Free Gone With the Witch by Annette Blair Page A

claimed her, and with Aiden's instigation, she kept rising, one orgasm after another, until she could barely keep from passing out.
    She screamed her final release like a banshee as Aiden shouted her name and rose with her, impaling her more times than she would have thought possible—as if he'd experienced a multiple of his own. And when she collapsed atop him, prone, sated, sweaty, sticky, and damned near to passing out, she heard a pounding.
    Her heart pumping in her ears most likely.
    "The door."
    Smoothing the sweat-slick hair from her face, she looked up at Aiden. "Huh?"
    "The door," he repeated. "Someone is knocking at the door."
    "Breaking it down, you mean. I don't think I can summon the strength to move"
    "Uncuff me, then," Aiden said, drawing air into his lungs with a pleased look.
    "Good t ry , but you can't move either, for more than the usual reasons."
    "Do you hear me complaining?"
    Storm rose and tossed a blanket over him then wrapped herself in another, in case it was the orgasm police, and they'd exceeded their limit for legal multiples in one time zone.
    She opened the door ... and looked up at the skinny seven-foot clown on her doorstep, lost her train of thought, and got a crick in her neck.
    Words failed her. Her body nearly failed her.
    Passing out seemed an option, not because of the appari tion, because of the sex.
    The clown squirted her in the face with his lapel carnation.
    "Thanks" she said. "I needed that."
    Carnival tents and animal cages had sprouted around them, like a hidden fairyland—while they'd slept the sleep of the dead, apparently. Storm tightened her blanket and hid as much as she could of herself behind the door. "Good morning, Bozo"
    "We're not all called Bozo, ya know." He raised a bushy blue brow. "How about you don't stereotype, Trixie, and I won't either."
    Storm slapped a hand to her mouth and nearly lost her blanket. "Oops. Close call. Let's start again. Hi, I'm Storm, and you are?"
    "Winkie."
    There ya go. "Good morning, Winkie. May I help you?"
    Storm got distracted by an elephant on a leash, led by a purple-haired clown on stilts. She was so diverted, Warlock ran past her and out the door. She saw him leap, as only Warlock could, to the edge of a cage where a full-grown tiger raised its head to eye her three-month-old fur ball.
    One tiger hello, and Warlock relinquished the need for a litter box.
    Like lightning, her kitten ran and became lost to sight somewhere in the carnival crowd. "My cat!"
    Winkie cleared his throat.
    Storm apologized and gave him her full attention. “Are we in your way?" she asked. "I promise to leave as soon as 'I find my cat."
    "Uh, no," the embarrassed clown said, removing his blue-striped top hat, banded with black-eyed Susans, to reveal a fuzzy thatch of blue hair. "We don't care where you're parked. It's just that ... your screams were scaring the children."
    Storm focused on the scene, noticed the upbeat carnival music, and smelled the popcorn and cotton candy for the first time. She saw people—midgets, giants, acrobats, and families—everywhere.
    Parents, in particular, several sets of them, with chil dren, stood in groups, all of them staring at her, some with wary surp ri se, a couple with smiles, but most with downright disapproval.
    Storm rarely blushed, but the heat in her face could probably start a campfire. She stepped deeper into the confines of the motor home. "Ah ... toga party," she said, too loud, too fast ... and too stupid.
    The clown nodded and donned his hat, trying to be all business, except that his grin got the better of him. "Sounded like a great party."
    Her giggle caught him off guard and made him blush. She cleared her throat. "Will we be able to pull out of here without a problem?"
    "Well," Winkie said, removing his hat again and turning it in his hand. "Some people will boo, of course, but a few will probably cheer."
    "Not that kind of problem. Is the road clear ahead of us? All our shades are still down, and 'I