I'll never forget the feel of red leather, butter-soft and slightly oily beneath my fingers. There's something about leather that makes you want to touch it, smell it, makes anyone wearing it an object of desire purely for the want of the leather. It's not just because it's too damn hot that I never wore it. It's because without longing, you can never truly appreciate it.

You have to hunger.

Feeling it was a victory: pressing his leather-wrapped body against mine, my fingertips reveling in it, the rich scent making me giddy. His gasps were a fanfare to my triumph.