Page 46 of Gemini Queen
Damn, he’s hot to the touch. He tastes like salt and he smells like ambergris, but he’s been long enough away that he no longer smells like me. Instead, he’s redolent with a teasing hint of rose-and-vanilla sweetness.
And, more blatantly, the predatory reek of wolf.
My head snaps up to skewer him with an icy glare. “Did you fuck Lucius?”
Ronin’s eyes are heavy with arousal and his dick under his trousers is rigid. My sudden demand makes him frown and lift his head. “What’s that?”
“While the two of you were in Singapore,” I grind out, furious with him for making me ask twice. “Did you fuck him?”
“Oh fuck,” he grouses, head falling back to the mat with a sigh. “Bloody hell, not this again. Vasili, you’re not allowed to get jealous over Lucius.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I toss the staff aside and drag Ronin up by his open blazer to sit. “You reek of his fucking wolf.” Not to mention our fucking queen. But she’s a more complicated topic, one I intend to address separately and at length. “Did. You. Fuck. Him.”
“He fucking bit me, all right?” Ronin shifts under me like he’d really fancy me getting off him. That’s just too bad, because he’s insane if he thinks I’m backing off now. He knows Lucius makes me utterly mental.
“A mating bite?” I demand, incensed.
“A disciplinary bite. It’s nothing.” He shrugs his shoulders with a wince. An actual fucking wince. Now I’m more than suspicious.
I’m experiencing a mounting sense of concern.
“Let me see.” I push his blazer and shirt off his shoulders, ignoring his half-hearted effort to fend me off. My gaze narrows on the square of white gauze taped to his shoulder and speckled with blood.
“What the actual fuck?” I don’t think I’ve ever been more outraged. “Ronin, he hurt you. Hehurtyou.”
My damn stomach is tangled in knots and I find I can barely breathe. That fucking wolf bastard hurt my love.
I swear to Christ I’m going to tear out Lucius Aries’ throat.
“Pretty sure they’ll expel you from Icarus if you tear out a teacher’s throat.” Ronin grins suddenly, because of course he’s Valyrian, and he’s gotten me so worked up that I’ve forgotten entirely to shield my thoughts. “Does it really bother you that much?”
Well, we’re certainly not embarking onthatconversational voyage. I spend my days terrorizing the entire student body and my nights shielding my thoughts from the island’s dominant telepath to ensure he never guesses the alarming intensity of my foolish feelings. Feelings which render me dangerously vulnerable if anyone ever learns the truth.
He’s my greatest weakness and my deadliest secret. If anyone ever hurts him, they’ll destroy me.
And there are so many in the witching world who yearn to destroy me.
“You need this wound tended and this bandage changed, and this isn’t a point I intend to negotiate,” I state firmly, gathering my wits to rise. “I’ll fetch the first aid kit. You’ll stay right here if you know what’s good for you—”
“Vasili.” His hands land on my waist.
And I’m such a pathetic slave to the dangerous witchcraft of Ronin Pendragon that I freeze obediently, precisely as he wishes, and wait patiently (for me) to hear him out.
“Well?” I raise my signature eyebrow and give him the Romanov look.
“I missed you too,” Ronin murmurs, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “Like… a lot.”
A frustrated groan claws from my throat. I dive down and he lunges up and our mouths collide in a scorching kiss.
He’s feral when we kiss, all teeth and tongue and temper, so I grip his head between my hands to hold him, my tongue plunging deep in his silky heat. He meets me kiss for kiss, absolutely owning my mouth and every other part of me, fearless of the fangs I loathe and never asked for and can’t retract. He’s the only man who’s ever kissed me without flinching.
I would have loved him for that alone.
He smells like wolf and he tastes like cloves and I need him to smell and taste likeme. He’s mine. I can hardly be blamed. It’s a Mogadon trait, it’s encoded in our DNA, we’re born and bred to possess. The drive to scent and claim our mates is a genetic imperative.
I claw the garments from his shoulders and he tugs my sweat-soaked shirt from my trousers, then deftly slips my buttons. I let him do that much before I push him flat on his back and straddle him anew, our cocks grinding together through our pants. I swear he has me so shamefully worked up over him I’m ready to spill in my own trousers.
But that’s an indulgence I won’t permit. I haven’t had him in four days, which feels like fucking forever, and I fully intend to spill insidehim.
