Dark Carousel

by Christine Feehan

  "More." She whispered it to him. "Please, Tariq. More." Even as she pleaded with him, she knew that he would take her without mercy, and God help her, that was what she wanted--even needed--from him.

  He gave her more and then some. Pounding into her. Taking her thoroughly. His hands hard on her hips, holding her in place while he surged into her, again and again, jolting her body with each brutal thrust. Her breasts rocked in invitation with every hard jackhammer surge. Lightning seemed to lash through her veins. The tension inside her coiled tighter and tighter. She needed . . . something.

  "Tariq." She said his name. Low. Calling out to him when she didn't know what to do to ease the terrible burn that built and built. It was building so high fear skittered down her spine.

  "I have you, sielamet," he assured, his eyes scorching a brand through her.

  She felt that brand with his every finger digging into her hips. With every stroke, he burned his name into her, deep inside her body, until she felt owned by him. Taken by him. Thoroughly his.

  "Eyes to mine, Charlotte," he commanded, his voice sexily low and gravelly, the voice that turned her inside out. "Let me see into your soul."

  She loved the way he said that. As if he meant every word. More, when she looked into his eyes, she felt anchored. Safe. Her world narrowed until there was only him. She breathed him in with every breath she took. He was inside her body, filling and stretching her until the burn was so scorching hot she was afraid she'd lose her mind. She clung to his arms, her fingernails like tiny daggers, scoring his shoulders and arms, trying to find a purchase when every brutal stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing through her. Yet, for all that, the horrible coiling inside her refused to release--just continued to build and build until she thought she might go insane.

  "Tariq." She whispered his name, hips bucking to meet his, head tossing back and forth even as she stared helplessly into his eyes. "I need . . ." She didn't know. Something. He had to do something. Right. Now.

  "I know, sielamet. I've got you."

  He shifted her hips, dragged her body up just a few inches, changing the angle, and then he thrust into her, over and over, hitting the exact spot until she thought the world was exploding around her.

  "Now, Charlotte. Come for me now."

  Her body tumbled over the edge of a deep precipice, fragmenting, soaring. The ripples didn't stop--refused to leave her, her body not her own, out of her control--and still he didn't stop, a relentless, pistoning machine. Velvet over steel. Scorching hot. Beautiful. Perfect. Frightening. Thrilling.

  "Again, sielamet." It was sheer demand. A command. His face was set in implacable lines. His eyes blazed fire. He was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

  How could she possibly go again without pleasure consuming her, taking her over? She shook her head, but she knew she would give him anything he wanted. Whatever he demanded of her. She couldn't stop herself. He would always be her one weakness. Always.

  She let go, this time her orgasm even more powerful, ripping through her with tremendous force, radiating out from her core down to her thighs and up to her belly, spreading out and moving to her breasts like an earthquake of mammoth proportions. She heard her thin wail, her soft cries of his name, his groan as her body took his with it. She felt the hot splash of jet after jet of his seed pulsing into her triggering yet another strong quake.

  For what seemed an eternity, he stood over her, her legs wrapped around him, ankles locked in the small of his back, his cock buried deep in her, his gaze holding hers, telling her without words, just the way his body had told her, that she belonged to him. She was already having trouble catching her breath and that look just made it more difficult.

  He leaned over her, breathing hard, planting a kiss on her belly button. The movement triggered another ripple, this one less forceful but no less pleasurable. His mouth swept up her rib cage to the undersides of her breasts, caressing with his tongue, suckling first one breast and then the other. His teeth on her left nipple sent yet another strong quake through her.

  His mouth continued upward to take possession of her throat. Her chin. Finally, finally, her lips. He took her mouth as ruthlessly as he had her body. Claiming her. She lost herself in his kisses. One after another. Deep. Hard. Wet. Perfect. All the while his cock stayed inside her, not relaxing, not slipping away, but stretching her. Pulsing. His heart beating there. Beating in his chest against her breasts. Beating in her core, while she pulsed and her heart beat around his cock. She was acutely aware of every cell in her body. Every nerve ending. Of every inch of her. And all of her belonged to Tariq Asenguard.

