Page 130 of Gemini Wicked

Now, apparently, it’s out again.

“I literally can’t tolerate another syllable of that tedious Witching World History,” Vasili pouts, “without turning actively homicidal.”

“Poor love.” Ronin gives him the affirmation he’s looking for, even when V’s being a pissy prick who’s been mocking Max all night.

“Hmm.” Vasili still looks cross. “Well, if you don’t like having me in here, you can blame Lucius. He practically ordered me out of the bedroom. Says Max doesn’t do well with me listening.”

“Can’t imagine why,” I murmur. Poor Max.

“Nah, we don’t mind. Let’s have a kiss,” Ronin suggests easily. “Been missing you.”

The Goblin King hums and prowls over the swirling vortex of the maelstrom mosaic floor without a single apparent shit for the ancient fae artistry of our surroundings. He rears over the tub to peer down on us. He’s carrying an open wine bottle without a label carelessly by the neck.

When he reaches the tub, he lifts the bottle for a casual sip, then swipes his tongue over his glistening lips.

Simultaneously, he takes one look at my pierced tits bobbing among the lotus petals and purrs at the sight.

Just the sound of that purr makes my nipples tighten.

“Hiya, bad boy,” I breathe.

My gaze and Ronin’s drift over our mate in unison. V’s long lean body looks scrumptious in the silky sleep pants and lace cami he lounges around in at night. He’s like a male ballet dancer, sculpted and sleek—and already hard. His impatient length juts against the thin fabric in a way that makes my heart pound and my skin heat. Under his tousled punk-rock shag of silver hair, he’s all dewy-faced from the moisturizing goop that’s part of his bedtime beauty routine.

I lick my dry lips and reach for that wine bottle he’s toting. His eyes, blue as glaciers, lock with mine.

“Gimme,” I say softly.

His lips part and one fang slips into view. He hisses in a breath and passes me the bottle. Without breaking his shimmering stare, I lift the bottle to my lips and take a swig.

I swear to fuck, the Fae make the best wine. V’s already drunk half of it, but this vintage tastes like honeysuckle and wildflowers and something tart like blackberry. It’s fizzy and fermented and more like medieval mead than modern wine.

I lick the potent fizz from my lips and take another slow swallow.

Ronin reaches for Vasili’s hand and gives a playful tug.

“Darling.” Our snake swoops down to give Ronin the kiss he’s demanded, all domination and hunger and an electrifying flash of tongue. That’s his way of taking care of Ronin and soothing his grieving heart.

Ronin wraps an arm around V’s neck and gives a throaty moan that vibrates with raw need.

I tilt back the bottle again, because this honeysuckle wine is addictive, and let the vintage slip down my throat. Faerie wine is potent shit, so I’m already feeling warm and floaty.

Then I turn my head lazily against the curve of Ronin’s arm to watch.

Up close and personal, the caramel-and-vetiver wallop of my snake’s Mogadon mating scent—laced with fuck-me-now pheromones—hits my already-intoxicated senses like a freight train. Vasili’s tall supple frame radiates heat like the domus furnace (I mean, when it’s working). His high cheekbones are flushed and his glacial eyes glitter like that iceberg must’ve done in the moonlight right before the Titanic went down.

Long story short?

Our Goblin King’s not really rooted in his clever coldblooded mind tonight.

He’s sexed way the fuck up.

And even though this Avalon moon isn’t full enough to boost me into full-blown mating heat, I am here for it.

V has one hand braced on the tub for balance and one hand fisted in Ronin’s man-bun thingy that our mate rigged to keep his hair out of the water. (Because there aren’t any blow-dryers in fairyland. And long hair takes forever to air-dry.)

This choreography gives me all the leeway I need to prop the wine bottle on the floor, slip my fingers under the hem of Vasili’s cami, and start peeling the creamy carnation-pink lace up the supple length of his torso.

Ronin helps me while those two deepen their kiss, and V helps too (for once) by slipping his sleep pants down his narrow hips. His long pretty cock pops into view, flushed and twitching and very erect in the pearly moonlight that’s our only source of light. Silver steam twines from the tub and beads all those sleek inches with tiny glittering jewels of moisture.

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