Gothic Heat

by Portia Da Costa

  At this, Paula's jaw dropped.

  'Er, run that by me again? You fucked her, knowing it was her, even though she looked like me?'

  He nodded sheepishly.

  'I ... I don't know what to say, Jon. That's crazy and creepy on so many levels. I don't know whether to be flattered or furious. I notice you conveniently left that bit out when you visited me in the hospital.'

  Jonathan took a long swallow of brandy. 'I don't know what to say, Paula. You just had to be there at the time.'

  'But apparently, I was ... without my knowledge!'

  'But it wasn't you, it was her! And ... and ... even though I knew it was her, she still turned me on. She's evil, Paula, but she's irresistible. Believe me.'

  'You don't have to fucking well tell me that!' Paula flew to her feet in turmoil. Her anger boiled but she hardly knew how to direct it. If Isidora had been outside her, she would have gone for her, claws out.

  Images ... hot sexual mind-pictures flooded in like the surging waters that raged down from the sky outside. She saw – and felt – the touches and the caresses of a beautiful but deadly black-haired woman. And her flesh rebelled and thrilled to them, both at the same time.

  The image of a pointed red tongue flicking at her sex seemed to burn into her retinas, while between her legs that same sex fluttered and clenched hard in unwanted desire. Green eyes laughed at her. Then she tumbled to the floor.

  'Paula, are you OK, love?'

  The voice was soft and gentle, but the sorceress heard a strangely compelling note in it, a beat just beneath the surface. It was interesting and rather clever. She smiled inside.

  Stirring, Isidora found herself in a bed. A soft bed, made up with fine, fragrant linens. Her inner smile widened. At last, the kind of comfort and luxury she was accustomed to.

  'Yes, I'm fine ... just a little sleepy...' She turned over, snuggling into the pillows, careful not to open her eyes. 'I'll be all right when I've had a little nap.'

  It wasn't sleep she wanted. She'd had enough of its black tormenting dreams. But she did need time alone, to assess her situation and her capabilities. Moments of complete control were as precious as they were brief.

  'Are you sure? You just keeled over down there.'

  Again that hint of manipulation. He was clever, this delicious man, as well as desirable. But he wasn't André Von Kastel, even though in certain senses he resembled him. He might be able to trick that silly little bitch Paula into doing what he wanted, but he had no idea who he was up against right now.

  'Sure, I just need some rest. Why don't you go and chat with Jonathan and have some of that food? Tell him a little more about what's going on.'

  Masked by the bed linen, she smirked, calculating. Best not to lay all her cards on the table. Not just yet. 'But not everything, eh? There are some things he and Belinda need to hear from me. Just say I've been having dreams and that we think they're to do with what happened during that ritual.'

  'OK then, you have a sleep. I'll come back in a bit. Can I bring you anything?'

  'No thanks ... I'm not hungry.' She felt soft lips brush her hair, and ground her teeth at the sudden surge of dark anger they induced.

  Now this was the affection and devotion she should have been receiving for decades, nay centuries, from that accursed bastard André Von Kastel! But instead he'd escaped her and lived a life of secrecy and seclusion whining for that milksop Arabelle.

  Her fury raged. All those years she'd sought him, and now he was beyond her reach for ever. She couldn't entirely read her vessel's thoughts and memories but she'd pieced together the story from her fragments of consciousness during the toothsome young Jonathan's account. André Von Kastel had escaped via the same spell that had condemned her to pain and blackness. If he'd stood before her now, she would have gouged his blue eyes from his head.

  Enough! Suddenly her anger settled like a pond flattening when last remnants of a breeze blew itself out. She would not brood on the past. There was the future ahead and, despite her current disadvantages, she was clever enough to secure it.

  Quiet footsteps padded away and, as the door closed behind Rafe Hathaway, Isidora Katori sat up, threw back the covers and stretched luxuriantly.

  The pleasure of being corporeal again, even for only a short while, bordered on the orgasmic. She looked down at her hands, imagining the patterns of energy that compelled her fingers to slide between her legs and touch herself. This body was responsive, highly sexual when properly directed, and it would serve her well if she could retrieve the correct enchantments to possess it permanently.

