She could feel the stray strands of hair sticking to her nape. The slow trickle of sweat on her back made her arch a little, to allow wind to touch her neck, even for a while. The sheets are cold. A little moist from the night's activity. Fan infront of her, her eyes flutter to a close, as she savors the cool air, touching the front of her body (but not her back). Her hands graze her collarbone, feeling the protrusion. With her mouth half-open, a soft moan escapes her lips. Half-smiling, still with fluttering eyes, she licks the inside of her lips. She waits for the coming of night, for the party to begin once again. It has always been that way. Heat in the morning. Fire at night. Either way, it burns. Up, where it's annoying. Down, where it matters.