Lust at First Sight

GEMINI HEAT & GOTHIC HEAT - Portia Da Costa

This is just a quickie to say... Wahey, both GEMINI HEAT and GOTHIC HEAT are published in America today! They're the two books that span my fourteen years as a Black Lace author and I'm thrilled to bits that they're available together like this... :)

To celebrate this auspicious day, here are two brief clips, one from each book, each containing the heroine's first impressions of the hero... and in each case, as the title of this post says, it's lust at first sight!

First, from Gemini Heat... Deana turns around and finds exotic Jake de Guile at her side...

'Chatted who up?'

The voice from beside her was soft and light with an insidiously husky catch. Pure sex, filtered through human vocal chords, and Deana knew exactly who it belonged to. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she turned around.

Her moments-only impression hadn't done him justice. She'd formed a sketch in her mind but what stood before her was a masterpiece, a living composition more fine and sensual than anything in this mad bad collection.

'Who were you going to chat up?' her vision in black persisted, but for several seconds all Deana could do was stare at his smiling lips, his large dark eyes; his hands, his body, his crotch. His narrow black eyebrows lifted in enquiry and amusement, and after a century she recovered her voice.

'You,' she said sharply, making a split second decision to be her usual unflinching self. He was raw eroticism on two legs, but she wasn't frightened of him. She wanted him, yes - instantly and unequivocally - but she didn't fear him. Although a small voice inside her said ought to.

'Yes,' she went on as she faced him. Panicking creatively, she said the first thing that came into her head. 'Although "chat up" is purely a figure of speech. You seem to be one of the few people here genuinely interested in the exhibits... so I thought it would be nice to "chat you up" and get your opinions. I'm an artist myself and I wanted to compare... compare my reactions with someone else's,' she paused, flustered, realizing that she was rabbiting on and that he was still smiling his slow, indulgent smile, 'You are interested, aren't you?'

'Of course. It's my specialty.' He accompanied this cryptic utterance with a elegant flip of his fingers. Deana noted the slenderness of his hands and how beautifully kept they were, and suddenly she imagined them slipping knowledgably over her body, seeking out the most sensitive places and stroking her to climax after climax. She could almost see her own shine on his narrow toffee-coloured fingertips.

'Is that a fact?' she answered pertly, feeling the blush rise again, then fall as it had done before, to the place that now yearned for this strange dark man, 'Are you an artist yourself? Do you paint? Or draw?'

'No, sadly I have no talent. I merely observe beauty,' he replied, his eyes roving almost crudely across her body. As his gaze returned to meet hers, Deana met dark, electric-blue fire and was shocked. Not just by the blatant desire there, but by the fact that with his colouring she'd been expecting brown eyes, or grey.

The shape of his eyes was unusual too. In a Caucasian face, they were slanted, oriental, almost catlike. Wide-set and with thick, sooty lashes, they had a slight over-folding of the lids at the inner corners. Mr Mystery here had the east not too far back in his heritage, and his eyes bore the epicanthus to prove it.

His hair was also eastern. Steel-black and straight as water, it was smoothed back closely against his head and caught at the nape of his neck in a ponytail. Its hard, unruffled shine reminded Deana of a seal's coat, but almost instantly, she revised her assessment. Seals were cuddly and playful, and this man just wasn't. He was a shark or a king cobra, hovering to strike or kill, smiling and deadly. Suddenly, she knew she should fear him.

'Me too,' she said, responding belately. He must think I'm a complete ninny, she thought, annoyed by her own inability to impress. 'Why don't we get together?'



And now, in Gothic Heat, Paula has an 'across a crowded room' moment when she spots Rafe Hathaway in a grotty, insalubrious nightclub....

The man by the dance floor was still there, and the sight of him still made her catch her breath and wonder. Now he seemed to look entirely different.

What she’d seen before must have been an hallucination.

Raven Club man didn’t have the aristocratic glamour of ‘Count André’ and he didn’t even have the long, exotic locks. His dark hair was cropped quite short, and it made him look earthy and dangerous. He had the aura of a conscious outsider about him, a rebel, and a bit of stud maybe, but in a raw, maverick way. In contrast the boring but colourful designer outlet finery around him, he was wearing a battered black leather biker jacket, narrow black jeans and some kind of heavy, buckled work boots.

A pair of dark, narrowed eyes scanned the room just as hers had, their hooded lids predatory and jaded-looking. His mouth was rather hard, and thinned a little, as if the club inspired just the same sense of distaste and disappointment in him that it did in her.

Yeah, I know, it’s a dingy old sump, isn’t it? thought Paula. So what the hell are we doing here? We should be elsewhere. Together.

She watched his hands. They moved quickly and edgily, even though his large body was still and poised. First he tapped his fingertips against the smudged railing in time to the music, and then went through the motions of patting his pockets, reaching into them, digging about. Only to be snatched smartly back out again.

