Basilisk after basilisk approached her, touching her briefly—never lingering—almost as if they wanted nothing more than to confirm that she was real. They touched her face, her hair, her lips. The men were strong and assured, the women soft and tender. Occasionally a hand would dip to her breasts, but every time that happened, Caspen let out a low growl, and the basilisk would retreat. Tem was close to finishing. The mere thought of doing so in front of all these people only made her want to more. She wanted to show them how good she was at this—how well Caspen had taught her.
