" Understanding dawned about the sequence of the last two lines, and with it came a sudden mental image of him doing that to me.
A flush scorched my cheeks in the next instant. Mortified, I snatched my hands away and stood so abruptly the chair fell over.
Taunting laughter followed me.
“Oh, Kitten, you were doing so well! Guess you just couldn’t pass up a nice stroll in the woods. Beautiful night for it, I smell a storm coming. And you wonder why I had you pegged as an innocent. I’ve met nuns who were more promiscuous. I knew it would be the oral stuff that did you in, I would have bet my life on it.”
“You don’t have a life, you’re dead.”
I was trying to remind myself of that. Listening to his explicit detailing of everything he could do to me—not that I would ever let him, of course!—had made that a hard point to remember. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the images dancing in it. "

― Jeaniene Frost , Halfway to the Grave (Night Huntress, #1)