Page 4 of Virgo Queen
I swear, the little demon brims with more trouble and mischief than Loki. But the hot suck of his mouth wrapped around my cock is a fucking experience that’s not to be missed.
I’m close—real close—to shooting my load down the little imp’s throat. Just the way he loves it. So I’m none too keen on him getting interrupted—from whatever asshole’s clumping down the stairs behind me—in mid-suck.
Anyone who tries prying his mouth off my dick right now is gonna get their face shoved through a wall.
When my head fills with the soft fresh scent of spring rain and honeysuckle, my spike of testosterone-fueled aggression melts in a hot rush of anticipation.
I’ve never stood as close to sweet, shy, sexy Mallory McSnicker—the wide-eyed, sharp as scissors, wicked smart First Girl on the Dean’s List—as I’m standing right now. This unattainable girl I’ve been lusting after from a distance, like some horny Icelandic stallion caught downwind from a mare in heat, from the moment I caught the first whiff of all that sweet First Girl innocence at freshman orientation.
Mallory.
She may be innocent.
But she definitely likes to watch.
Last year, she liked to watch Ronin Pendragon, the way everyone of any gender around here watches that guy, and I was so jealous I woulda ripped his fucking dick off if he ever looked back. This year, she likes to watch Jean-Emilien, which I obviously can’t blame her for. Lately, it seems like maybe she even likes to watch me.
But she’s skittish as a reindeer in hunting season.
At the first hint of any attention I ever try to show her, she always bolts.
Like she’s bolting right now.
After I opened my horny fucking mouth and invited her to join us. Like, the words literally just came outta me on their own.
Then, of course, Jae makes it worse with that smart mouth and that sexy smirk that sends heat rushing into Mallory’s pretty face. She’s a true redhead, with flaming copper hair, skin like milk, and a smattering of nutmeg freckles running across the bridge of her pert nose. When her gray eyes fly wide and her lush mouth pops open, I know she’s gonna bolt.
Again.
Except she misses her footing on the stairs.
Her slim graceful legs, those legs of hers that go on for miles, get all tangled up in the glittery disco platform shoes she’s rocking.
Now, with a yelp and a scramble that comes up short, she’s fucking falling.
Jean-Emilien hisses in alarm, abandons my cock completely, and leaps after her tumbling form in a feral scramble. But even his wolf won’t be fast enough to catch her.
“Helvitis,”I mutter, and flex my telekinesis like a muscle.
I’m the strongest warlock in my clan, so no one ever fucks with me, forreasons. Reasons that go way beyond my unsavory family business and my notorious last name. Now my Mogadon witchcraft lashes out like a bullwhip. I wrap my arcane power around Mallory’s supple waist and arrest her plummet in mid-tumble.
A surprised little squeak slips outta her.
But she’s smart enough not to struggle. She goes totally still in my grip, like she’s not even breathing, suspended five meters over the stairs by the invisible fist of my power.
I’m human (all rumors to the contrary) and I’m male.
So I seize my moment to appreciate the view.
Mallory’s long and elegant as a racehorse, all slim thoroughbred lines and soft creamy skin under the silvery sparkle of her party dress. Her mane of fiery curls floats gently around her outstretched limbs in the psychic charge of my witchcraft. Normally, she’s all buttoned up in the prim blouses and blazers of her Academy uni. But that sexy dress she’s wearing tonight bares her long legs and the delicate jut of her shoulders and the smooth plane of her upper back and…
…an exquisite gray-and-black tattoo. That impressive piece of custom ink spreads across her shoulders and spirals down her spine to vanish under her tease of a dress.
Angel wings.
So detailed and vivid. Those shimmery feathers, the exact shade of molten lead, look ready to sprout from her skin and take flight.
Fuck.
