Gemini Heat (30 page)

It was a fabulous opportunity and for about thirty seconds Deana was bowled over . . .

But then her critical faculties kicked in and she saw an anomaly. 'But Jake's never seen any of my work, and neither have you. My style could be completely unsuitable.'

'I shouldn't worry. Jake's got seven extra senses. He's probably looked inside your head and seen the way you draw.' Vida set her mug down with a disquieting silence and accuracy. 'And after last night, Dee, I
know
you'll understand what I need.'

Before Deana properly realised what was happening, Vida was on her feet and standing behind her. 'It's not exactly the sweetness and light tales I'm planning to anthologise, pretty Dee,' she whispered, her hands sliding down Deana's back, 'And I'm going to ask Jake to pose . . .' The strong, swift fingers slid further, then cupped and squeezed. Deana moaned as her buttocks seemed to sizzle, but her pleasure was far greater than her pain.

There was a delicious sense of complicity in the other woman's grip, and again, that sense of recognition. Vida Mistry had punished Deana last night, but unspo-kenly acknowledged her as an equal. Hidden antennae had signalled to each other, flashing the kinship of one dominant with another.

'What. . . What's your errand?' croaked Deana, leaving the question of the commission unanswered, because she sensed that of the two it was the lesser issue. She shimmied, showing her appreciation of Vida'a clever fingers, while her own hand drifted helplessly to her groin.

'Oh, that's simple,' said Vida, digging delicately, then pushing and probing, 'I'm here to take you to Jake.'

As a sometime environmentalist, Deana knew little of cars and couldn't drive. What she did know, though, was that Vida's car pefectly suited its owner. It was Italian, vicious, expensive and red; and it seemed nicely apt that a sexual dominant like Vida should drive a vehicle so patently phallic.

Her driving was macho too. Suspended painfully in the low-slung bucket sea, Deana clung on for dear life as they shot into impossibly narrow traffic gaps, and Vida cut up other drivers with a fine disregard for road-craft, her high-gloss paintwork, or even the accepted rules of civilised behaviour.

The journey was a lot like the man they were travelling towards: fast, brilliant and terrifying. And it wasn't until she was ascending the steps towards a dark blue door familiar from only its description, that Deana realised how deeply the Gemini Game was in jeopardy.

This was Jake's home, and presumably he was in it now. But it was also highly likely that a man such as he was in constant contact with his business empire too, even while nominally 'off duty'. There was nothing to say he hadn't already spoken to a certain
Delia
this morning ... at work.

Yet, if he'd done that, why would he send Vida to the flat? Deana's thoughts started to spin and speculate, and she felt even more confused when Jake's servant, a beautiful, delicate-featured oriental girl, greeted her with a smile that was mischievous and intimate.

'He's waiting in the lounge,' murmured the slim, soft-spoken young woman - who Deana assumed must be 'Elf'. Deana answered with a nervous 'thanks' and followed Vida's long strides down the elegant, luxurious hall. At any other time, she would have loved to dawdle, look around, and assess the rest of Jake's art collection. But right now all the could think of was the Gemini Game . . . And as Vida winked and pushed open a huge and gleamingly-panelled door, Deana had the nastiest feeling it was all over . . .

Within ten seconds, she
knew
it was over.

There were two familiar people relaxing in the deeply-padded comfort of matching brocade chairs. Two people; one naked and one clothed, and each sipping what looked like gin and tonic.

The first was Jake - smiling and gloriously nude, his blue eyes glittering with a combination of triumph and sensual amusement. The second was Delia, wearing a rather pretty silver-grey robe, and despite being flushed and dishevelled, looking almost as amused as her host.

'Hi!' she said, shrugging her shoulders and toasting her glass towards Deana.

'Oh shit!' said Deana. Her fears were now realised, this had been inevitable, but somehow she still couldn't cope.

'Drink, Deana?' enquired Vida pleasantly, already with decanter in hand.

'Yes please,' she replied, her mouth dry. It was as good an opener as any . . .