  "Hold on, sielamet. Keep your ankles locked and put your arms around my neck. Keep your face tight against my shoulder and close your eyes for me."

  There was no way to resist his voice. She would always want to please him, to give him anything he desired. With his eyes staring into hers, she melted into his body, her breasts imprinting onto his chest as she slid her arms around his neck and locked her fingers at his nape. She buried her face against his shoulder and closed her eyes, actually feeling the sweep of her lashes against his skin.

  She had the sensation of moving. Floating. She drifted, feeling every movement of his body through their connection--his cock stretching her, growing even thicker and harder as he carried her. He had to be incredibly strong to do that and she wanted to see where they were going, but once she closed her eyes, she couldn't seem to open them. She was exhausted. Worn-out from her constant vigilance, trying to keep Lourdes safe . . .

  "Lourdes." She murmured her niece's name and tried to surface. She hadn't checked on her. Hadn't seen that her greatest treasure, the gift her brother left behind for her, was safe.

  "Open your eyes, sielamet, and see her."

  Her lashes felt as if they weighed a ton. Still wrapped tightly around Tariq's body, she opened her eyes and saw her niece through a window, as if she were outside the bedroom looking in. Lourdes slept peacefully, the covers pulled over her light little body. Charlotte's lashes drifted down, and then the lovers were moving again. The cool air didn't do a thing to cool her hot body. She began to move, helpless not to, grinding down over his cock. Needing him all over again.

  He didn't seem to mind in the least. His hands cupped her bottom and he lifted her, showing her how to ride him as he continued moving. She kept her face buried against him and didn't bother to try to open her eyes--she just took her pleasure, sliding up and down that thick, velvet-covered shaft that seemed to radiate heat hotter than a furnace.

  Then she was on her knees, bent over a bed, and he gripped her from behind, one arm around her waist, the other hand tugging on her nipples, first one then the other, his mouth on the nape of her neck while he pounded into her from behind. His body held her captive, and she loved the feeling of his weight on her, his mouth sucking on her neck. His teeth scraping. His bite. Sharp teeth. Such an erotic pain.

  She threw her head back and to the side to encourage him to bite the other side of her neck. He'd had her right side, her throat, the back of her neck, and she wanted every single part of her claimed by him. He obliged, his hips all the while thrusting hard, a relentless machine, over and over, a heady, wild ride she never wanted to end.

  Even as he leaned over her, his body strong and hard, pinning her against the mattress, his hair sweeping her bare skin and his teeth biting down, she heard the murmur of his voice stroking caresses in her head. Soft. Gentle. A counterpart to the savage way his body moved into hers.

  En evsatzak piwtaak tet. I have searched through centuries for you.

  She didn't know how that could be the truth, but she loved that he said it, and by the look on his face, he meant it. For him, waiting for her had seemed centuries. It was the same for her. She'd looked the world over for something she desperately needed and hadn't found it until now.

  His body was hard and hot, his cock sinking deep, pushing through sensitive tissues to claim her. To brand her. It was so beautiful she felt
tears welling up.

  Kuzo, ainaak evsatzak otti jela etta ila en wakeva kodaba. Long, endless centuries to find the light that would shine through the unrelenting darkness.

  With fire streaking through her body, and his hand curved around the nape of her neck, holding her in place, she could barely hear the words. They weren't so much in her ears as in her mind. For a moment she nearly surfaced, anxiety close in spite of the molten honey moving through her veins.

  Assa moo pel. There is no need for fear.

  His other hand found her breast, fingers pinching her nipple hard, tugging, rolling, sending lightning sizzling through her body until she was gasping for air, crying out with need, knowing she didn't have anything to be afraid of. She trusted him with her body, and he was doing things to her she'd never imagined.

  En olenam teval it. I am with you now.

  Tears spilled onto her lashes. She'd felt so alone, even when she was with her best friend. Even when she was with her brother. She loved them and knew they loved her, but there was something missing--until now. Until Tariq.

  Pesasz engemal. Stay with me.

