Geoffrey watched Matthieu with fascination, seeing the various emotions running riot within him flash over his face. Incredulity. Hope. Need. Fear. Longing. Desire.
“Even your hoard?” It was a question with more than one layer. If anything was even more guarded than a dragon’s heart, it was his hoard.
“Yes, kitten,” said Ian very seriously. “Even my hoard.”
Geoffrey had a sudden vision of arriving at the Topaz consulate after a particularly difficult day, walking through the mansion’s sprawling rooms, and coming to Ian’s hoard. He’d open the vault door and there Ian and Matthieu would be, on the gilded bed inside, Matthieu clad in nothing but gold and pearls and rubies, while Ian wore nothing at all but Matthieu’s mouth on his cock. His lover and his mate. Geoffrey pictured Matthieu’s thighs, decorated with delicate chains and thin rivulets of slick. He could imagine the scent: sweet cinnamon, chocolate, and sex. The taste would be even better.
Behind him, Ian moaned. “Christ, Geoff. If your ass clamped down on me any harder, I think you might kill me. What are you thinking about?”
“Monsieur dragon grincheuxhastrèsnaughty thoughts,” Matthieu reported. “About us. And your hoard.”
“Good.” Ian nuzzled behind Geoffrey’s ear while Matthieu stroked his cheek against Geoffrey’s chest. And Geoffrey, who was otherwise impatient with people and craved solitude, wished to be nowhere else than between these two men.
My men, Geoffrey thought, and was bathed in a corresponding wave of approval.
He felt the knot inside him deflate to the point where movement was possible. He sighed with combined regret and relief, then shifted so that he could look Ian in the eyes at last.
“We need to discuss how we plan to proceed.”
“Oui,” Matthieu agreed.
“And you have an idea, my love?” Ian absentmindedly toyed with the line of silky black hair that ran down Geoffrey’s lower abdomen to his groin.
Geoffrey found it hard to think with Ian’s hands on him like that, then his thoughts were scattered further when Matthieu dipped his head to lick Geoffrey’s nipple. The action was, probably unconsciously, very kittenish.
“Yes,” he said, and before his wits left him entirely again, he added in a rush, “Snorre.”
“What is a snordeh?” Matthieu asked, sounding bewildered.
“You can’t mean Snorre Jormun.” Ian sounded aghast. “That old reprobate?”
“Alright,” Matthieu amended, “who is this Snordeh person?”
“Snorre,” Ian corrected, “and he’s a former Opal legal counsel. I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard stories. Really, Geoff? Him? Why?”
Matthieu looked interested. “What sort of stories?”
“Not a former legal counsel,” Geoffrey pointed out. “Theformer legal counsel. The Opals have only ever had two: Erik Jormun and, before him, Snorre.”
Matthieu’s mouth dropped open in a gratifying way. “But that’s not possible. That would make him unthinkably old. The first incarnation of the dragon council was founded almost three thousand years ago.”
“Very good, Matthieu,” Geoffrey said approvingly. “You are correct. The council, as we know it today, was formed two thousand six hundred and eighty-four years ago.”
Ian frowned. “The math doesn’t add up, Geoff. The only legal counsel with less tenure than me is Erik. That would make Snorre—”
“Somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-eight hundred years old, yes.”
“That can’t be possible,” Matthieu exclaimed. “He must be the oldest dragon in existence.”
“It must feel good to know that compared to Snorre, you’re a mere whelp,” Ian said to Geoffrey with a friendly poke to his chest.
Geoffrey scowled. “We can’t all be eggs in nestlers, Ian.”
Ian smirked back at him, clearly unabashed. “You aren’t too old to spank, you know,” he pointed out.
Geoffrey felt his cheeks burn deep crimson.
“Does this mean I should call youmon papa dragon?”
