Gemini Heat by Portia Da Costa Page B

inside her. Even though it was Peter who was actually here with her. Here with his available penis. A penis that was hard against her body and pressing towards her sex like a missile homing blindly in on its target. Even several layers of cloth could do nothing to deflect it.
    Suddenly she wanted to be naked on a mattress with her legs open wide to receive him.
    'Come on, Pete, let's do it!' she purred, aware of her own unsubtlety, but helpless to do anything about it. Scrabbling at his shorts, she tried to free his cock and get her hands on it. The button on his waistband slipped easily through the worn button-hole, but as she started to unzip him, she felt her fingers grasped firmly in his.
    'Slow down, Dee,' he whispered, taking her busy hands off him and holding them still in her lap. 'I've waited too long for—' He paused and smiled boyishly. 'For something like this ... I want it to last. I want to savour it. Just the way I've always imagined I would.'
    This was a deviation from the fantasy pattern. Both with her, and by all accounts, with Deana, Jake had been swift in the taking and the pleasuring of his woman. In each case, of course, circumstances had dictated there be haste, but somehow slow leisurely sex was not what she associated with Jackson Kazuto de Guile.
    Even as she thought this, she made a decision. She was with Peter now and it was Peter she'd have inside her. Jake would be hers - or she his - some other night.
    'Let's go to bed, shall we?' she said, rising shakily to her feet. Unfastening her cool linen shorts, she pushed them down her legs with her panties tangled inside them. Naked, she took Peter's hand and urged him to his feet too. 'I've had enough of quickies on settees. I fancy some of that "savouring" of yours!'
    A new Peter stood before her now, a tempting Peter whose worn old shorts were tented with magnificent promise. There was pleasure in sight, and Delia was ready.
    'You're right. Let's do this properly.' He took her by the hand and escorted her decorously across the room. 'Let's go to bed, shall we . . . Delia?'
    Somehow even Peter's bedsheets were cool. Delia sighed happily as she lay down on them and stretched out her limbs luxuriously. Reaching behind her head, she pulled out her hair-ribbon and let the whole brown glossy mass of waves fan out across the crisp white pillow. 'Come on, Pete. Join me,' she encouraged.
    But for a full minute he just stood still, admiring her naked and honey coloured body.
    'You're beautiful,' he whispered, sliding out of his shorts and underpants and lying down on the sheet beside her.
    Who's beautiful? she wondered as he started to touch her. She felt spaced-out from the wine and languid from heat and arousal. It didn't seem to matter whether it was Deana he wanted, or herself, or even this peculiar amalgamated creature called 'Dee'. Neither did it matter
    - at this precise moment - that the fingers at her breasts were Peter's. They were cool and gentle and skilled. It might matter later who he was, when Deana came back all aglow from Jake. But now it seemed perfectly wonderful to be with this thoughtful, less demanding lover. This lean, diffident man with his tentative sexual style and his surprisingly imposing penis.
    His caresses were slow but extraordinarily sensuous
    - as if he were trying to imprint the entire shape of her body in his memory. The pads of his fingers rode her smoothly but comprehensively, but didn't dive for the obvious zones. He seemed content to dally in less likely latitudes. A shoulder-blade. The inside of a forearm. The arch of a foot.
    She wondered if he would want to lick her sex, and she parted her legs in readiness, trying to consciously forget that only this morning Jake had licked her there.
    But Peter seemed happy enough with touching. Touching her belly, the edge of her pubic hair, the long inner slope of her thigh where it was beginning to get sticky with her juices. And as he touched, he kissed her mouth; pressing in