Ah hah! A smoker - or an ex smoker - searching for his ciggies. Having done hard time giving up herself, Paula recognised the tell-tales. Maybe the tall, hard-looking, and vaguely biker-ish man wasn’t quite as calm and self assured as he looked? The urge to smoke was a natural reflex when ill at ease.

The large hands appeared again, and suddenly he cracked his knuckles. The sound of it shouldn’t have been audible over the cacophony of the music, but even so it echoed across the room as if they were the only two people in it.

Hands still clasped, the tall stranger looked straight up at Paula.

Connection hit her like a thump in the solar plexus. Lines of force zipped between the two of them, and the man down below cocked his head as if listening to their hum.

A powerful urge to run gripped Paula, but then died again.

Connection hit her like a thump in the solar plexus. Lines of force zipped between the two of them, and the man down below cocked his head as if listening to their hum.

A powerful urge to run gripped Paula, but then died again.

Take him, he’s yours, the voice of Isidora purred beneath her skin. And Paula’s eyes and limbs obeyed it. Holding the tall man’s gaze, she glanced towards the club’s emergency exit, and then, not looking back, she began to walk quickly towards the steps to the lower level.


So... two guys, two naughty books... hope you enjoy both of them equally! Leave a comment for a chance to win a signed copy of a book from my back list.

love

Portia
Still labouring at the Black Lace coal face to bring you sexy and romantic treats!

GEMINI HEAT - keepin' it old school, baby!

GEMINI HEAT - Portia Da Costa




As many readers will know, Gemini Heat is the first Black Lace novel I ever had published, and very much a product of its time ie. it's a full on shagathon of a women's erotica novel rather than the far more relationship based erotic romance that I write today. In it, twin sisters Deana and Delia both vie for the erotic attentions of the handsome, wealthy and glamorous Jake de Guile, a half Japanese hunk who likes to play domination and power play games.

But Deana and Delia have a game of their own, the Gemini Game, in which they pretend to be the same woman and change places, just to see if they can get away with it. In this excerpt it's Deana's turn to be 'Dee' for a night out with Jake...

As the door snicked shut behind her, the only image she could think about was the broad soft banquette of the back seat and her body stretched out upon it. Exposed and opened and flowing with wetness to take this male god into its mystery.

He saw it too, it seemed.

'Only this morning, eh?' he whispered, his eyes like blue lasers in the soft dark light of the limousine's opulent interior. He kissed her hand again, turning it slowly within his grip and licking long and lingeringly at her palm.

Deana remembered in panic where that mouth had been this morning. What he'd done to her sister... And even as she imagined the act, she empathically received its resonances. She felt her own sex flutter as if he were mouthing it, and she felt a quick hard dew of moisture flow out onto her thin silk panties. Oh please, begged some wanton inside her. Do it again! Do it now! Do it to me!

And yet she felt powerless as he placed her hand - like some inanimate object - on the leather of the seat beside her. Her only awareness was waiting. Wanting. The car was cruising along the main road now, but it could've sprouted wings and be flying them to the moon for all the interest she had in the world that it moved through outside.

'Yes, you are ready,' Jake observed, his voice amused. He looked down at her breasts, rising and falling beneath their shimmering armour, and at her thighs which were revealingly parted. She sensed him choosing somehow, eyeing her up like some choice dish or delicacy. Selecting which tasty portion to sample first. He moved closer and almost 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 the pad of his finger.

'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 chord there, and simultaneously pinched the stiff peak of her nipple and the small sweet twin-centre pain made Deana writhe and whimper. Unable to stay still, she glanced frantically at the blond man visible through glass in front of her - and as if reading her mind Jake straightened up and locked her frightened eyes with his.

'We're soundproofed, 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 contemplative cast. 'I'd like to see you aroused before many... Your loins naked and pumping for the pleasure of others as well as yourself. Your sex wet and engorged... My fingers working you while an audience looks on.'

'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 that 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 hands gouging at the leather seat as without warning he flipped down the top of her bustier and rolled it to just beneath her nipples.

'And this morning, so chic,' he went on mercilessly, just touching her exposure very gently, his forefinger rubbing each crinkled peak in turn as if to ensure their continued stiffness. 'That pretty business-girl suit on a body that was hot for sex. There're 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 gorgeous little slut, Dee, 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 rift between her legs and poked crudely at her vulva through the cobweb-fine silk 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 tone of voice, pushing her skirt right up and out of the way and hooking his thumbs into the elastic of her tiny knickers. They were a soft sheeny peach-shade, matching her suspenders, but right now they seemed simply a hindrance to this man who'd utterly bewitched her.

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 creaminess of her belly and the warm brown motte at its base.

Perversely, he left her tiny pants caught around her ankles - an adornment more lewd by far than if he'd taken them off her completely - and pushed her knees open with his fingertips, touching very lightly as if respecting the seven denier fragility of her hose.

'Quite lovely,' he said, sliding one hand under her, between her thighs, and pulling her bottom to the edge of the seat.

Hope you enjoyed that! Leave a comment and your name will go into a draw to win a signed copy of a book from my backlist.

