N. Walters - Night of the Tiger

“Yes.” She dragged her fingernails over his spine, loving the way he arched into her touch. She wanted what he wanted.

His expression was hard. There was a wild and dangerous air about Roric as he pulled back and spun her around to face the wall. The abrupt shift startled her, but only for a second. She placed her hands against the moist tiles to steady herself as he eased her hips back.

“Spread your legs and push your ass toward me.”

His rough command sent shivers down her spine. Cream slipped from her sheath and down her inner thighs. She cried out as he drew one thick finger down the crease of her bottom, rimming the puckered opening of her ass.

“Do it.”

Aimee shifted, making room for him. Leaning forward, she pushed her behind toward him. A low purr of pleasure surrounded her as his hands cupped her hips. The thick head of his cock nudged at her slick channel before pressing inside.

She was breathing hard now, her breasts swaying with every lungful of air she sucked in. Moist heat surrounded her, inside and out. She squirmed, desperately trying to get him to push deeper. She needed more.

As if he’d read her mind, he shoved forward in one hard stroke, filling her.

Aimee gasped. He was so big he stretched the delicate tissue of her channel, making a place for himself within her. Roric flexed his hips, pulling out a few inches before driving deep again. Her inner muscles clenched around him as he filled every part of her—body, mind and soul.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, he flattened his free hand next to one of hers and began to thrust. She bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming. He drove her to the very edge. She was close. She clawed at the tiles for support.

His hips slapped against her butt over and over. The wet, smacking sound and their gasps and moans were barely audible above the pounding of the shower.

She wanted it to never end, wanted to feel him inside her forever. But it couldn’t last. Both of them were too close to coming.

His teeth scraped the back of her neck in an erotic caress. It stopped short of being painful, instead becoming incredibly arousing. He did it again, and she knew it would leave a small bruise. He was marking her as his.

Aimee moaned as her sheath rippled around his cock. There was no holding back. On the next stroke, she came. He yelled, and she felt the hot flood of his orgasm as he filled her. He continued to drive into her until she couldn’t stand any longer.

She slumped forward and he caught her before she fell. Leaning against the wet tiles, she tried to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding, and she felt lightheaded. Roric wasn’t in much better shape. He was gasping for air, his lungs working hard.

The water was much cooler now, verging on cold. She shivered and Roric pushed away, slowly pulling his now semi-erect cock from her. Even though he was no longer fully erect, her sheath was swollen and tender and she winced as he withdrew.

He turned her gently in his arms. The expression on his face was filled with a tenderness she’d never seen before. He also looked satisfied and pleased with himself in a wholly male way. She supposed she couldn’t begrudge him that. The man certainly knew how to push all her buttons.

Without a word, he twisted off the taps and shut off the flow of water. The silence was almost deafening. He tugged a towel from the rod just outside the shower and wrapped it around her before reaching for one for himself.

Holding her arm to steady her, he guided her out of the shower and onto the bathmat. “Get dried off and dressed. They’ll be coming soon.”

With that, he wound the towel around his waist and left her alone. So much for tender words. Not that she’d really expected them from him, but in the deepest recesses of her mind, she’d hoped.

Thankfully, the room was steamy enough to help hide the disappointment that had to be plastered on her face. She’d known he didn’t love her. And that was okay. She loved him and that was her problem. He hadn’t promised her anything. Just the opposite, in fact.

She took her time, slathering on her favorite body cream. Her skin was still sensitive, making it almost a sensual experience. There was no need to spare the expensive cream like she normally did. These would most likely be her last few hours alive. If that was the case, she was determined to make the most of them.

Her body still hummed from her orgasm, and a new energy filled her. She loved Roric and would do everything in her power to protect him. And if luck was on their side, maybe both of them would survive the night.

Reaching for her clothing, she put on her bra, panties and socks before sliding into a pair of clean jeans. She was just glad she owned so many pairs. The past day had played havoc with her wardrobe. She pulled on yet another long-sleeved shirt, loving the way the soft cotton hugged her skin.

She tossed the towel aside. If she survived, she’d worry about the laundry. If not, it would be someone else’s problem. A sense of calm descended on her as she padded to her bedroom and pulled on her boots.

She was as ready as she’d ever be.

The clock was ticking and the night was waning fast. Leaving her bedroom behind without a final glance, she went down the stairs in search of Roric.

Roric stared out the kitchen window into the shadowy woods beyond the yard. He could sense a disturbance in the air. Their reprieve was over. He’d dressed for battle in leather pants and a fitted vest, leaving his arms free to swing his swords. His boots hugged his calves to just below his knees and gave him sure footing.

He was as ready as he’d ever be.

He heard her soft footsteps on the stairs and caught the lush smell of lavender before she entered the room. Aimee. He turned away from the window, his heart clenching as she came into view.

There was no teasing smile, no knowing glance. Her expression was serious and determined. She knew the end was at hand. One way or another, it would soon be over.

He held out his hand, and she walked across the room and took it. There was no comfort he could offer her, no promises he could make. “Aimee,” he began, not quite certain what he wanted to say. He wanted her to know that she meant something to him, that she was special.

Reaching up, she placed two fingers over his lips. “There’s no need to say anything.”

He frowned at the sadness and resignation in her voice. Fury surged through him. He’d given thousands of years of loyal service, but none of that mattered now. Nothing would stop Hades and his minions from coming to destroy him, to destroy her.

There was no justice in that. But Roric had learned over the years that it was often that way when dealing with the gods. They were fickle, and everyone else’s fate rested on their whims.

Even his own goddess, whom he honored and served, had cast a spell on her warriors, twisting their fate into what she wanted it to be. He was glad to be alive, but at what cost? His freedom was not worth the price of Aimee’s life.

No more .

He would take his destiny into his own hands. He would fight, and he would protect Aimee to his dying breath. He would never give Hades what he wanted. Roric prized his honor above all things, and if he abandoned that, then he was nothing. Better to die or spend eternity rotting in Hell than to give in to the devil.

A sizzle rent the air. Sparks flew, igniting into flames. Roric grabbed Aimee’s arm and shoved her behind him. He manifested two swords and handed one of them to Aimee, wanting her to have something to protect herself with. He only wished there had been more time to train her with the weapon.

The acrid odor of sulfur filled the room as menacing laughter echoed off the walls. “Still fighting, warrior?” The smoke cleared to reveal a tall, dark-haired man with a commanding presence. Power radiated around him. Roric had seen him many times during the war.