Chapter 22
THE s*x drive is strong. The don’t-burn-alive drive is even stronger. Liquid pain lashed my shoulder blades and the small of my back. My lust evaporated.
I shrieked and thrashed. Teresa’s ankles locked over my hips kept me clamped tight against her as I flopped onto my back and tried to smother the pain against the rough white carpet.
Teresa screamed, trying to wrench her feet free even though I lay on them. She didn’t hold me only by her ankles, but more intimately, and that grasp seemed tighter than humanly possible.
My hours and hours of emergency training dissolved in the pain. Even the old-fashioned stop, drop, and roll was too complex. I bucked and thrashed. I sucked in a chestful of air, only to convulse coughing at fresh cinders and fumes of melting plastic laminate.
