I thought of telling him that his own touch seared my skin and filled my veins with fire.

The touch seared her, burning away any trace of cold.

His touch seared her skin.

The touch had seared him like fiberglass, and tips broken off in his skin continued to itch.

The touch had seared him.

His touch on her bare skin seared like a brand.

She snatched back her hand as if that touch had seared flesh and bone.

His touch seared through her shirt, running through her entire body as if he were current and she were the conductor.

Those blades had looked to be steel, but a touch seared like molten metal.

Though the lining was a soft insulator, every touch seared, and he jerked free with the breath hissing between his fangs.