Gemini Heat (8 page)

In the narrow antique mirror that stood in the hall of their flat, Deana surveyed the potential slayer and felt a small surge of confidence.

The top was hers; an iridescent sequinned bustier which Delia had been somewhat dubious about until Deana had showed her its bona fide designer label. It was eyecatching but tasteful and clung faithfully to Deana's braless breasts. De Guile would appreciate the body beneath and he had no way of knowing that the sparkly garment that covered it had cost just fifteen quid at a Saturday second hand market.

Bearing in mind 'their' date's fondness for leather, the girls had chosen a straight black skirt made of buttery high-gloss hide. This was Delia's but not something she wore often. She liked the skirt but rarely went to places that it suited. Even so, its sophisticated two inches above the knee length, and skimming rather than clinging shape, reflected a far less 'obvious' sense of style than Deana's. The same good taste that had insisted on smoke-grey stockings, not bare legs, and made Deana take off virtually all the jewellery she'd put on. She scowled now at the simple beaten silver button-shaped earrings, and the thin bangle which was the only other item she'd been permitted. She'd complained at first, but now had to admit that her sister was right. And about the hair too, a sensuously coiled topknot with just a few wayward tendrils that drifted around a lightly made-up face. Unbeknownst to Delia, though, Deana had slicked on a coat of darker, plummier lipstick at the last minute and changed her sister's plain gros-grain court shoes for a pair of three-inch high black patent stilettos - another magic find from the markets.

'You look good, kid,' she whispered to herself, adjusting a strand of her coiffure, 'But for how long?'

Delia had said de Guile was taking 'Dee' somewhere, but in both their experiences so far, he was far more likely to want her body almost immediately. Deana felt her breasts prickle in the scrunchy containment of her top as she imagined those long dark fingers upon her: stroking and exploring, and this time reaching areas that he'd not reached before. The bustier fitted neatly, but would make very little of an obstacle if de Guile wanted to handle her bosom. And the skirt, whilst tapered, was an easyish fit with a super-slidey lining. A narrow hand, such as the one that had touched her in the gallery, would be slipping up her thighs in no time and discovering her sparsely covered loins.

But, Deana, it's what you want!

It was true, of course, and as she opened the door a chink, and saw a long shadowy shape come gliding up the drive, the whole of the surface of her skin - both covered and uncovered - began to quiver in hot anticipation.

Delia would've shut the door again, but Deana was too eager and impatient of subterfuge. Walking boldly out, she waved to the as yet unseen occupant of the approaching limousine, and wondered if her sister was watching. Peering from the window of their neighbour's flat - where she was hiding out of sight.

As the sexy black car trickled to a halt, the driver's door swung open, and a man - but not de Guile - got out.

Deana hesitated, then stepped forward again as the chauffeur - a tall, unsmiling blond dressed from head to foot in unrelieved black - came round to the rear door nearest to her and opened it without speaking a word.

The dour servant unnerved her, but not nearly as much as the relaxed figure who half-reclined on the spacious back seat.

'Dee . . . How beautiful you look,' murmured Jake as she slid in beside him, 'and how refreshing not to have to wait for you. That's the mark of a truly sensual woman, my sweet. Instant readiness. I cherish it.'

Instant readiness. She wondered if he knew how true his words were, then remembered his uncanny sexual insights in the gallery. Of course he knew she was on heat and ready for him! What woman wouldn't be with a man like Jackson de Guile. His beauty almost dazzled her as she let her hot hand be taken in his cool one and conveyed to the velvet of his lips.

Dress to impress. Dress to impress. Dress to impress. From Delia's 'briefing' it echoed at her in an endless repeating loop. And she'd done so with some degree of distinction. But no way could she match this incredible creature beside her.

It was leather trousers again, although clearly not the same pair. This time there was a slight but discernable texture to the hide and the cut was slightly closer. With them, and as if to temper their macho stud-ishness, Jake wore the fullest and softest of white silk shirts. It's sleeves were floating and Byronic, and it had a narrow, stand-up collar, which he wore unfastened. His face was pure amber against its snowiness and Deana felt her libido riot and betray her. As the car door clicked shut, all she could think about was lying on this broad, soft, leather-covered banquette with her body exposed and ready. Her body laid bare. Her body wet and flowing to receive this male god in its heat.

