Page 57 of Gemini Kings
And I’m wondering what it might take to repair that damage.
If it can be repaired at all.
“You going to suspend us, love?” Ronin mutters between desperate kisses that Lucius returns with a sort of savage fervor. “Because Zara can’t afford to miss any more classes if you want her to pass her midterms. She’s barely gotten settled—”
“Perhaps these are factors you should have considered, you scamp, before the three of you stole that jet.” With a firm kiss for each of them, Lucius steadies them on their feet and disentangles gently from their clinging arms. “There now. We’ll discuss all of this after dinner.”
They’re both still hovering, Zara and Ronin, both clearly craving their alpha’s reassurance, but it’s perfectly obvious (at least to me) that Lucius is feeling hurt and betrayed under all that professorial propriety. For him, our defection is not so easily forgiven. Still, he takes his responsibility as their alpha seriously. He isn’t small-minded or manipulative, I’ll certainly say that for him.
He spares each of them a brief distracted smile and a final reassuring squeeze. But it’s all too clear there’s a great deal weighing on his mind.
I definitely don’t like the fact that his psychic barriers—against me, his own alpha—are still sky-high.
Reluctantly, the two of them give him the space he demands, tucking up against each other for comfort.
With a visible effort at restraint, Lucius’ red-tinged eyes sweep over Racetrack making a complete mess of her disgusting charred marshmallow and Dez bustling about like a house elf in the kitchen and Neo watching closely from his study nook (blushing tomato-red again, for some reason, which wrings an affectionate smile out of Lucius even in his distracted state).
Finally, my headmaster’s wary gaze settles on me.
I’d like to keep him in dreadful suspense as long as possible from sheer perversity, because I’m pea green with envy over those kisses and cuddles and smiles he’s dispensing left and right for everyone in our relationship except me.
Of course, being me, I find myself uncoiling from the couch and gliding across the floor to torment him. Now he looks even more guarded, for which I can hardly blame him. I’m his most difficult student and, truth to tell, I’m a dreadful bully.
I’m terrifying, darling. I truly am.
Even in my stocking feet.
“I do believe you owe me a little something as well,” I hiss.
“Behave yourself, Mr. Romanov.” He levels me a look of warning. Of course, the menacing effect is rather spoiled by the way his hot eyes slide over me, all long-legged and yummy in my breeches. That red glow in his eyes deepens and his fangs descend further.
“Now where’s the fun in that?” I slither into his personal space like the biblical serpent tempting Eve in the garden.
But I don’t touch.
Not yet.
Instead I rear over him, my nostrils flaring wide to breathe in the musky scent of wet wolf rising from his skin and hair. His breath roughens. His pulse hammers in his corded neck above his starched shirt. Under all those layers of professorial propriety, his beast is prowling, rabid to be unleashed.
“Vasili,” Lucius rumbles. Which is certainly an improvement from being addressed by my surname like an erring freshman.
“Pet.” My voice drops to a whisper only he can hear. I bend to brush his ear with my lips. “Tonight I’m going to fuck you raw.”
A shudder snakes through him and a groan wrenches from his throat. The sudden reek of predator floods the air. He’s hard for me now and scenting. Hunger for him pounds hot and heavy in my groin.
“Not until you give me your answer.” Strain threads his low voice and stretches each word to a sliver. “If you’re leaving… there’s no point…”
Christ, I love his resistance, even as I curse him for it. My cock in my breeches is an absolute rod.
“Hmmmm.” My tongue traces his ear in a slow swipe. The dark taste of him—so familiar, yet so new after all these days apart—hones my senses rapier-sharp.
He trembles violently under my tongue, precisely the way he’ll tremble later, when I rim him before I fuck him.
His voice splinters with need. “Damn it to hell, Vasili, I mean it.”
“Dear pet.” I trap his earlobe under one of my loathsome fangs and give him a nip that makes him gasp. “Don’t fret. I’ll tutor your rotten little hellion.”
A surprised cry spills out of him. His face snaps toward me, transcendent with relief.
