Gemini Heat (32 page)

'What's going on?' he demanded, the beginnings of understanding in his warm, slightly unfocused eyes.

'Silence,' she said softly. 'Stay quiet and take your shorts and underpants off.'

He obeyed her clumsily, blushing when his penis flicked up against his belly.

Delia hid her smile of glee, loving what she saw but trying to maintain her cool aura. Peter really did have the most beautiful cock. A red-tipped, suckable lollipop of a cock . . . Knowing exactly what she wanted, she slid to her knees, pressed her breasts against his thighs and nuzzled her hungry face into his crotch. With his penis waving against her cheek, she licked the sweaty crease of his groin, then dove in deeper, pushing aside his shaft with her fingers so she could get to his testicles and suck them.

As she played with first one, then the other with her tongue and teeth, he whimpered. And then, when she enclosed both balls at once, and mock-bit him, he cried out piteously and his knees shook and swayed. Mouthing the wrinkled bag and the twin firm ovals within it, she savoured his rich gamey taste. He was a cleanly man, but it was some time since he'd showered and the day was hot. His skin was spicy with a strong, genital sweat and just the slightest hint of seminal musk - as if he'd come recently and not had a chance to wash.

Did you masturbate for me? thought Delia, worrying his balls with her lips as her saliva flowed freely around them. She could sense his prick getting more and more urgent. It was pressed against her face now, sticky and twitching, as hard as a shiny wooden bar. She wanted to suck it and taste it, but she also wanted to prolong the agony. Spin things out a bit. Enjoy herself with his body, his sex and his psyche; and use the lessons she'd so recently learned.

'Please . . . My cock,' he moaned as she stroked her fingertips around his buttocks and down against the inslope of his thighs. She was still lightly chewing on his testicles, but avoiding any contact with his cock.

Using an erotic awareness she'd never realised she possessed, Delia dragged her nails along his bottom crease. Slowly and lingeringly, she scratched at his perineum and anus, balancing his pleasure against his fear of her teeth. He was gasping hoarsely now, his chest heaving like a bellows.

As his balls tightened ominously, Delia drew back without haste and studied her living creation. A man in desperate need of a climax. Peter, who stood before her with his feet braced, his knees slightly bent, and his hands clenched into fists at his side - white-knuckled with need and frustration. His eyes were tightly shut and there was moisture on his finely-drawn face: beads of sweat on his lip and brow, and what just might be tears on his cheeks.

'Please,' he begged, through clenched teeth.

'Lie down on the floor,' she said, trying for a note of sterness, but sounding more excited than cruel. As he complied, she slid out of her robe and flung it aside, admiring his cock as it stood up vertically from his loins, its tip weeping clear fluid freely. She felt her pussy ripple crazily in readiness, as if calling to his beautiful intruder.

But instead of having mercy on the abject man before her, she switched her tactics and squatted gracefully down onto his face.

The view from where she crouched was memorable. A flat, brown-furred belly, long, slim, steel-tense thighs, the red swaying tower of his cock.

'Lick,' Delia Ferraro ordered quietly, 'lick everywhere and don't slack!'

A long while later, she rose from the rug, her body glowing and sated.

'I've got to make some phone calls,' she whispered to the stupefied man she'd just mastered. 'But I'll be back in a little while . . . You can fix me a drink when you recover.'

Smiling wistfully, Delia reached for the phone and dialled her sister's agency. She was missing Deana already, but she knew her decision was the right one.

I suppose it's better this way, thought Deana, pacing up and down the pavement outside the agency she no longer worked for.

This way there'd be no time for tears and protracted heart-wrenching farewells, and no chance to question her decision or tell herself she was a fool.

All it had taken was two telephone calls. One that she'd received; and one that she'd made.

Delia had said,
'Arrivaderci,
Deana. And promise you'll give him hell for me!'

Jake had said, 'That's wonderful. I'll send a car for you in fifteen minutes and a courier will collect your passport. You won't need anything else.'

Glancing down at her plain workaday watch, she pondered this statement. All she had with her was a canvas ex-army bag containing tissues, purse, a few scraps of make-up and an inexpensive body spray. All she had on was a thin pink cotton summer frock, loose and short-sleeved, and beneath it a small pair of knickers. The watch and her scrappy old sandals completed the sum total of her 'going-away' outfit. . . but she had a feeling that even these paltry few items wouldn't stay with her all that long. That she was poised on the brink of shucking off her old life completely . . . along with every single thing that went with it.

Squinting out into the street, she saw a familiar long black shape come gliding towards her, forging its way through the heavy city traffic as if surrounded by a
Star Trek
force-field. When the rear passenger door was exactly in front of her the limousine stopped, and in the wink of an eye, a tall, blond, black-clad figure was at her side and assisting her into the car. When she was safely installed, Fargo returned to his place behind the wheel - and it was several seconds before Deana realised that he hadn't said a word.

Alone on the luxurious rear seat, with smoked glass between her and the secretive chauffeur, she felt a momentary pang of alarm . . . And then almost jumped out of her skin at an unexpected high-pitched beeping. She looked around in a panic for its source.

Beside her on the seat was a blue, leather covered box about twelve inches by eight, and a state-of-the-art portable phone. Picking up the slim, tiny unit, she flicked it open, just as she'd seen Delia do with hers, and murmured a tentative, 'Hello?'

'Hello again, sweet Deana . . .' Jake's voice purred out of the tiny speaker as clearly as if he'd been sitting beside her. 'Are you ready for your adventure?'

'Yes,' she said trying to project more confidence across the ether than she actually felt. It was one thing to agree to the theory of a life of pure sex, but now came the practical and the physical.

'Are you ready for
me?'
The emphasis on the pronoun was unmistakable, and as she heard it she realised that she was ready. Ready for him, and completely ready for sex . . .