He saw it too, it seemed.

'Only this morning, eh?' he whispered, his eyes like blue lasers in the soft dark light of the limousine's opulent interior. He kissed her hand again, turning it slowly within his grip and licking long and lingeringly at her palm.

Deana remembered in panic where that mouth had been this morning. What he'd done to her sister . . . And even as she imagined the act, she empathically received its resonances. She felt her own sex flutter as if he were mouthing it, and she felt a quick hard dew of moisture flow out onto her thin silk panties. Oh please, begged some wanton inside her. Do it again! Do it now! Do it to
me\

And she felt powerless as he placed her hand - like some inanimate object - on the leather of the seat beside her. Her only awareness was waiting. Wanting. The car was cruising along the main road now, but it could've sprouted wings and be flying them to the moon for all the interest she could muster in the world rushing by outside.

'Yes, you are ready,' Jake observed, his voice amused. He looked down at her breasts, rising and falling beneath their shimmering armour, and at her thighs which were revealingly parted. She sensed him choosing somehow, eyeing her up like some choice dish or delicacy. Selecting which tasty portion to sample first. He moved closer and almost touched his lips to hers, then put a finger up to her jammy lipstick, dabbing at the glossy crimson coating and then studying its trace on his skin.

'Too nice to spoil.' Leaving her make-up inviolate, he pressed his lips to her throat, licking again and tasting, his hand taking possession of a sequin covered breast as his mouth browsed languidly on her neck. He nipped the tender skin there, and simultaneously pinched the stiff peak of her nipple. The small, sweet twin-centred pain made Deana writhe and whimper. Unable to stay still, she glanced frantically at the blond man visible through the glass in front of her - and as if reading her mind, Jake straightened up and locked her frightened eyes with his.

'We're sound-proofed, Dee. But don't worry, Fargo's seen far more than just kisses in his time . . .' His fingertips twisted slightly and she wriggled again. 'Yes, that would be good, wouldn't it, my sweet?' His light voice took on a vaguely comtemplative cast. 'I'd like to see you aroused before a crowd. Your loins naked and pumping, giving pleasure to many, not just one. Your sex wet and engorged. My fingers at work in you while an audience watches and drools . . .'

'No! That's awful!' Lies! Lies! Lies!

But he knew . . .

'It isn't and you know it,' he purred, both hands working now, tugging at the tips of her breasts in a slow, wicked rhythm. 'You were walking around the gallery, looking at my pictures . . . and you were even more on show than they were. Why else wear a dress so thin, and be so nude beneath it?'

She made a token noise of dissent, her nails gouging deep into the seat when - without warning - he took hold of the top of her bustier and rolled it right down to her midriff.

'And this morning, so chic,' he went on suavely, just touching her exposure very gently, a forefinger rubbing at each hard peak in turn, as if to make sure they stayed stiff. 'That pretty business girl suit on a body that was hot for sex. There are words for you, Dee—' He studied her naked nipples for a second, then dropped both hands to the hem of her skirt and started pushing. Inexorably. 'You're wanton, my darling. You're rude. You're easy. You're horny. How many of your contemporaries would allow a man to touch them between the legs so soon after meeting them. You're a bitch, Dee, a gorgeous little bitch. Aren't you?'

She shook her head, but her stocking tops and suspenders were already on view; her thighs soft and creamy above the thick dark bands of nylon. Just a millimetre short of her crotch he stopped, but when she gasped with relief, he thrust a hand into the rift between her legs and poked crudely at her vulva through the cobweb-fine veil of her panties.

'No,' she sobbed, as he rubbed her clitoris through the delicate gusset. She'd wanted to be more powerful tonight, more in control. She'd promised Delia she'd try.