As she accepted the frosty glass, under the scrupulous gazes of both her sister and their stark naked lover, it dawned on Deana that Vida had just addressed her by her name. How long have
you
known? she wanted to ask, but just then, Jake rose from his chair and walked towards her, supremely untroubled by the stiffness of his prick as it bounced and pointed in front of him.

'Welcome to my house, Deana,' he said as he reached her, his voice warm, almost kind. He leaned close then, and as he pecked her on the cheek quite casually, she felt his hot flesh press hard through her skirt. 'Please, come and sit down ... I think we all need to talk, don't you?'

Meek for the moment, she allowed him to lead her to the chair next to Delia's. He smiled knowingly at her small distressed sound as she sat; and as she sipped deeply at the so welcome drink, Deana saw Delia staring at her curiously and frowning a silent 'what's up?'

'How long have you known?' demanded Deana, rounding on her naked tormentor rather than trying to explain her sore bottom to her sister.

Jake's eyes were so, so blue. Like alien rays they bored into her soul and silenced all questions and protests. 'I had a suspicion that something was amiss when I met you that night at the gallery,' he began without preamble. 'You were gorgeous, and I couldn't resist you, but you didn't quite conform to your dossier.

In fact, apart from your face, you were barely recognisable . . .'

'What's all this about dossiers?' said Delia suddenly. 'I've seen my personnel file and it's strictly a CV and career summary. There's nothing about. . . about "personality traits". And all it says is that I've a sister. Nowhere does it say she's my twin.' Deana saw her sister's eyes narrow.

'OK, I admit it.' Jake laughed softly. 'I was looking for . . . shall we say . . . diversion. So I decided to invite some interesting people to my exhibition. Personnel files don't provide the sort of information I needed . . . So—' He tapped the side of his straight, elegant nose, 'I had to use other resources.'

'And what did these "other resources" tell you?' asked Deana. She hadn't needed Delia to tell her to take up the interrogation, it had just happened.

'When I arrived back here, I had another look at the file I'd "acquired",' Jake continued unperturbedly, surprising both of them by folding himself gracefully down onto the carpet at their feet. Sitting there naked, he continued to describe
his
game. 'And I realised it wasn't
Delia
Ferraro I'd screwed on the balcony, but her sister Deana. The artist . . .'

'I had a prior engagement. I didn't want to waste the ticket.'

Respect to you, Sis! thought Deana, impressed by her sister's super-coolness. Delia was handling all this with extraordinary tranquillity . . . but just how would she have coped last night? Deana wondered.

'I'd have done the same myself,' said Jake with a beautiful evil-imp smile, 'if I had a twin . . .'

'Doesn't bear thinking about,' observed Vida dryly from her place on the settee opposite.

'I take it one de Guile is adequate then, my dear?' he enquired without turning around.

'Plenty,' the authoress drawled, sipping her drink and grinning at the two Ferraros. Her expression was benign and conspiratorial, and Deana sensed her sister beginning to warm to the white-clad woman too.

'Kindly get on with it, Kazuto,' Vida went on, taking off her hat and flinging it accurately across the room to land on a side table. 'You know how I like all the details.'

And so Jake continued, his amusement unremitting as he outlined how he'd known all along that he was involved with twins. How he'd revelled in their contrasts and similarities, the sensuality of their dual nature, and their identical beauty that he'd found had some interesting individual distinctions.

It was these that he described with particular relish. These differences that Deana and Delia had never had knowledge of. Minute identifying marks - and differing responses - that made both of them blush as Jake outlined them in merciless detail.

'Between you, you're a beautiful paradox, my dears,' he said at last. 'So marvellously and tantalisingly alike yet at the heart of things so deliciously different.'

His pleasure in their diversity was eye-catchingly palpable. Throughout his description he'd been unselfconsciously stroking his penis, and now it was rigid, crimson-headed and trickling with clear, silky juice. Deana couldn't take her eyes off it, and she didn't need to look towards her sister to know that
she
couldn't either . . .

