Dreamfever (Fever #4)

by Karen Marie Moning

“Who does what?” “The Fae. Turn women Pri-ya.” I do not like those words. They terrify me. I am lust. He is my world. I tell him so. He laughs, and his eyes glitter like night sky pierced by a million stars. “What am I, Mac?” He pours his sleek, powerful body over mine, laces our fingers together, and stretches my hands above my head. “You are my world.” “And what do you want from me? Say my name.” “I want you inside me, Jericho. Now.” Our sex is savage, as if we are punishing each other. I feel something changing. In me. In him. In this room. I do not like it. I try to stop it with my body, drive it back. I do not look at this room in which we exist. I do not let my mind wander beyond the walls. I am here and he is, too, most of the time, and that is enough. Later, when I am drifting like a balloon, in that happy, free place that is the twilight sky before dreams, I hear him take a deep breath as if he is about to speak. He releases it. Curses. Takes another breath but says nothing again.