  Exhilarated, she leapt from the bed and looked around.

  The room was beautifully appointed, done out in greens and gold, with sumptuous furnishings and a thick, soft carpet. She thought momentarily of her fine apartment in the metropolis. She hoped it was being kept in good order for her return.

  Against the wall stood a pier glass and, shedding her clothing, she went to it. Paula's dress sense left much, much to be desired, but soon enough it would no longer be an issue.

  Enjoying the simple delight of being able to see through physical eyes again, Isidora appraised her host body. Not too bad. Not as smooth and exquisite as the one she'd been so foully ousted from but, once it was hers permanently and she had her powers back, she would make it over.

  Magic and pampering would enhance the magnificence of her opulent breasts and the lush grove of her pubis. Likewise the pert high curves of her bottom and the sleekness of her thighs.

  The face? Well, there was promise in the superficial similarity between Paula Beckett and the Countess Katori. It would be child's play to remake her into something greater than she had been.

  Tilting her head this way and that, Isidora cupped her breasts, assessing their weight and firmness. A frisson of reaction tingled through her, shooting from the sensitive tips right to her clitoris, where it throbbed between her legs. Without a second thought she slid a hand down and began to rub herself.

  Oh yes! Oh yes! Serendipity had been kind to her.

  Groaning, she thanked mighty Astarte that the very person she'd needed to meet back in that public-house garden had been this responsive and toothsome woman. Facing a mighty clash with a powerful creature like André Von Kastel, she'd had to leave a Thousand Hour Marker on someone for safety's sake. But swirling her fingertips around in her sex, then settling them almost savagely on her clitoris, she was glad that it had been Paula Beckett, who was so juicy and full of erotic potential.

  'Oh, Paula, dear Paula,' she chanted, pounding on the delicate seat of her pleasure and jerking her hips like a sleazy brothel dancer, 'I'm going to enjoy this earthly shell of yours. And take much pleasure in stealing it away from you.' Throwing back her head and snarling, Isidora surrendered to the juddering sensations of her climax.

  How sweet physical life was after these last weeks of drifting around its edges, snatching at tempting morsels of consciousness between dark and painful sojourns in the other place.

  The scent of Paula Beckett's arousal rose up into her nostrils and she breathed it in like a revivifying gas. 'Not long now, my dear,' announced Isidora Katori, smiling archly into the mirror at the other woman's face. 'All I need is to find my grimoire and to persuade that handsome man of yours to help me. Then you'll be gone and I'll live for ever in your body!'

  8 Duplicity

  The bedroom was empty when Rafe returned but a lovely scent, drifting from the open door to the bathroom, told him that Paula was up and about and feeling better. As he shut the door behind him, she came walking through, towelling her hair and singing softly.

  'Feeling better now?'

  God, she certainly looked better! Even though her hair was still wet, she was no longer the half-drowned creature he'd carried in from the storm. Her skin glowed and her smile was impish. And she looked a treat in a skimpy T-shirt and what looked like a pair of men's boxer shorts.

  'Yes, I'm fine. I think I was just knackered from the storm and everyt
hing.' She tossed the towel on a chair back, heedless of the fine antique upholstery, picked up a comb from the dressing table and began carefully teasing the tangles from her hair.

  'I told Sumner a bit about what's happened to you. Just the dreams and the fact that you hear voices sometimes. I managed to prise a bit more out of him too.' He tried to focus and remember what he'd said, and what Sumner had said, but somehow it was difficult to concentrate when she was standing in front of the pier glass, slowly working on her shiny black hair and swaying gently as if dancing to some sensuous unheard melody.

  'Sounds like this Isidora was supposed to disappear, poof, out of existence but somehow she's latched on to you and is clinging on by the skin of her teeth. He reckons –'

  'Oh, please, let's not talk about her now.' Paula's body stilled for a moment, then she turned to him, smiling as she abandoned her comb and smoothed her hair with her fingers. 'We're in a gorgeous bedroom. We're out of the rain. We're together. Can't we just take a little time out from all this doom and gloom and relax?'

