Page 46 of Gemini Wicked

Actually, we’re all scenting heavier than a fragrance factory.

All these pheromones flooding the air. Including mine. They’re making my head spin and my hips writhe under Lucius’ hungry mouth.

“Tonight you belong to the snake,” Max growls. “And the wolf. Yet you are also mine. If you will breed, my sovereign, it is my seed that will fill you. My dragonets you will carry. I hunger to see you ripen with my clutch.”

That dark promise make my pussy ache. Especially when Lucius growls, low and savage, against my cunt and worries at the soaked lace like he’s gonna tear it off me with his fangs.

I’m still boning up on shifter biology. I need, like, the 101 section of that class. Because Max seems to think I could maybe lay eggs with him like a goddamn hen. (Even though I’m not pure shifter. Genetically speaking, I’m a mutt.) But that’s how dragon shifters do their thing.

Honestly speaking, I’m just not ready for that.

Besides, I am still on the shot.

In science we trust.

I’m trying to wrap my head around how to address all this when Max’s hand drops to the fly of his distressed denim and pops the button. Behind his zipper, the thick bulge of his complicated dick shoves against the faded fabric.

Every flicker of coherent thought in my brain turns to smoke and drifts away. I swallow hard at the sight.

Sweet Jesus. I’ve missed that.

I literally can’t wait to wrap my mouth around his potent dragon cock.

Totally unselfconscious, he rubs his dick for me though his jeans. Under his purposeful touch, all those inches swell and thicken.

That’s when something new snares my gaze. A prickly circlet of gray ink twining around Max’s sinewy wrist.

Huh. At some point while he was MIA, my dragon musta picked up… a tattoo.

That tattoo’s like a barbed-wire manacle looped around his wrist.

And I like it. I like it a lot.

“Mmmm.” I sigh with appreciation and skim my fingers over his ink. “That’s new. I didn’t even know shifters could hold a tattoo. I mean, once you shift.”

He stills and shivers under my touch. His gruff dragon voice drops two octaves. “We can hold one when there is ground silver in the ink. In Warsaw, there is a place that specializes in shifters.”

“Warsaw, huh?” When a sudden plink of caution quivers through our bond, my curious gaze darts to his wary face. “Is that where you were all this time?”

Max never lies. That’s, like, a point of honor for him as a dragon. But there’s definitely shit he doesn’t mention.

Now, he hesitates. He fucking hesitates. “There… and other places.”

“Hmmmm.” Vasili licks and nibbles my mating bite—the one Lucius gave me where my neck meets my shoulder, a spot that’s extra-vulnerable and extra-sensitive—with his razor-sharp fangs. Just the threat of that snake’s teeth on my neck makes shivers spill over my skin and skitter down my spine.

Even before his wicked fingers tweak my nipples in a way that demands my attention and Max’s.

Which is a fucking deliberate attempt to distract me. Damn it.

I love my snake, but I never make the mistake of trusting him.

“Barbed wire, hmmm?” the Goblin King purrs, all velvety with menace. “Do you feel like you’re in prison, dragon?”

Max’s smoking stare lifts from my tits and blazes at Vasili. “Mine is a prison of passion. I remain of my own accord.”

Well, dayum.

Something’s up with these two. Something’s been up with them since Avalon, when Vasili finally stopped making Max’s life a living hell and now (very occasionally) lets Max have his wicked way with Vasili’s sneaky, snaky, sexy body.

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