Moving back, I take a moment to admire my very own fiery little thing: completely bare from the neck down, legs spread, and impatient for me. Every inch of Blaze is—and always has been—stunning: the freckles dotting her chest, the mole on her hips, the red tint of her pebbled skin, the pucker of her swollen lips. Violent. Deranged. Disastrous. Perfect.