  Her hips swayed as she walked towards him and Rafe's cock jerked hard in his jeans. He wanted her, and wanted her badly. He'd been subliminally turned on for hours, he supposed. Catching glimpses of her nipples pressing against her wet T-shirt, remembering the feel of her under him, above him, around him. They'd struggled together through perhaps the crappiest weather he could ever remember and now, in the calm after it, his body craved solace, peace and sensuality. A time out from wild tales of magic and possession.

  Yes, just plain simple sex. Comfort sex, basic but fabulous.

  His cock leapt again, agreeing with him as Paula wound her arms around his neck and drew his mouth down to hers for a sweet kiss.

  Her lips were soft and enticing, pliant at first then demanding as she pressed her tongue inside his mouth and sought his. The way she flicked and probed with it made his cock thicken and harden, almost to the degree of pain, as it seemed to develop an imagination of its own and feel that nimble caress along its length and around its crown. Without thinking, he jerked his hips, seeking friction.

  Paula responded with a slow, suggestive undulation, tilting her pelvis and grinding herself against him so closely that he almost imagined he could actually feel her cleft, the tempting divide of her sex lips. He growled in his throat, his hands sinking to cup her bottom. Grabbing, he lifted her off her feet and jammed her hard against him. With the flexibility of a gymnast, she clung on tight, drew up her knees and locked her ankles at the small of his back, pressing her sex against his.

  Paula wasn't heavy, yet she wasn't a sylph either. Somehow, the tension of bearing her entire weight only added to the spiralling excitement. He swung her round, loving the savage way she rocked and humped against him. His hunger soaring, he carried her easily to the bed, but, when he tried to set her down, she dragged him bodily over her, not breaking her hold.

  Furious heat flared between them, making Rafe's head go light and seem to whirl. Had it always been this intense with Paula? He supposed so. Maybe the novelty and strangeness and the unashamed luxury of their surroundings was making the experience extra-spicy and erotic.

  'God, you smell good,' he whispered, when at last she allowed him his mouth.

  And it was true. During her toilette, she'd anointed herself with some deliciously floral eau de cologne, and the glorious vapours filled his brain like an aphrodisiac.

  But that wasn't all. Beneath the flowers he could smell the hot musk of her sex. Even through her shorts, it tickled his nostrils, fierce and strong.

  'So do you,' she breathed against his neck, her tongue moving in a long, sampling stroke as she reached down to cup his crotch, her fingers delicately digging into him.

  'I don't!' He laughed. It'd been a long day and he'd sweated hard, carrying her through the Priory grounds against the force of a howling gale. His body was grungy and unfresh and desperately in need of a shower if he could tear himself away long enough to take one. 'I probably smell like a wild dog.'

  'I've always been rather fond of wild dogs.' Her voice was a soft growl, and her tongue lapped him again and again, licking his throat, then moving up the side of his face until she was kissing, then biting his ear.

  What the hell was she on about? He could feel himself capsizing under the surface of a teeming sea of lust.

  Jeez, Paula, I thought I was the hypnotist, he told her silently. But he didn't care. All he wanted was to fuck her, to be inside her, as deep as possible.

  With the lobe of his ear still caught between her sharp white teeth, she began negotiating his jeans. Deftly, she unshipped his belt, then flicked open the button and seized the tag of his zipper. A second later, she had him out, hot and rampant in her hand.

  Her teeth closed tighter on his ear as her fingertips closed neatly on the swollen crown of his cock. Alternating the pressure, she pinched first on one, then the other, in a delicate and precisely threatening dance. After the rough and tumble of getting on to the bed, it was tortur-ingly surgical.

  'Please,' he moaned, astounded by the sound of his own voice begging. He shifted against her, agonisingly tethered by his own swollen cock.

  'Please what? What do you want? Tell me immediately or I won't give you anything.'

  'I want to fuck you, Paula. I want to fuck you hard. I want to come inside you.'

  'Admirable ... That's what I want too.' With a last squeeze she released him, both ear and penis, and then rolled over beneath him as sinuously as an eel. Flexing her body, she pushed upwards, and he found himself coming up on his hands and knees behind her.

