Gemini Heat Read Online Free PDF Page B

muttered something about 'giving her oats for her birthday' and to keep the peace she'd succumbed, then reached out for her fantasy.
    Tripping on her new-found drug, Delia had had the Prince in bed with her, the Prince sliding like a god into the hot, slick depths of her vagina; and she'd cried out, made a fuss, and had a huge, mind-bendingly toe-curling orgasm.
    But she'd got the cold shoulder afterwards and that had made her angry, so angry. She'd had sex when -initially - she hadn't wanted to. She'd made herself late for work at a time when punctuality and super-efficiency were crucial, and all the thanks she'd got was a fit of the sulks.
    Oh God, this was no good! Anger at Russell was rebounding inside her in the strangest of ways. She felt aroused again. Hot. With no conscious effort, she summoned the Prince again and bade him share her steamy shower. The weather was crazy for May, and even though it was only seven-thirty in the morning she could feel herself sweating into the water. It felt like she was melting from the bones outward, softening in the heat, both within and without. Her whole body felt loose and malleable, the only areas of tension were the places where the Prince was sovereign: her aching nipples and the heavy, puffed up place between her legs. With a moan of resignation, she reached down to touch herself. She'd be late anyway, so she might as well be hung for a sheep etc. etc. As her sticky sex yielded open its flower, she received a small malicious pang of extra pleasure. If she stayed in the shower masturbating, she'd make Russell late too.
    It's just you and me, my Liege, she murmured, bowing open her thighs, and letting the Prince lend magic to her own long fingers. As she stroked lightly at her clitoris, it was his gracious hand that stirred her, his dexterity that took the breath from her body and all shred of reason from her mind. She leaned hard against the streaming shower wall, pressing her breasts and belly to its sheeny surface, then tilting her hips to jam her fingers in harder between her legs. She could no longer believe it was her own hand moving at her crotch; the vulnerable flesh itself said it was the Prince's long, bronzed body she was shimmying against, his strong chest that stimulated her nipples, and his swollen penis that was pushing between her sex-lips and rubbing her.
    Surging against the ineffectual coolness of the tiles, she summoned up his final fabulous outrage. With her tender bud still caught between her fingertips, and her breasts still flattened and crushed, she curved her free hand around between the cheeks of her bottom. In her glorious eastern dream, the Prince fell to his knees behind her and began sucking voraciously at her anus. As she feathered the tiny aperture, it was her dark invader that licked and pushed and stabbed with his tongue, boring it inside her as if intending to meet and mate with the pleasure in her pulsing clitoris.
    'Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes,' she whispered, water running into her mouth as she slid in a heap down the wall, her fingers still working, working, working . . .
    Delia was later than she'd feared. Late, out of sorts and feeling far less than immaculate on a day when she should've looked faultless.
    As she'd steered her car through the morning rush-hour traffic, she'd felt grubby already in spite of her extended shower. The fact that she'd been dragged out of a clandestine afterglow by a peevish Russell had only added insult to injury. Finishing with him was an unpleasant task to be faced, but as she finally negotiated the lifts and corridors of the de Guile Tower, it slipped in her league of pending problems. Top of the list was the fact that due to Russell and his 'birthday dinner' she was wearing the same work clothes as yesterday. Obsessive about a daisy-fresh outfit each day, this had never happened to Delia before. She wished to God now that she'd put her foot down last night and gone to the art exhibition as she'd intended. Or at