Page 43 of Gemini Wicked

“Bloody hell, love,” he says softly into the spellbound stillness. “Reckon you’ve got our attention. Especially theirs. Your alphas.”

Fighting for control, I push Zara’s thighs wider and breathe in her sweet musk. Under the insistent press of my mouth, the crotch of her yoga pants turns hot and damp.

“Lucius,” she moans. One hand clutches my tumbled curls. Her other hand finds Vasili’s and pulls him closer.

“Zara,” Maxim rasps, thick and husky. His dragon lurks in his voice. “Did… did you mean it?”

He’s looming over all of us, wound too tight to touch, so tight with need he’s vibrating.

Vasili too is looming, trapping Zara’s hand to inhale the intoxicating sweetness of her inner wrist, dragging his sharp little fangs over her fragile skin in a way that makes her whole body shiver. Under lowered lids, his icy gaze simmers with sinful heat.

Merciful Christ.

All three of her alphas are riveted.

Vasili’s been more than vocal about his utter contempt for Maxim’s breeding kink (but not mine, perhaps because I’ve largely kept mine to myself). Vasili’s been more than clear about his complete disinterest in siring offspring of any kind.

Yet, tonight, shifter biology has seized even our snake in its unbreakable grip.

“I’m not saying I’ve decided,” Zara warns all of us, edged in the low resonance of her lightning voice. “I just feel like we can’t ignore it anymore. Our orgy last winter left half the girls on this island pregnant. Including Mal. What if we could do that for the whole witching world?”

My wolf snarls and nuzzles hard into her sweet pussy. My God, she smells like sex. I’m ravenous to taste the tang of her dripping against my tongue. I want to tear her pants off with my teeth, bury my face in her luscious quim, tongue her until she screams with pleasure.

Then, by Christ, I want to fuck her.

“Be very careful, darling,” Vasili murmurs into her palm, between sharp nips that make her gasp and twitch. “God knows, I’m not craving diaper duty and a playpen full of colicky brats in onesies like these two. But even I can tell you’re playing with powerful pheromones.”

Zara arches under me, thighs spread open around me, her curvy little body undulating, hips rocking slightly into my mouth.

“I’m not playing,” she gasps. “I wouldn’t be that cruel. I know how you guys… feel. I’m just saying… the witching world needs that.”

My fangs are too distended for speech. I rub my face into her thighs to scent her and drag my claws—which have also sprouted, sharp and curving, from my fingers—down the sides of her flimsy pants to shred them.

“That?” Vasili’s tone cuts sharper than a surgeon’s scalpel. “Be a bit more specific, little queen, do. What precisely are you referring to?”

She moans out the word. “Babies.”

From the bed, Neo’s soft gasp fills the sudden silence.

I freeze, panting with a driving need I can barely suppress. Under my claws, Zara’s ruined yoga pants lie in shreds around her succulent thighs. Beneath, she’s barely wearing the most provocative scrap of panties in lime-green lace that cling to her hips.

I’m a heartbeat away from shredding those too.

“My sovereign,” Maxim grates in a voice like gravel. Clearly he too is clinging to control by a thread. “Are you saying…?”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m just exploring the idea.” She sounds breathless, because of course she senses the effect her words are having. “A baby is, like, this whole major thing. We should want one for its own sake. I’m just thinking… it’s always been part of the plan, uh, eventually. That’s part of what it means to be queen, right?”

My palms clutch her silky thighs. With a guttural growl, I rub my face into her cunt. Her ruined garment still protects her from my depravity.

But not for long.

“Lucius,” she gasps. “Oh, God. Here’s what I’m thinking. What if we… picked up the pace? Tightened our timeline? What if we just… kinda… let loose? Without the guardrails?”

Max voices a dragonish snarl and pounces.

He swoops to claim her mouth in a kiss that screams dominance. His sinewy arms enclose her torso. The leather-and-brimstone bite of his mating scent floods the air.

She arches into his kiss with a soft cry. Her hand clenches around my head. Her eager quim presses into my desperate face.

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