. "Please what?"
I didn't know.
More fire.
More touch.
Her mouth.
Her pussy.