  As she scooted forwards, she looked back at him over her shoulder and wiggled her bottom. Her eyes were narrow and glittering with a lust that matched his own.

  Caught in the act of reaching for the waistband of her boxer shorts, he paused when she suddenly shook her head and murmured, 'Tut tut! Not until I say so.'

  Rafe nearly shouted with frustration but then laughed when she twisted round, caught hold of the loose leg of the shorts and revealed to him her pink and pouting sex. The soft folds were vivid and peachy, the lush flesh all a-shine with lubrication.

  So it was to be like this again? Doing it with her pants on? He remembered that first night in the alley and the delicious friction as he'd fucked her through the tight gap of her pulled-aside knickers.

  He moved towards her, his cock swinging and eager.

  'What are you waiting for?' she enquired, touching her own sticky cleft with her fingers as if she simply couldn't wait for him to get in her. Rafe was hypnotised by the lewd, rhythmic action.

  'Yeah, just a minute ... Need a condom.' His voice was tight. He could hardly speak. He wasn't sure he'd even been this turned on in his life before.

  He almost ripped the rubber getting it out of its packet. Eventually he was enrobed and, unable to wait or indulge in the niceties, he pushed forwards, his cock homing in blindly on her rosy wet channel.

  Crying out, he drove home. His head seemed to spin again as if he were diving into a vortex. He almost passed out when she gripped and clasped at him with hot inner muscles. With his hands on her hips, he bore down and down while she pressed back at him with equal and opposite force.

  For what seemed like an age, they heaved and jerked against each other, gasping and grunting as if they were in a pitched battle rather than a sensual act of love. Paula was squashed face-down into the mattress, jammed against the bedding, but irrationally somehow Rafe felt she was in charge of him. The way she rubbed herself and circled her hips was mesmerising.

  And when he came, she seemed to wrench his soul right out of him.

  And when she came, she keened aloud and laughed in triumph.

  Rafe drifted, bordering consciousness, feeling as if he'd been wrung out like a soiled rag and beaten on rocks. His strength seemed to have been sapped out of him and into the woman beneath him. He couldn't even lift his body up off hers. He just lay there.

  And so did she. Silent at first, then all of a sudd
en she seemed to gurgle and shake. After a few moments, it dawned on him she was laughing again and, with a great effort, he hauled himself up off her, stripped away the sticky wilted condom and disposed of it, and stuffed his still tingling cock back into his jeans. Strange, black foreboding gathered in his belly but he still felt powerless to speak or move away from where he stood, looking down at his inert, but still chuckling paramour.

  Oh, dear God, what have I done?

  As the thought surged through his mind, she rolled over onto her back. Her hand was still between her legs, just as before, and she was smiling in supreme, exultant triumph.

  A pair of brilliant-green eyes looked back up at him, smug and sultry.

  'And now it dawns on him,' she said softly, fingers flexing. 'Now he knows who it is he fucked.'

  'Isidora?'

  'Who else, delicious man? You don't think your milksop Paula could screw you the way I do, do you?' Abandoning her crotch, she sat up, her emerald eyes locked on him. Rafe felt vertigo again and clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to smack her across the face or whether he was just inflicting pain to keep himself focused. She was trying to hypnotise him in a way that rendered his own efforts amateurish. What the hell had happened to his so-called empathic gifts? He'd just been so completely taken in that he'd fucked the 'enemy' without even realising it.

  'What do you want? Where's Paula?'

  'Questions, questions. Can't we just have a pleasant conversation?' She edged along the bed, then patted the space beside her that she'd created. 'A little civilised discourse before we go at it again?'

  Rafe felt a tugging sensation that was both psychic and physical. He imagined himself moving towards her, slipping into a deep luxurious ease and lack of conflict, and at the same time his cock throbbed as if her luscious sex were somehow drawing it back towards oblivion. Gouging his palms with his nails, he remembered a classic spy film, one of his favourites, and wished for a rusty nail to drive into his flesh to fight her programming.