CHAPTER [erty fire kilig (n.) the feeling of butterflies in one’s stomach Wila [nren FINGERS SLID DOWN my legs, and the roughness of his hands left goose bumps in their wake. My breath caught when he pushed my thighs apart. My skin was so sensitive, the lightest touch hummed below the surface. His mouth trailed down my neck, sucking and biting a path to my breasts. An emptiness pulsed in my core, begging for pressure and friction— A thump snuffed out the flame inside of me like a candle. My eyes shot open to see the noise was due to the book falling off my lap. I exhaled a ragged breath and, with a sense of disgust at the immoral daydream that sucked me under, I got up from the window seat to pace my room. It was after eleven, but I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, a restlessness played beneath my skin, stretching my body thin. The pull of the moon was working its magic on my newly defiled state. I wished that was all it was, but my fantasies had nothing to do with carnal rituals and lesbian trysts in the woods. I could still feel him all over me: my mouth, my neck, my mind. The persistent ache between my thighs. At the thought, my heartbeat slid to my core, my nipples hardening beneath my tank top. I was losing my mind. With rising frustration, I grabbed my book and padded down the hall. The house sat still and dark without Ronan’s presence. He left for Moscow shortly after Yulia finished stitching my wrist and hadn’t returned. I