  Was he feeling the same way? That terrible need, as brutal and as beautiful as the hard strokes as he buried himself deep inside her. Did he need her to fill him the way he filled her? Her heart? Her soul? Her body?

  Olensz engemal. Be with me.

  She cried out as his hands shifted, moved over her body possessively while he drove himself into her like a man possessed. She felt that coiling deep inside, a burn that became a wildfire out of control. She wanted to be with him. Always. Forever.

  Ainaaka kadasz engem jalleen. Never go away again.

  His voice felt like velvet stroking against her skin. Each word murmured in his language, that ancient tongue that was totally mesmerizing, hypnotic, a voice she could listen to for far more than one lifetime.

  She closed her eyes and absorbed each separate sensation. His mouth on her neck. His teeth scraping against her skin. The voice whispering in her head. His fingers tugging and rolling her nipples, pinching to send streaks of fire straight to her clit. His arm, a bar at her waist, his hand curling around her waist possessively. The way his body felt against hers. Barbaric. Savage. Claiming. The power in his hips thrusting against her. His cock, weighted. Heavy. Thick. Stretching her. The burn only added to the fiery, scorching hot blaze deep inside her.

  Her body coiled tighter and tighter. Stringing her out. Sending her higher. Too high. That delicious frisson of fear skittered down her spine, filling her with trepidation, but she didn't want him to stop. She needed . . .

  "Tariq." She whispered his name, but it came out like a plea. He had to do something to stop the climb before she lost herself.

  "Pesasz engemal. Stay with me," he repeated in English. "Hiszasz engem vigyaz tet. Trust me to take care of you. Kojasz engem pita temet dzinot t'suva vni palj3. Let me have you a little longer."

  He wasn't asking. She knew that. He was telling her, but she wanted him to have everything. Anything. She needed to give him that. His voice when he spoke his own language swept away everything but the need to give to him. To please him. Even if she was a little afraid. She found the fear only added to the wildness of the ride. It built that tension gathering so strongly in her deepest core.

  "I have to let go," she whispered, not wanting to, but she truly didn't think she could stop it and she wanted to warn him.

  "As. Assa bur szor. Andsz entolam palj3 t'suva vni teval. Varasz. No. Not yet. Give me more time with you. You will wait." An order. A command. There was no plea in his voice, only that quiet, low, implacable decree.

  Charlotte closed her eyes and curled her fingers into the satin sheets, making a fist, holding on with everything she had as he took complete control of her body. His hands went to her hips, pinning her, holding her still as he drove into her with hard, brutal strokes, rocking her body, stretching her until she felt as if the fire had built beyond all control and would take her over, destroy her completely until there was no Charlotte without Tariq. She was so close. Each drag of his hard cock over her acutely sensitive bundle of nerves had her gasping, crying out, the sensation so extreme she knew it would throw her over the edge any second. But she held on. Tried. For him.

  He murmured more in his language. "Sivamet. Sielamet. Minden m8akam. My everything."

  His heart. His soul. His everything. She wanted that to be true, because in that moment--since the first time he had whispered to her in his language and his teeth had bitten down in that sinfully erotic bite--he had been her heart. Her soul. Her everything. There would never be a single moment when she would deny him. Deny this. Deny him--her.

  "Please." She was nearly sobbing now. The pleasure too much. She was climbing too high. But she wouldn't let go. Wouldn't fail him. He wanted, and she could do this--for him.

  "No, sielamet," he whispered in her ear. "For us. I do this for us."

  She took a breath. He slammed deep, angling her hips back into him while she sobbed out another ragged breath.

  "Now, Charlotte. Give that miracle to me now."

  She didn't know whether it was his giving her permission, the way his cock dragged over her clit, how the broad head stroked that sweet spot deep inside, or whether she just couldn't hold on one second longer, but her body came apart. The orgasm roared through her. Took her completely. She heard herself scream. Long. A wail of pure eroticism. The ripples became quakes and her body seemed to fragment. Come apart until she wasn't certain she could ever be put back together, but she didn't care. Didn't want to be. She was flung out into the universe. Soaring in space. Floating. Drifting.

