Night of the Tiger (Hades' Carnival) by N.J. Walters Page B

him. He sifted his fingers through her pubic hair, the short, silken curls. He gave a grunt of satisfaction and did it again.
    “Touch me,” she whispered. He had to touch her or she’d go insane. She felt empty inside, and only he could fill her.
    He drifted his fingers lower, skimming her slick folds. Aimee cried out, clenching her eyes shut, riding a wave of desire so intense it took her breath away. She was so close to coming.
    He settled himself between her legs, his broad shoulders shoving her thighs even wider. Her eyes flew open just as hot breath caressed her tender flesh. He dragged his tongue over her swollen folds, lingering here and there—tasting, tempting, teasing.
    Aimee gripped the sheets by her sides, her fingers curling, digging into the fabric. She was on the edge, ready to explode and fly apart at any second. It was too much.
    It wasn’t nearly enough.
    Two thick fingers pushed past the initial resistance of her body and filled her tight channel. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead as he eased his fingers back to the edge of her opening and pressed them inward once again, stretching her, preparing her. It hurt slightly, but it felt so incredibly good too.
    When his fingers sank deep a third time, he captured her swollen clit between his lips and sucked. It was like being struck by lightning. Aimee cried out, muscles tensing. Every cell in her body exploded in a flash of light. She shivered and shook as liquid spilled over his hand and trickled down her thighs.
    He made a long, purring sound deep in his throat. The vibration sent her over the edge again. She felt the sheet give way beneath her fingers, the loud rip mixing with her moan of release.
    When it was over, Aimee sank deep into the mattress, totally replete from the most intense climax she’d ever experienced. Her eyes fluttered open as he lifted his head. He licked his lips and she knew he tasted her passion. The erotic gesture sent another pulse of pleasure catapulting through her.
    He was big and tough and totally aroused.
    “Now it’s my turn.” His rough voice sent a shiver down her spine.
     
    The sweet taste of her was more potent than the finest wine, and Roric felt half drunk with pleasure. Hunger roared through him as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, savoring the thick, rich cream that had flowed from her. He had to have more.
    His senses were heightened after thousands of years of imprisonment. Sounds were louder, colors were brighter, smells were sharper and the taste of sweet woman was a heady rush.
    Being aware of his surroundings, but being unable to really feel, touch, taste or experience for thousands of years had almost driven him mad. He and his companions were all cognizant of the world around them, yet not a part of it. They might not have been imprisoned in Hades’ domain, but they were in Hell nonetheless.
    But that was over. Done with. Finished.
    He’d die before he’d go back.
    The woman staring up at him with expressive, passion-filled green eyes had broken the spell, releasing him from his prison. They’d all been aware of her from the moment she’d entered the tent. Her scent, her mere presence, had surrounded the carousel. He’d been able to sense the pain and hopefulness of his remaining friends, each of them wanting to be the one she was drawn to, the one she chose.
    He closed his eyes and tried not to think of his fellow warriors who had gone before him. Mordecai had been the first to be released. It had shocked all of them after so many years of imprisonment. Until that moment, they hadn’t known such a thing was possible. They’d all lived with the faint hope that their goddess, the Lady of the Beasts, was still alive and might someday rise up and free them. That hope had faded as the centuries had drifted into millennia, leaving them still locked in their animal forms.
    Roric had known something was happening when the demons had first built the carousel and placed them upon it. All of them