Page 108 of Gemini Hunted
Still wearing her saucy schoolgirl skirt and stockings, Zara kneels between his legs and slides her hands up his thighs.
The demon blinks rapidly and looks like he’s struggling to find his words. “Uh… before you go there… I should prolly tell you…”
“No more talking.” I slip out of my own shirt, let it fall where it will, and press myself against the graceful line of mydarling girl’s spine. My arms slither around her tiny waist and my hands close around the lush fullness of her breasts.
Zara moans in my arms, her head falling back against my shoulder. Her tits fill my palms and spill over my cupped fingers in the most delectable way, a glorious abundance of soft curves and satiny skin. Her pierced nipples, ripe as cherries, are particularly sensitive during her superheats. Especially when I twist her little silver rings the way I know she adores.
“Oh, fuck me, that’s hot,” the demon rasps. “Like skibbidi hot.”
“So pleased you approve. Shall I show you what she truly likes?” I grin down at him and let my fangs show, in a way that’s new for me. I’ve spent my entire life thinking my snakelike incisors are freakish. A carnival sideshow of the grotesque. At the very least, an unfortunate flaw to be hidden.
But for some reason, my fangs make Zara wet and all our warlocks hard.
“Yeah. That’s what I want.” The demon arches his spine and writhes in the most delicious abandon. Especially when Zara’s hands reach the juncture of his thighs. “But, hells, baby queen—”
“Whoa.” This comes from Zara, who’s just cupped a hand over the demon’s considerable bulge. “Um, Mordred…”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he groans from the heart. “Fuuuuck…”
When she bends intently over him and starts simultaneously groping and kneading, like she’s absorbing the contours of his anatomy and can’t believe what she’s finding, his head falls back and his eyes fall shut.
Well, I’ve had more than enough of this.
With a huff of impatience, I stop tormenting my girl’s exquisitely sensitive nipples (temporarily), grip the demon’s trousers in my ruthless hands, and drag them down his hips.
In the near darkness, his bush blazes blue, a thick forest of indigo (not exactly a shocker, after Zephyr’s green pubes).
What is a shocker, absolutely, is the thick curving dick that rises from his blue lagoon like a long-necked brontosaurus rising from the swamp. Or more precisely, the second dick immediately beneath, nearly as large as the first, rearing taut and proud above his swollen ball sack.
“Dear fuck,” I say blankly, stripped of all my wiles. “You’re diphallic.”
Because you don’t live for twenty-three years as a gay boy, darling—at least,Ididn’t—without harboring a few secret fantasies about someday stumbling across a double-header. Or knowing what to call the phenomenon, if you should ever be so lucky.
“Cheese on toast,” Zara breathes. My little darling sounds positively awestruck. “Mordred. Either I’m suddenly seeing double or… you literally have two dicks.”
“Been trying to tell you, no cop,” Mordred says meekly. “It’s a kraken thing. Bottom one hides in a coital slit when I don’t need him. But, uh, when I’m horny…”
“They both come out to play,” I finish for him.
In unison, Zara and I lean forward in shared fascination. I rest my chin on her silky bare shoulder, cradle her luscious tits in my palms, and simply enjoy the view.
One kraken.
Two dicks.
Both fully erect and rising from that thicket of wiry blue curls, both nearly too girthy to wrap my hand around. Copper skin flushed violet with need, thick shafts threaded with swollen veins I ache to trace with my tongue. Precum beading both velvety crowns.
I leave it to Zara to voice the question we’re both burning to ask.
She sucks in a breath and gamely takes the plunge. “Do they both work, like, independently?”
“This ain’t a show-and-tell.” The demon winks and grins at both of us in a way that makes his dimples pop. “One way to find out, bae.”
Belatedly, with a jolt of comprehension, I recognize this creature’s constant banter for precisely what it is.
A defense mechanism.
He’s horribly afraid we’re going to reject him—or, at the very least, fetishize him like a sex toy—for his apparentdeformity. Which is probably the reaction he’s been confronting his whole life.
