Dreamfever (Fever #4)

by Karen Marie Moning

cannot resist me. It bothers him. He is an odd animal. Lust is, I tell him, again and again. I try to make him understand. “There’s more to life than lust, Mac,” he says roughly, again and again. There is that word “Mac” again. So many words I do not understand. I weary of talk. I tune him out. He gives me what I want. Then forces me to eat—boring! I humor him. Belly full, I am sleepy. I tangle my body with his. But when I do, lust takes me again, and I cannot sleep. I roll on top of him, straddle him, breasts swaying over his face. His eyes glaze and I smile. He traps me beneath him in a smooth graceful roll, stretches my arms above my head, and stares into my eyes. I grind my hips up. He is hard and ready. He is always hard and ready. “Be still, Mac. Bloody hell, would you just be still?” “But you’re not in me,” I complain. “And I’m not going to be.” “Why not? You want me.” “You need rest.” “Rest later.” He closes his eyes. A muscle works in his jaw. He opens his eyes. They glitter like arctic night. “I am trying to help you.”