Gemini Heat is available now from Amazon.co.uk and on 27th May from Amazon.com

Love

Portia Da Costa
The Stubborn Old Warhorse of Black Lace

Ancient and Modern

GEMINI HEAT and GOTHIC HEAT - Portia Da Costa

I'll keep this brief as I had a day on the blog last Friday too. Then I talked about how scary it was to write a sequel ten years on from the original novel... but I don't think that is anywhere near as scary as having my first ever BL reissued on the same day as my most recent one. Eek, it just invites a critical comparison, doesn't it? Is she as good as ever? Or has she lost it and should she be put out to pasture to make way for younger, hipper talents?

Well, I *think* I’ve improved. I’ve learnt a lot in fourteen years, both in terms of writing and life, and with any luck that shows in my stories and my characterisation. Okay, so there was a freshness I had back then that I feel a wistful nostalgia for but fingers crossed, I’ve gained far more with the years than I’ve lost. [I just wish I didn’t have to say the same about my waistline too!]

Will I still be writing in another fourteen years? Gosh, I’d like to hope so... even though I might well be balancing my laptop on my arthritic knees as I sit in my bath chair on the sea front at Eastbourne. Either that or I’ll be scribbling on the back of an envelope as I crouch in a cardboard box under the viaduct because I’ve become a destitute bag lady…

How about you, gentle readers? What have you learnt in the last fourteen years? What do you hope to learn/do in the next fourteen years? Let me know in a comment, and one lucky person will win a copy of both my then and now books!

Love

Portia
Still crazy after all these years...

More about Gemini Heat here

More about Gothic Heat here


Oh, and while we're about it, here's a taste of Gemini Heat... which is about identical twins. Both Deana and Delia fancy Jake de Guile, but Peter, the boy next door, is in love with Deana. When Deana goes out with Jake, it's down to Delia to console Peter...

Confused?

Read on...

'This must seem pretty weird to you,' he went on, pausing to swig down more wine, 'I'm telling you that I'm in love with a woman who looks just like you?'

'Not as weird as you think,' Delia answered taking another sip of her own wine as an unthinkable idea occurred to her.

With the slow, simple rationality of the far from sober, she saw an elegant solution to the sexual dilemmas of both herself and Peter.

'Do you want to make love to her?' she asked bluntly, feeling fire building low in her belly. She could see pictures in her head. Pictures of Deana, her legs wide open, being possessed by dark, ruthless Jake... But no, it wasn't Deana! It was herself. Delia. Her face! Her body! If she closed her eyes she could slip herself into that scene, live it, make it happen. All she needed was a hard, male penis to melt around.

And if she could make an illusion for the man who provided the penis?

Draining her glass yet again, she rose to her feet and walked across the room with infinite care. Pulling off her own tee-shirt, she dropped down onto the sofa next to Peter, and cupped her bare breasts in her hands, offering them to him as if they were a pair of sun-ripened fruits.

'Make love to me, Peter,' she said, her voice faint as she flicked her nipples to make them stiffen and grow hard for him.

'Delia... I don't...'

'It's "Dee",' she corrected him, 'Dee Ferraro. I play games, remember?' The wine made her powerful and she reached for his narrow hand with its square, neatly-trimmed nails and placed it on the peachy-soft slope of her breast.

'Just for tonight, Pete... Please?' It seemed strangely apt to be pleading. She would've grovelled to De Guile, wouldn't she?

'But I know the difference,' replied Peter, his voice cracking. He was protesting but his hand was already moulding her flesh and enjoying it.

'For comfort then... If you can't pretend.'

'Oh Dee,' he sighed, moving in on her, even though she'd no idea whether it was for comfort... or for fantasy's sake after all.

For a moment, she drew back within herself, and looked at the real man with her, not the sex-fiend who'd hijacked her body this morning. Peter wasn't Jake; he wasn't dark, or mysterious, or an insatiable creature of wealth and power. But his smooth, pale body was hard and wiry - and far from unpleasant on the eye.

His thin arms were strong as they pulled her to him and crushed her in a shockingly tight grip. Her nipples and his were pressed against each other, and as his mouth met hers, he moaned into it, shimmying his body against her as if his small brown teats felt all the pleasure that her larger rosy-red ones did.

And his tongue was bold too. Probing and tasting as their wine-scented saliva mingled in a way that pre‑shadowed a far greater blending.

'You're so good to me, Dee,' he murmured, then sucked hard on her tongue as if it were a lollipop, a nipple or a clitoris. Delia moaned, her hips lifting and beating against him with a life that was all of their own. There was a pressure and a heat down there now, a pulsating, tingling discomfort that wasn't really a discomfort at all. The mouth between her legs seemed to whimper and beg and cry out. She was hungry. Hungry for maleness. For flesh. For filling. Perversely, she knew still that Jake de Guile was the one she really wanted in there, but Peter was the man who was here. The man with the available penis. A penis that was hard against her body and pressing towards her sex like a unseeing missile homing in on its target and oblivious to the several layers cloth in its path.