My flesh burned laying next to him. I felt his skin branding my own. I was freezing cold, shaking. Chills racked my body. I pressed into him. It would have been a decent thing to be burned alive by him. “Your skin is so hot,” I said quietly. My hands slid under his shirt to drink the heat his chest and stomach had to offer. His body tensed under the touch of my so cold hands; they were frozen.
"Here," he said. He moved away from me, sat up, and removed his shirt. He lay back down and wrapped an arm around me and pulled me to his body. I slid my legs between his, draped myself over his chest and buried my face into his shoulder. His fire consumed me. The flesh began to singe and I lay there quietly; happily.
I slid my hand over his stomach again. He was hot and solid, but no real fire burned in his belly. I turned away from him and held onto his arm, my back pressed firmly against his side as he lay awake.