Page 68 of Gemini Queen
“Oh, I’m sorry, was I taking too long?” I ask sweetly, making an exaggerated show of consulting my dive watch. “Because this shower’s still mine for the next nine minutes. It’s in the house rules.”
Vasili sips his coffee and arches one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Haven’t you learnedanythingfrom our delightful encounters? Thisthermae, like everyone and everything else at this Academy, belongs tome. That’s in the house rules as well.”
I roll my eyes and tighten my towel, because this is not the time for my hasty knot to slip. Standing here all but naked, dripping and shivering in the face of his sartorial elegance, I’m at a desperate disadvantage. Which of course is his whole intent. My only play now is to pretend I don’t give a shit.
And, really, I don’t.
I’m your fucking queen, Goblin King, whether you like it or not.
His pale brows rush together in a scowl, and I wonder if he hears. I don’t think the old Russian families like the Romanovs have Valyrian genes, but I do. With my Gemini DNA, I can theoretically project my thoughts, but I’ve definitely never been trained to do it.
“Didn’t exactly see that in the rules myself, but I’m sure Master Aries would be interested to hear your whole ownership theory.” I reach for a fresh towel and scrub my dripping hair in the hope of stopping the icy trickle seeping down my spine. “Why are you here, Vasili? I didn’t take you for the type to go full stalker in the girls’ shower.”
“Then apparently you’re not a complete imbecile.” He sneers around his coffee. “Which is fortunate, since your gender holds no physical appeal for me whatsoever.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that out at the gym.” It’s probably not a good idea to remind him of what I saw, and it doesn’t actually prove my point. For all I know, he could be bi…?
“I’m fucking gay, all right?” he snaps. “And if you don’t want me reading your precious royal mind, kindly cease blasting your every annoying thought directly into my head. Have you no modicum of telepathic control?”
Okay, so he’s gay.
I’m definitely not disappointed or anything to hear it. It’s not like his sexuality matters to me in the slightest.
I give my towel another firm tug and start digging around in my tote bag. I’m more than a little reluctant to produce the white lace bra with its little rosette and the white lace panties with their pretty pink bows. They’re nothing I would have chosen myself, but beggars can’t be choosers at this Academy.
However, the alternative means standing around in a towel in front of Vasili fucking Romanov, so I bite the bullet.
Of course he doesn’t have the grace to look away. His predatory eyes track my every movement (which he’s clearly doing just to be obnoxious, because gay) while I shimmy the little panties up my legs and try to get them over my girly parts without giving him too much of a show. For some reason, this entire awkward maneuver is making me way more self-conscious than the situation warrants. After all, plenty of guys have seen me naked.
And it’s not like he cares. Because gay, remember?
“Are you here for an actual reason?” I demand, propping a foot on the bench so I can unroll a thigh-high up my leg. “Or should I just chalk this up to more of your general fuckery?”
“There’s a reason they call it Purgatory, little queen,” he purrs, seemingly delighted with my cranky temper. Even while his gaze follows the unrolling of my thigh-high like a cat stalking a string. “I’ll confess, having risen so early to arrange this personal wake-up hazing especially for you, I’d appreciate a touch more gratitude.”
I snort and reach for my second stocking to repeat the whole process. “Yeah, Goblin King, you’re a real Mr. Magnanimous. And payback’s a bitch. Appreciatethat.”
I wait for the inevitable stinging takedown, but he’s still just watching, face half-hidden behind his upraised cup, eyes like mirrors glinting at me through the steam.
For absolutely no reason, his sustained attention is bringing heat to my cheeks. In fact, my whole body’s getting hot. Which is pissing me right off. Because gay!
Annoyed with this entire setup, I pluck my bra from the tote, spin to give him my back, and drop the towel.
He’s taking a sip when I turn, which morphs into a sudden cough.
Good.
Duran Duran back there’s apparently not used to girls stripping down naked right in front of him.
Standing casually before him in my miniscule panties and thigh-highs, hair still dripping down my back, I take my time working my arms into my bra and tucking my tits into the cups and reaching behind me to clasp the garment. What with the wet tangle of my hair and my current lack of coffee and my general morning clumsiness, I’m having a hard time managing. In fact, I’ve got a serious case of butterfingers. I have to struggle with the clasp, which is really too bad, because it’s totally going to ruin the effect—
“Need a little assistance with that?” His raspy whisper in my ear makes me yelp and lose my grip, just when I was about to maneuver the little hook into the eyelet and declare victory.
His fingers graze my back, warm and smooth. Goosebumps race down my arms and sheet across my shoulders. Deftly he hooks the catch, far more capable than a guy’s hands have any right to be with a woman’s bra.
Although maybe, who knows, he likes to dress up?
“I’ve been known to experiment,” he breathes in my ear, which for no good reason makes my heart thunder. “With fashion.”
