Page 21 of Gemini Kings
He has… a unique peen.
I wrench my gaze away.
Nope.
Not looking.
Not even when he obligingly shifts his big dragon body and unfurls his wings to give me a better view of his badass self. Yeah, he’s definitely showing off. This guy’s got plenty of ego to match his size.
Then again, so do I.
Maybe it’s a dragon thing.
His head snakes closer, fiery eyes sweeping over me, from the wild mane of hair tumbling around my tits and halfway to my ass to my nipple rings and the nonexistent landing strip down below that I don’t bother to cultivate. (Being a Brazilian girl, hygiene-wise, there’s nothing there to cultivate.)
So, yeah, it’s pretty much the Zara show down there. Well, nothing I can do about all that right now.
“My eyes are up here, big guy,” I tell him. “And you better keep that tongue of yours to yourself. I mean it.”
He puffs out twin jets of steam that warm my cold skin. Because, yeah, a Nevada night in February isn’t, like, tropical. Once I calm down some from all this excitement, I’m gonna start shivering.
But the guy does swing his head up to meet my eyes. His pupils dilate to take me in. I tilt my head and hold his dragonish stare without flinching. Somehow.
When you’re dealing with a predator, the key thing to remember is never show fear.
Only confidence.
Even when you don’t exactly feel it.
The big lug ripples and wavers in my vision like a mirage. Then his edges get all blurry. He goes bright with a hot white light. So bright I have to close my eyes.
When I open them, there’s a guy standing there.
It’s definitely a relief not to be dealing anymore with the dragon. That thing coulda sneezed and blown me across the state line.
He’s still taller than me, but that’s a given. When you’re only five foot two, everyone’s taller than you. In his human form, he’s got golden hair sweeping straight back from his forehead and falling halfway down his back and a cold cruel face that’s all raking lines and angles and, holy fuck, fierce eyes like molten gold with those same slitted pupils as his dragon. This guy’s gonna need to wear sunglasses or some kinda custom contacts or maybe weave some glamor magic to pass for normal.
Which has to be, you know, lonely.
His shoulders and arms are rangy with muscle and ropy with sinew, sun-bronzed skin stretched tight over all that sexy like he doesn’t get enough to eat. Pale scars lick over his shoulders and biceps from behind like someone scourged the shit out of him with a cat o’ nine tails or something a long time ago.
And he’s naked.
Of course, he’s naked.
Even though I virtuously keep my gazeabovethe waist.
“You wished for me to shift, yes?” His speech is low and guttural, like Vasili’s Russian accent on steroids. “Tell me. Do I please my sovereign?”
He’s careful with his words. Clearly this isn’t his mother tongue (but I’m carefully not thinking about tongues, especially his, right now).
“Uh, depends.” I clear my throat and sneak a peek at his hands, loosely balled at his sides. A glitter of gold leaks from one fist. He’s still holding Xiao’s medallion.
Which is nowmymedallion.
He clearly doesn’t like my prevaricating about whether or not he pleases me. His eyes narrow to slices of molten fire and his brows bunch together. Which makes this guy look even more intense. His shoulders hunch and he looms over me.
“On what does my sovereign’s pleasure depend?” he says, low and fierce.
