Page 126 of Gemini Queen
My legs buckle under this blast wave of pleasure, but he holds me up until I regain control. I’m still vibrating with the aftershock when he lowers my foot to the floor and surges to his feet. By now I’m so wet I can practically hear the suction when he pulls his fingers out of my pussy and engulfs them with his mouth.
Which I’m pretty sure is just about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
His eyes are wild and his face is brutal with need.
“There,” I pant. “Lightning. Satisfied?”
He slides his fingers free and his voice drops two octaves. “Rest assured, Zara Gemini, I’m not even close to satisfied.”
Eyes never leaving mine, he unbuckles his belt and opens his houndstooth trousers. “Now turn around for me. And take off those innocent schoolgirl panties before I tear them off.”
Holy fucking shit.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lucius
Zara’s barely standing after the climax I just wrung out of her.
But she’s never looked more desirable. Her face is flushed and her pigtails are floating, while her eyes are pools of periwinkle fire. Her shirt and blazer are slipping from her shoulders to expose her luscious breasts, those perfect pierced nipples furled tight and shining with my saliva.
These students of mine and their exotic piercings are very likely going to be the death of me. But, truly, what a way to go.
In this moment, my queen looks like a cross between a Penthouse pinup and a Roman goddess. It requires every last ounce of control I possess not to claim her with the mating bite she’s clearly demanding.
And the reason for my monumental restraint is not merely because the last complication the fragile dynamic in ourdomusrequires is yet another inhabitant rutting and mindless with mating heat. Given the acute shortage of faculty to staff this Academy, I might—just barely—escape the Dean’s censure with a private reprimand and a formal letter in my personnel file for having bitten and bonded one student.
If I were to bite and bond another, much less abandon my duty entirely to join the queen’s harem, there’s no way to hide the truth. Who would trust me to teach their children after that? I’ll certainly have lost all trust in myself. I’ll leave myself no alternative but to resign on the spot, which means the most profound betrayal of a teacher’s duty to my students and the races I’ve devoted my life to protect.
My restraint notwithstanding, although I adamantly refuse to bite Zara, my wolf absolutely insists that I fuck her. And my queen’s made it entirely apparent that she too demands some tangible tribute of my devotion before she’ll trust me the way I require her to trust me.
She needs to do more than blindly summon the lightning—an ability which was, after all, never in question.
What she needs most is to control it. For that to occur, she needs to stop fearing her power.
To conquer her fear, I need her to give me her trust.
Still, slinking behind all my noble reasoning like a predator, the despicable truth lurks. I want her. My wolf wants her. Here, now, we’re finally going to possess her.
At least once.
In this moment, I’m not a tenured professor making rational choices.
I’m a wolf in heat.
I loom over her, my tongue saturated with the potent musk of her taste, my hands trembling with restraint as I unbutton my trousers, my wolf lunging inside my skin like he’s rabid. I’ve kept him tightly in check, but he’s lurking in my raspy voice.
“Panties off, Zara. Face the wall.”
Some distant corner of my psyche that remains the sane and sober-minded headmaster barely holds me back from dragging her panties off myself as I’ve already threatened. Threat or no threat, throne or no throne, bond or no bond, there’s a power disparity between us. Ethically, morally, the bare minimum I require is an affirmation that she wants this as much as I do.
She also needs to know I can make myself stop. I won’t add coercion to my rapidly multiplying litany of sins.
Gaze never straying from mine, she reaches under her skirt and slides her panties down her thighs. Despite the encumbrance of her boots, she shimmies out of her lingerie with feline grace, which reminds me just what she was doing in Singapore the night we met.
Cat burglar indeed.
That’s enough acquiescence for me and my wolf. Roughly I grip her waist and spin her to face the wall.
