Self-Inflicted Wounds, Part I
"Now that he's gone, I can clear my head," she thought. She looked down at her fingers that only hours ago had touched his face, his lips, his beard, no longer feeling the electricity that sparked beneath them when her skin grazed his. They were empty now--powerless, but when he was in front of her, she could start a fire with the sparks between them. They were hot. There was passion. They were breathless.