Page 50 of Gemini Wicked

I finally break my staring contest with Vasili to sneak Lucius a mischievous look. Max’s face is hidden in our headmaster’s neck, and Lucius has one clawed hand wrapped tenderly around our dragon’s golden head.

Those two are so sweet together the sight of them makes my throat thicken.

I suck in my breath in wonder. I always knew Max never had a dad growing up. Yet, somehow, I’ve only just realized there’s a big old daddy-sized hole in Maxim Rasputin’s love-starved heart.

A hole my solid, firm, kind, responsible headmaster Lucius Aries is exactly the right size and shape to fill.

Now, meeting my upturned gaze, my wolf’s eyes pulse crimson with need. His lip curls back to bare his savage fangs. That’s a mating display, to show me how fierce he is. How fiercely he’ll defend our little pack. My own inner beast bates and hisses with approval.

My teeth sink into my lower lip around a grin. Then my fingers slip through the slit in Lucius’ boxers to curl around the delicious thick girth of his dick.

The growl that rips from his chest is all animal.

His shaft, hot and veiny, throbs in my grip.

With a sudden spurt of violence, his free hand clamps over mine and shoves his full length into my fist. That’s when my hand bumps up against—whoa—an unfamiliar intruder.

Hello.

There’s, like, a hard swell of flesh at the base of his cock that’s totally new.

What the actual fuck?

That new addition he’s packing under his boxers is the size of a freaking apple.

“Cheese on toast, Lucius!” I yelp, all squeaky with surprise. “What the fuck is this?”

His red eyes blink down at me.

“I fear it’s the inevitable consequence of a purebred wolf shifter in full mating rut,” Lucius says, managing to sound simultaneously apologetic and primal, while also very much like a lecturing prof. “In a word, well, that’s my knot.”

Chapter Ten

Maxim

The sudden appearance of my headmaster’s knot creates a startled silence.

Ronin’s soft curse mingles with Neo’s gentle gasp of wonder from the place where those two of my mates—both so beloved and so missed—lie entwined and writhing on our bed.

After the ordeal of my recent travels, roaming the backstreet bookshops and antiquities black markets in Rome and Athens and Istanbul—all the ancient cities—in fruitless hunt for secret Unseelie lore at Vasili’s command, my dragon is wild for both my mates.

Wild to reclaim them.

Wild to scent them and fuck them and fill them with our seed.

But if our sovereign meant those inflammatory words she spoke, in her colloquial English, about cutting loose and without guardrails and needing babies…?

Then my dragon and I are going nowhere.

We will not budge from our queen’s side until her heat is broken.

Until she is bedded and bred.

Until she is so sated and so filled with our potent dragon seed that she wishes to do nothing for days on end except sleep and dream and incubate our young.

During the breeding time—this short precious interlude, so sheltered and so special, when Zara is fertile and conceiving our young—we will guard our lair and keep her safe.

Whenever she wakes, we will fuck.

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