Gemini Heat

by Portia Da Costa

  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 soundproof 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 pr
iceless 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.

  Deana said not a word. She knew that he knew she’d obey him – and put his dark, infernal toys inside her. But in a relationship built on games, she now had an urge for a new one.

  By denying him the description he craved, she could drive him inside his own imagination – as he’d driven her into hers. She granted him a sigh as the dildo slid deliciously into her vagina, and a harsh, unforced groan as the anal plug breached her bottom. But there was no running commentary and no detailed catalogue of pleasure. She obeyed his every obscene instruction, but gave him no means knowing it …

  Jake’s cries were animal and desperate. And as Deana lay on the seat in a foetal, panting ball, she could sense him doing the same, miles away. As she fought the rippling surges in her bottom, her loins and her belly, she heard his shouts and yelps of elation … interspersed, strangely enough, with his own complete description of what he was doing to himself.

  The images were amazing.

  She’d no way of knowing what Jake was wearing, but her mind showed him clad in a pure white shirt; its dazzling high-gloss pallor making his brown body look browner, and his prick look magnificent, purpled and dark. It rose like a staff from his naked groin and the lush black tangle of his pubic hair …

  ‘Yes!’ he shouted triumphantly, his slim, imaginary hips lifting up and humping the shadows. ‘Oh God, yes, Deana, I’m going to have you! All of you this time. Every inch. Every curve. Every crevice. Every fold. I’m going to screw every hole of your sweet sexy body and you’re going to come until you beg me for mercy! I’m going to lick you until you scream … You’re going to be the best screwed woman on earth and you’re going to love it! Every second of it!’

  It was an extravagant claim, but as she scrubbed at her clitoris with her fingertip, she knew that this man could fulfil it … He could probably extract all these unthinkable acts from her and more … but only because he was beautiful enough for her to let him.

  Deana laughed aloud, her body bouncing madly on the seat as her flesh clamped and pumped around the dildoes. She could’ve come from the touch of her own fingers; she could have come simply from the obscene images of Jake and herself that flashed like slides through her brain; she could’ve come from the hard rubber masses that abused both her vagina and her rectum …

  But it wasn’t any of these that had finally tipped her over.

  It was power … Her own power. Sweet and hot and drugging. She was coming because she had power over herself and power over Jake. No matter what he screamed and ranted.

  And as she lay in the back of a dark speeding limousine, sweating, pulsating and shaking, and listening to a man’s grunting cries of release, she knew their contest had barely begun.

  I can’t take much more of this heat, she remembered thinking, a million years ago in a stark white art gallery, when she’d been pretending to be someone else.

  But now she knew she’d been wrong. She was crazy Deana Ferraro – Deana the fearless – and she could take anything and everything and just grow stronger and stronger and stronger.

  Any act, any challenge. Any outrage or perversion. She could take it all, any heat that Jake cared to kindle. The question was, could he take the same heat from her?

  And on that thought, she climaxed again …

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9780753516614

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  This edition published in 2008 by

  Black Lace

  Thames Wharf Studios

  Rainville Rd

  London W6 9HA

  Originally published 1994

  Copyright © Portia Da Costa 1994

  The right of Portia Da Costa to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  www.black-lace-books.com

  ISBN 978 0 352 34187 7

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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