Page 139 of Gemini Kings
“No! We’ll live beyond all rules,” I hiss though bared teeth. “Fuck the rules.”
His hole is fluttering around my cock and, heavens, he feels simply divine. Now my pace is quickening, flesh slapping against flesh, my hips snapping into him with a force that makes him grunt with every stroke.
He may imagine he wants it gentle, but I’m his alpha, and I know what it takes to shatter his heat.
Ruthlessly I pin him to the mattress, trap his arms above his head while he flexes and snarls beneath me, and rail him like I’ll never get deep enough. “There are no rules—my despoiled and darling pet—there are no rules in this world for creatures like us.”
“No rules,” he pants, his accent thickening the way it does when he’s losing himself. “Oh—oh God—oh God—”
Imagine my surprise that it’s this anarchic notion—the somehow shocking concept of all of us living polyamorously and scandalously without rules—that drives my scholarly headmaster over the edge.
His hole clamps tight around my cock and ripples and milks me in a way I’m utterly helpless to withstand. He whimpers and shudders and spurts hot gobbets of wolf seed all over both of us, while a high cry spirals from my own breathless lungs and I empty myself endlessly, fathoms deep inside him.
We come in unison until we’re both shaking and spent and senseless.
I’m collapsed limply over my mate in a mess of twisted sheets and drying semen, feebly trying to convince myself to get up long enough to clean us both up and give him the aftercare he needs after a long fuck, but drifting inexorably toward sleep despite myself, when that absolutely ungodly trumpet of a scream wrenches us both violently upright and tears the peaceful night and our intimate interlude to shreds.
It’s the scream of a berserk and raging dragon.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Zara
Fire races up the wall of the Hadrians’ drug den-slash-fuck palace like someone’s just doused those acid rock tapestries with kerosene and lit a match.
Oh, wait.
That’s because someone just fuckingdid.
Ronin and Max are still physically locked together, due to that whole barbed cock situation. But either Max’s anatomy retracts in a crisis or Ronin just steels himself to withstand the damage, because the three of us tear ourselves apart and tumble free across the cushions.
“What thefuck?” Ronin rolls to his feet and bolts naked to the door, throws the bolt and wrenches it open, and barks into the big room,“Fire!”
Which might be the only warning anyone gets, because I’m pretty sure this whole island would fail the fire code inspection.
Max coils upright with a snarl and twists around to help me up, only I don’t need help. I’m already on my feet and lunging.
Not for the door.
For that fucking broken window.
“Bloody hell, Zara, wait—” That’s Ronin, who knows me and knows what I’m capable of.
But I’m way past waiting.
For weeks now, I’ve been walking around like a ticking time bomb with a teal Godzilla bating and pacing and snarling inside me. I’ve barely been able to keep her bottled up in there. I’ve been holding back my shift by my fingernails.
Now the moon’s pouring through that empty frame, and it’s nearly full, and I amdoneresisting that cosmic force.
I am done holding back.
Someone just fucking tried to flambé my warlocks. Someone like those pissy little Aquarius ass-kissing shits from Villa Tiberius who already threw stones at Max’s head.
I.
Want.
Blood.