  She felt his mouth on her ear. Her neck. The side of her face. Soft kisses. He turned her over. She was aware of that on some level. The mattress firm against her back. His body stretched out beside hers. One leg flung over her thighs, pinning her down as if even then he wanted to hold her to him. One arm possessively around her rib cage, palm cupping her breast. With her every breath he was there, in her lungs.

  Still she drifted. Floated. The ripples decreased in strength, but the bliss didn't diminish in the least. She nuzzled him. His lips immediately found hers.

  "Odamasz it. Dzinot t'suva vnirt. Tsak odamasz. Sleep now. For a short while. Just go to sleep."

  There was no denying him. Not before when his body was in hers and not now when she was exhausted and needed sleep. She let her lashes fall and snuggled closer against him.

  Tariq held his lifemate as tightly as possible to him without disturbing her. He wanted to know what she dreamt. He wanted to be inside her body as well as her mind. He wanted to know every single detail about her. He'd been careful to be respectful and not attempt to read what wasn't offered, not while she was awake. She had some kind of barrier, a shield that had allowed her to resist Fridrick's compulsion. She'd known Fridrick was trying to force her obedience. He didn't want her to equate him with the undead.

  He touched her mind as she slowly drifted down from the high of their union. She was floating in subspace. Happy. The sensations in her body still occupied her mind . . . along with thoughts of him. Of making him happy. Of being his woman. He loved that she wanted that. He wanted to make her happy. To be her man. To please her.

  She had a strange reaction to his language as if just the sound alone resonated with her. He knew she couldn't understand meanings, but each time he spoke in his language she had complied immediately with everything he'd asked for. He'd bound her to him, and that meant even if she attempted to flee, she wouldn't get far. She would need him every bit as much as he needed her. He had exchanged blood with her. He could talk to her mind to mind, an intimate connection between just the two of them, far different from the common pathway most Carpathians used.

  It would take three blood exchanges to bring her fully into his world, and he was tempted to complete that exchange in one heady night. She tasted like . . . paradise. Her body was paradise. A miracle he hadn't expected. He had come up with the idea of the night
clubs in order to entice women to come to him, in an effort to find his lifemate, yet he had given up any real hope of finding her. His search had gone on far too long. The temptation to have her immediately by his side for eternity was strong, but he wanted more from her than simple obedience. He wanted her to choose him.

  In some way, she already had. He hadn't fogged her mind completely. Not once. Not even during the blood exchange. When he'd first taken her into his arms, she had gone to him willingly. He'd created a slight haze to make that first exchange easier for her, but he hadn't taken her will. She had complied without a hint of reluctance. She'd felt the pull between them nearly as strongly as he had.

  Tariq stroked back the thick mass of hair. It was soft. Glossy. Shiny. Very wavy, like water rippling over rocks in a river. She was beautiful. Her curves were enticing and he couldn't stop stroking caresses over her body. He had to touch her. Everything about her appealed to him. Her scent. Her shape. The sound of her voice. The way her mind centered on him and stayed there. Her eagerness to please him.

  He kissed the shell of her ear. Traced it with the tip of his tongue. In her sleep she shivered and moved closer to him, turning her head slightly to offer him better access.

  "Do you need me?" she asked softly, moving her body against his.

  His breath caught in his throat. She was exhausted. Most likely sore, feeling his brand deep inside of her, yet she was offering herself to him--if he needed her. He would always need her. Always want her. So generous a woman. His heart jerked in his chest.

  "Odamasz engem. Dream of me," he whispered, his lips on her ear. "Kutnisz engem teval minden ku etta jutasz. Take me with you wherever you go."

  She had already set up a craving for her. For her blood. For her body. His cock had developed a mind of its own, already full, thick and ready. Almost painful. He loved the feeling of needing her physically. Of hungering for her blood alone. The sign of a Carpathian, a hunter. As predatory as he was, he no longer was in danger of becoming the undead, forever seeking the rush of the kill. That temptation was gone, replaced by the exclusive hunger for his lifemate.