Page 33 of Gemini Hunted
By now, I’m a smoking volcano of sexual need.
The silken slide of my horrible rival’s fingers up my thighs is nearly sufficient, all on its own, to make me erupt.
Vasili Romanov.
With every caress, his lacquered nails—black as pitch—spark tectonic shocks of alarm and arousal down the backs of my thighs. Against the terrain of my skin, the dark gleam of a square ruby graces his middle finger like afuck you.From his opposing hand, a silver skull leers at me, with icy diamond chips for eyes.
An accursed object, that ring, or I am no Unseelie.
Suffice it to say, this deadly creature’s proximity to my exposed and furiously erect manhood is threatening enough to spill goosebumps down my spine.
Zara’s soft but lethal hand glides down the quivering jut of my hip bone to close over his. Abruptly, the leering skull on his knuckle is hidden.
My bride is warning him—this most complicated and dangerous of all her mates.
She is warning him to behave.
But she is also… coaxing him.
“Be nice to him for me, Goblin King,” she whispers to him, this dreadful alpha she inexplicably adores. Her petal-soft lips graze my shoulder. “And I’ll be nice to you.”
“My, my, little queen. Is thatabsolutionyou’re offering?” Cobra-quick, the warlock’s gilded head rears up. His wicked eyes, glittering like frost in the moonlight, flick toward me. “For my…many sins?”
Dryly, I wonder what the latest of those might be.
I’m no Catholic, which is how my bride was raised (to the extent anyone gave a damn) by her Irish mob boss father. Obviously, I’m not even Christian. But I’ve read their quaint lore.
Christian superstition, it transpires, can be quite useful for banishing demons.
Hearing Vasili seek absolution for his mysterious sins, Zara’s breath hitches. My bride nestles her lush breasts into my back, nipples ripe as grapes teasing my skin. Her hot cunt, barely covered by a scrap of lace, tucks against my buttocks.
“Yeah,” she says huskily. “I forgive you. But if this is your Act of Contrition, you snake, then you better make it good for Zephyr. I mean it.”
“Oh, well, in that case.” Vasili’s cruel mouth curls from a pout to an evil grin that simultaneously hardens my cock and makes my blood run cold. “Deus meus, ex toto corde poenitet me…”
He’s still whispering the words of a Catholic prayer like an incantation when his gilded head dips. Delicate as a butterfly alighting on a blade of grass, his lips graze the sensitive sac of my balls. My testicles tighten and clench. Molten heat races down my thighs and swells my shaft, punctuated by a ragged gasp.
Fuck the moon. That desperate, needy, starved sound wasmine.
My tormentor pauses his prayers long enough to spare me a coy upward look. Through his slip of a smile, one razor-sharp fang peeks out.
Whatisit with this yacht tonight? The air in this intimate, dim-lit boudoir veritably pulses with sex.
The snake is my rival. One I never dare trust. At the moment, I hardly care.
I burn to touch him.
Still, I must be wary.
I don’t have Ash here to guard my back. My reliable consort, who should surely be appearing to welcome me home any moment, is oddly absent. That sweet Mercury boy, who’s rushed off with my dripping armor like a helpful house elf and is now rushing back—flushed and earnest, so worried yet so excited for everything he believes may shortly occur—is not the ally I’ll need if I trigger one of Romanov’s killing rages.
Instead, I clench my fists at my sides.“Vasili.”
Romanov smirks at my response, then leans in to lick my quivering bollocks like a cat licks cream.
Speaking of which…
My gaze darts toward the fur-lined riding cloak I’ve left wadded on the chair, the protective garment no dragonrider ever ascends into the frigid skies without. For moon’s sake, I’ve nearly forgotten—
