Free Gemini Heat by Portia Da Costa

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