She read slowly, feeling her body respond even before her mind processed it. Her chest rose in an involuntary sigh. The heat spread as if her skin had memory—as if each of his touches was still there, awake, alive. He stood before her, looking at her with that mixture of calm and desire that only he could possess. That look that seemed to ignite everything inside. “So you want to burn with me?” he asked, taking a step closer. His voice was hoarse, low, laden with promise. She didn't back away. She couldn't, even if she tried. “Only if it's right now,” she replied, feeling her breath quicken. He touched her hand first. A simple touch. Gentle. But the way his fingers slid through hers… slow, firm, intentional… made the air around them seem heavier, warmer. As if that simple contact was enough to set everything ablaze. He brought her hand to his own chest, guiding it. “Feel this?” he murmured. “You're the one who causes it.” The heat grew between them, almost palpable. When he slid his hand down her back, her skin prickled all over. Each touch was slow, detailed, as if he were learning the exact way to ignite her from within. There was no rush. Just increasing intensity, controlled… dangerous. “Every touch…” he said, his mouth too close to her ear, “will be a flame.” “And every time you breathe like this…” His fingers traced her waist with precision, “I’ll want more.” She felt the longing, the desire, the fire… all mixed together, all consuming any resistance. “Then let me burn with you,” she whispered, surrendered. He smiled. And in that smile was certainty: it wouldn’t just be fire. It would be combustion.