His memories of her haunt him - her hands, the taste of her skin, the sounds of her moans and cries and how tight and hot she had been around him. They haunt him and yet some part of him treasures them, holds greedily onto them, and now they come to him again like fever dreams. The sheen of gold on her rounded flesh.

There is no gold now, but he forces her head back and bites at her jaw as he shoves up the edge of her gown, his hand rough on her bare thigh.

"If I sate your hunger," he breathes, "you will still never be satisfied."