Page 106 of Gemini Hunted
“You havenoidea,” the demon moans.
He’s leaning into her touch, aided by the hand she’s resting on his shoulder and the other she has wrapped in his hair. His hands clutch the stone ledge between his knees as though he—the notorious incubus—is afraid to touch her in return.
“Mmmm, I do though. I know how you feel.” Zara nuzzles her face into his neck and really starts working on those punctures I’ve given him, bathing them in the healing biochemicals of her shifter saliva. “I have mating bites from all my alphas.”
“Some more than others,” I remind her with a diabolical chuckle. I’ve bitten Zara multiple times and have no intention of stopping.
I prop my combat boot on the ledge, angle my flashlight so the lovebirds aren’t directly spotlit for the whole catacomb, and lounge comfortably against the sarcophagus to enjoy the show.
“Yeah, V’s always a little extra.” Zara lifts her head long enough to stick out her tongue at me, which makes me gasp in outrage. But her attention returns at once to the demon. “Long story short? We know how to make you feel better.”
This time, when she leans into Mordred’s bite, her wicked hand trails down his bare chest, over the washboard ripple of his abs, to settle on his muscled thigh.
Mordred groans again, knees falling open in blatant invitation. My, my. He’s packingquitethe boner under those indecent crotch-hugging trousers. In fact, that trouser snake he’s packing is so massive it’s practically an anaconda.
My mouth literally waters in anticipation.
Zara’s teasing him, the little flirt, prolonging the anticipation for all of us while she ministers to his mating bite. The furrow of pain between his brows has smoothed, his eyes have fallen shut, and one tiny fang presses into his full lower lip.
But he clutches the ledge as though he’ll drown if he loses his grip.
“For fuck’s sake, demon,” I point out to him, “you’re allowed to touch her.”
“Yeah, what he said.” Zara snuggles her hot little body into his side. “In fact, it’s encouraged.”
She punctuates this suggestion by caressing the tip of his pointed half-Fae ear.
That’s all it takes, really.
The demon explodes into motion. His hands close around her waist, swing her into the air, and drag her into his lap so she’s straddling his hips.
Zara yelps in surprise, then purrs in approval. Her knees close around his hips. Her arms wind around his neck. Their mouths meet in a searing kiss.
I’ve already been enjoying this little performance. Now even I’m caught off guard by the deep throb of arousal that wraps around my dick and squeezes.
To use Zara’s turn of phrase, either that demon is sexing us up…
Or the ancient fertility artifact strapped to his delicious beefcake body is having a moment.
Still tucked into his messenger bag, the Horn of Ceres is pressed between their bodies. Mordred’s brawny arms engulfZara’s waist, tattooed scales ink-black in the near dark, and pull her into his broad chest.
The saucy minx moans and undulates into him, grinding her cunt into his dick. Her plaid skirt rides up her hips to reveal the lime-green lace of her boy-cut briefs, hugging the ripe globes of herderrière. The sweet tang of peaches and cream floods the air, mingled with the buttery aroused incubus aroma of saltwater taffy.
Under my uniform trousers, my dick swells and rises like a fucking blimp. I barely retain enough of my Goblin King mind to switch off the damn flashlight.
The catacomb’s thick darkness drops around us like a curtain, concealing us from the distant others, all gathered and murmuring around the yawning black mouth of an open vault on burial duty in a wavering bubble of electric light.
Not that we’d mind the rest of our polycule watching. But McSnicker and her men (especially her traumatized werewolf) should be spared the soon-to-be-naked-and-wildly-fucking sight of us.
The distant beams of the others’ flashlights offer just enough light for my keen shifter senses to follow the action unfolding at my feet. Zara has her sweet face tucked right into the demon’s neck, sucking on his bite with an avid determination that ought to earn her brownie points for community service in Lucius’ gradebook (if he were watching).
Mordred is groaning with relief and rising need, dry-humping her through his trousers and her panties. Over her shoulder, his wild purple eyes lock on mine and smolder into my riveted stare.
“She feels so fucking good,” he says thickly, “imma come in my pants.”
“Well, I certainly know the feeling.” I smirk down at him. “But what a waste that would be.”
“You just gonna watch? Or…” His gaze roams down the length of my tall body, taking his time, and fixes on my interested dick “…join?”
