“Fire. Flames. That’s what they call you. And for me it doesn’t matter, does it? All flowers die in the end,” I answered in between gasps. He let go of me, dropping me back to the ground. I was so shocked by the loss of his hands on my most intimate parts that all I could do was stare dumbly at him. “Not you,” he swore, his eyes ablaze. “I will see to it.” He glanced down the hallway, then back at me.