'Let's have these off, shall we?' he said suddenly, in a strangely matter-of-fact voice. Pushing her skirt right up and out of the way, he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of her fragile silk knickers. They were beautiful little pants, in a soft, sheeny peach shade that matched her suspenders, but right now they seemed simply a hindrance.

With a peculiar, almost voluptuous sense of resignation, she lifted her hips to help him make her trembling sex naked. Something of the artist in her was able to look down on what was revealed quite dispassionately. She hadn't wanted to wear stockings, because of the heat, but they, and the pastel suspenders they were hooked to, made a perfect frame for the soft honeyed curve of her belly and the warm brown mound at its base.

Perversely, he left her silky pants caught around her ankles - an adornment more lewd by far than if he'd taken them off her completely - and pushed her knees fully open with his fingertips. His touch was very light and respectful, as if he feared for her seven-denier stockings.

'Quite lovely,' he said, sliding one hand under her, between her thighs, and pulling her bottom to the edge of the seat.

It was like being displayed, exhibited; and blushing furiously, her body heat soaring, Deana let her eyelids droop closed. Her legs lolled loosely apart, still caught at the ankles, and the cool, refreshing air felt delicious. A naughty little breeze was wending its way out from a vent somewhere and playing across her plump juicy sex. The tense, puffy flesh seemed to throb and pulse as if someone had reached out and caressed it, and to her horror and shame she sensed Jake studying the phenomenon intently.

'Yes . . . Oh yes,' he cooed, not touching the clitoris that begged for his finger but pressing open her labia with his thumbs.

Deana had never felt more naked; not even on the balcony, that first time, when he'd bent her over the parapet and bared her bottom. Her hands curled into fists and rose up to draw him to her, but inexplicably he batted them gently back to her sides, then settled them down on the leather banquette with all the finality of having chained them there.

'We're going to a private house I know. It will take us three-quarters of an hour,' he said, his voice suddenly very cool, very precise. 'I'd like you to stay this way until we get there, Dee. Displayed for me . . . Think of it as a test you've to pass.'

The Deana of thirty-six hours ago would've protested, rebelled, asked questions. But the ensorcelled Deana of now kept her body perfectly still, her eyes shut and her painted lips closed and quiet. She moaned once when her companion inserted a finger into her burning lubricated channel, but fell silent again - even through a faint shivering orgasm - and listened to Jake's litany of eroticism.

He spoke of the sex that they'd shared at the gallery and the moments he'd particularly enjoyed. He spoke of the things he would do to her body and what he would like her to do to his. He described what he saw before him in spine-tingling detail, every tiny feature of her physical topography - how she looked, how she smelt and how she tasted, withdrawing his finger briefly to sample her, then returning it, newly wetted, to her quim.

She came several times. Once or twice spontaneously from his words, once on the reinsertion of his finger, once when with no warning at all he squashed his thumb down on her clitoris flat and hard. Deana didn't and almost couldn't open her eyes, but after they'd been travelling some time, and her sixth sense said they were nearing their destination, she felt him take a handkerchief from somewhere and very tenderly tidy up her eye make-up, where it had been disturbed by her hot tears of shame. His face came within inches of hers as he did this, and she orgasmed again from the intoxicating scent of his body and his intimate wild flower cologne.

As the car oozed to a halt, she made to move - even though he still had her speared.

'No! Be still!' He was stern now. Icy.

Deana felt her heart pound and beat as if to burst as the well-oiled mechanism of an expensive car door lock thunked open and a blast of muggy, urban air flowed in across her immolated vulva. She tried to turn away and hide her pinkened face. She scrunched her eyes even tighter shut as if the fact that she couldn't see meant others couldn't either. But Jake seemed bent on humbling her completely. With his free hand he angled her head carefully towards the open door, and with his voice he softly commanded.

'Eyes open now, Dee.'

Even as she obeyed him, he started masturbating her, the movements rough and almost violent. Beyond tears now, she stared up into the chauffeur's cool and unper-turbable eyes and saw not a flicker of response in their stony, secretive depths. Not even when she came in a harsh, womb-wrenching orgasm and grunted out her pleasure while her hips wove and bounced on the leather.