God alone knew how many miles away Jake was, or whether he was at his house, some airport or other, or even in transit as she was, but he still had the ability to stir her. Looking down, she saw her nipples like small dark cones peaking clearly through her thin, pale dress. She felt the ache of the process itself . . . The way the buds of her breasts were getting harder and more sensitive as they prepared for the touch of Jake's fingers.

'Did you hear me, Deana?' he enquired, his light soft huskiness losing none of its power across the airwaves.

'Is your body rousing? Are you wet? Does your vagina feel empty without me?'

'Yes,' she whispered, not sure if the phone could pick her up.

'Better make sure, Deana. Test yourself . . . Take your panties off and push two of your fingers inside yourself . . .'

Lost for words, she did her best to obey, still clutching the slim black phone in one hand while struggling with her clothing with the other. After what seemed an age of shuffling and wiggling, her white cotton panties lay accusingly on the sleek, dark, leather-covered seat. Beside the mysterious box . . . She moaned, not quite sure whether she wanted to continue, then lifted her skirt, eased apart her thighs and pushed the first and second fingers of her free right hand into the slippery wetness of her sex.

'Did they go in easily?' enquired the persistent, disembodied voice.

'Yes.'

'Good. Now work them in and out. Cover them with your juices, then taste yourself . . .'

It was the same order he'd given on that first night, and her sex felt just as snug and clinging as it had done then. She was right on the point of orgasm, and wanted desperately to touch her clitoris, but she knew that if she did, she'd come immediately and Jake would know. His hi-tech phone would give him her screams the instant they left her lips.

That he had the knowledge shouldn't matter. Especially when they'd shared so much already and he was about to take over her life. Everything about her was his now . . .

So why did she still need an 'edge'? A piece of herself that was solely and always her own . . .

'Tell me how you taste,' he prompted.

'Salty,' she whispered, 'musky . . . Not strong.' She licked her fingertips, then - unbidden - put them back where they'd been. Her inner walls quivered as they stretched.

'Yes, that's right,' his voice encouraged from the phone.

Deana started wildly, pulling her fingers from her body with a vulgar slurp and wondering where the camera was placed. She stared suspiciously at the slim, dark device in her hand, then shook her head. It was a sophisticated piece of technology but she didn't think it had 'eyes' as well as 'ears'.

'Can you see me?' she demanded, smoothing down her skirt and still staring intently around her.

'Only in my mind.' Jake's soft, silky chuckle was so intimate he seemed to be beside her. A tantalising thought occurred . . .

'Where are you, Jake?'

'In transit, sweet Deana. Just like you. Only slightly closer to our destination. I was already on the move when you called.'

A dozen questions swarmed in Deana's brain. How had he known she'd accept? Where were they flying from? And who was driving Jake, if Fargo was driving her? There was nothing that could change things now . . . but she still asked. 'Are you alone?'

'Elf's here. But I'm like you . . . Isolated. Set apart by sound-proof glass.'

'Good,' she murmured into the mouthpiece, her questions replaced by ideas. Sexy, outrageous ideas. 'Are your trousers open?'

'I'm naked from the waist down.'

The words were slightly breathy, as if he were panting. She imagined him resplendent on the back seat of a car such as this . . . Legs splayed open, touching himself.

As she eased up her skirt again, she heard a rustling sound down the line, then an electronic click. When Jake spoke again the quality of his voice was different, still clear but bigger and more echoey.

'Deana,' he said, sounding as if he were struggling for precision against difficult odds. 'You see the intercom unit in front of you? Well, if you flip down the panel to the left and fit in the mobile phone, you'll find everything that much easier.'

Curious, she followed his instructions, and when she'd slotted the phone into place with a barely audible click, she heard Jake's next words from everywhere around her . . .

'That's better,' he said, the sound conveyed to Deana through high definition speakers, "Hands free" now, Deana. Free to touch and explore . . .'

Deana said nothing, but in her mind she saw
his
hands. Long, brown, narrow-fingered hands. Folded tight round his flesh and slowly and rhythmically moving.

'Do you see the leather-covered case, Deana?' he asked, gasping softly and confirming her suspicions. The catch in his voice betrayed him. She'd heard it before, in his moments of utmost pleasure.

'Yes.'

'Open it up.'

She obeyed him - and it was her turn to gasp.

The velvet-lined case contained several unusual items. One was patently valuable, the others were less so, but all in their own way, breathtaking.

Wide-eyed, she lifted up the most costly of the objects: a narrow, elegant collar-like confection of soft white leather, fastened with a small buckle of what looked suspiciously like platinum and studded alternately along its length with baroque pearls and diamonds. She supposed it was symbolic of her new erotic status, but it was hard to imagine the average 'slave' wearing anything so priceless and beautiful. Without hesitating she buckled it round her throat.

The other things she wasn't so sure of . . .

A small glass tub contained a clear lubricating substance, and beside it were two gleaming, black latex sex-toys. One was about eight inches long and moulded as a gross but rather finely crafted penis; the other was shorter, rounder and disgustingly bulging and flanged. It made Deana quiver and remember the feel of the champagne cork.

'Do you like my gifts?' came the ragged voice from the speakers. 'They're to welcome you to a new life, Deana. Will you try them for me? Now?' Only his electronic presence was with her, but still she saw his eyes. His lovely slanted eyes, hot and blue in the tinted glass gloom of the car's dark interior. They speared her from inside her own mind, making her flesh echo
his
yearning, and ache for his reality.

She hardly needed the lubricant, but even so there was a certain voluptuous discomfort while inserting Jake's instruments of lust.

And as she moved and rustled on the seat, he bombarded her with increasingly desperate pleas for information. Questions about how wet she was, how open. How swollen her labia and clitoris were.