'And now, ladies, here's the deal.' His tone was endearingly chauvinistic, but even before he'd laid out his proposition, Deana had a deep-seatedly female feeling that it would be at least as irresistible as he was.

Without warning, Delia rose to her feet and smiled down at both of them. There was a strength in her sister that Deana had never seen before, and Delia's voice was level as she spoke. 'I heard this particular bit just before you arrived, Sis. I think I'll go and get dressed now, if nobody minds.' She looked enquiringly at Jake - who nodded, quite clearly impressed by her nonchalance.

'I'll come with you!' cried Vida, already on her feet and half-way across the large room. 'I could do with a freshen up. Come along Elf, you can massage me.'

All this was bewildering, and Deana felt lost and abandoned. She looked urgently after Delia, and then nearly dropped the drink she was holding . . .

Delia had turned in the doorway, and when she caught Deana's eye, she winked outrageously, and mimed a very clear and distinct 'It's
your
turn!'

As the door closed behind them, Deana was flabbergasted. Whatever had happened to the seriously conventional and ever-so-slightly po-faced Delia Ferraro? The orderly young woman who frowned on her sister's sexual shenanigans and was prepared to settle for boring bed-play with an uninspiring dolt like Russell? Even if they had nothing else to thank him for, Jake had at least had an almost Promethean effect on Delia!

But could Delia cope with the wild-at-heart Vida? An unprincipled, amoral, domineering bixsexual who was as likely to beat a girl's bottom severely as try to caress or seduce her?

'Don't worry, Deana,' said Jake taking the gin glass from her and putting it aside. He slid his hand slowly and soothingly up her thigh, rucking up her wafer-fine skirt as he traversed the smooth warmth of her skin. 'She's safe. Vida knows all about the differences between you, and despite everything, she will observe limits . . .'

Deana could see that, on reflection. For all Vida's cruelty in the ritual mode, there was a warm core of kindness in her too. Last night, afterwards, she'd been as gentle and sweet as a cherub.

Jake's fingers were high on her leg now, near the crease of her groin, travelling and probing.

'What's this proposition?' she asked hoarsely, not much caring about plans and futures any more. This was the moment that mattered . . . She looked down at Jake's long legs where he sat like a yogi on the carpet, and then at the thick vibrant staff of his cock which rose like a sword from the narrow brown cradle of his loins.

'Simple ... I want you and/or Delia to come and live with me in my home in Geneva.'

'What do you mean?'

The fingers slid further. 'Just what I said. I want you to live with me. Share my home. And my pleasures . . .'

'You mean be your mistress . . . your mistresses?'

'If that's what you want to call it. I just want you living my in my house, and available to me. For sex whenever I want it.'

'Both of us?'

'Yes . . . But not together. I don't think you'd like that, would you?' His fingers were almost in her curls now, flicking and feathering.

'That's outrageous, Jake!'

'What's outrageous?' he said, all innocence as he stroked at her sex-lips. 'It's only an extension of the games we've already played. I'd have you as you've been having me . . . Turn and turn about. Serially . . . Don't you like the idea?'

'But we'd be kept women. Sex toys,' she whispered as a fingertip pushed inwards through her intimate thicket and settled on her swollen-hard clitoris. She couldn't argue then because she could only moan. His touch was so slight that there was barely any motion at all - but she teetered on the knife edge of orgasm. She started wriggling, then cried out louder as her sore bottom pained her.

It was a hard, red fire in her muscles. A flame that set light to more delicate membranes, to folds and frills and crannies that were critically aroused already. She shouted as her sex leapt and she lost all conscious thought. Rolling and rocking where she sat, she ground her buttocks down hard against the brocade, and felt her sex-dew slither and slip . . . Onto fingers that stayed doggedly in her groove no matter how violently she thrashed.

'You're such a hot creature,' he gasped, his finger stabbing deftly at her clitoris. 'So wild and hot and wet . . .' She felt his hand clamp her firmly by the hip, holding her steady so he could rub and pinch and pound her.