Dreamfever (Fever #4)

by Karen Marie Moning

shape? What had we been doing? Constant sexual gymnastics? I shut down that thought. I had a few too many memories that weren’t remotely blurry, and they gave rise to impossibly conflicting emotions. Like: Thanks for saving me, Barrons—too bad I’m going to have to kill you for doing those things to me and seeing me like that. I’d had sex with Jericho Barrons. Not just sex. Incredibly raw, intensely intimate, completely uninhibited sex. I’d done everything a woman could do with a man. I’d pretty much worshipped every inch of him. And he’d let me. Oh, no, much more than that—he’d enthusiastically participated. He’d egged me on. He’d plunged right into my animalistic frenzy with me, met me move for move in that dark lust-crazed cave where I’d been living. I turned to stare at the big silk-sheeted bed. It was exactly the kind of bed I’d expect Barrons to sleep in. Sun King ornate, four-postered, draped in silk and velvet; a sensual masculine lair. There were fur-lined handcuffs on the bedposts. I got knotted up in that memory for a minute before I managed to extricate myself. My breathing was shallow and my hands were fists. “Oh, yes, I’m going to have to kill you, Barrons,” I said coolly. Partly because, for the most