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His hand stroked down her bare flesh, setting off a string of bumps and tingles in its wake. “I’m not. I keep thinking I might have lost you. I cannot bear it.”
“Take me back, then,” she said quietly, shifting her head so he could see face. She wiped away the tears and matched his blue eyes with her own green ones.
Jason took her against the wall of the stateroom. She didn’t favour the position. However, he preferred it when he wanted to make a point of showing his lust for her body.
He rose up into her with a cry of delight. A rigidity remained inside her. She coiled around his erection, like elastic bands. He groaned abruptly, along with a sigh of relief. His pleasurable vocalisation a clear signal to her. She forgot about the mess of the evening and focused entirely on him.
Lifting her legs up, he encouraged her to wrap them around his naked waist. His hands grasped her buttocks and squeezed hard while she gripped his shoulder to add support. Lips travelled about her neck and face, a smattering of kisses or a nibble on her parted lips. Still pounding his cock in and out, he ceased his kisses to speak.
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“You’re mine. Mine! Oh, Gemma. Gemma.” With a raucous cry, he ejaculated and filled her with a rapid spurt of hot milk. Withdrawing, his semen trickled down her legs.
She would remark on any other day his ability to recover, to regroup his stamina and dig down deep to keep his body active. He lubricated his cock in her mouth, encouraging it to regain its hardness with a display of his dominance as she knelt at his feet. She licked, sucked, and held him in her throat, gagging. Then he carried her to the bed and engaged in fucking her pussy again. A more sedately paced intrusion into the reservoir between her legs. She held him in check as much as she could, squeezing and tightening her exhausted muscles about his cock.
The final conquest of her body came when she lay on her belly and surrendered to him, knowing it would bring him satisfaction. She was compliant, a plasticized body for his delight. His hands caressed her buttocks to aid his penetration, soft fingertips holding her flesh in place. With her head on a pillow, she accepted his occupation of her body even when his hands gripped her arms, dragging them behind her. Her anus stretched about him as she arched her back and he lifted her shoulders up away from the bed. A small act of bondage, another little moment when he chipped away at her emotional barrier and reminded her she was his. Gemma couldn’t resist the sense of control his constraining arms brought to her body—she welcomed it.
“Oh, babe. So gorgeous to behold you beneath me. Good girl.” His words kept her going. She crept closer to the inevitable conclusion.
He maintained a pedantic pace, neither his usual pummelling speed nor a slow, sensual penetration. Having spent the evening seated, he coursed with energy even in the middle of the night. A rich, coarse vocabulary burst out of his mouth; it told her of his passions, his ecstasy and keenness. The fullness of his cock, penetrated up to the hilt, was perfect savagery. Raising her head, she drifted away, only aware of his heat against her skin and the constant movement inside her.
“Gem. Deep breaths. That’s it. Good girl.”
Her muscles relaxed around his cock as he gave his verbal rewards. She didn’t feel patronised by his words or tone. It made her aware of the connection she had with him—his girl, his possession. With one last burst of energy, he pumped himself into her and almost landed on her, panting. At that moment, Gemma’s paused orgasm released itself, and she let out a stream of cries, almost screaming.
She heaved her body away from him, leaving a trail behind her. Neither of them cared. It would be dealt with in the morning. After switching off the lights and putting on his pants, he came to lie next to her.
“Did I please you?” The submissive element of Gemma’s personality had to know.
“Babe. You’re the best. Nobody will have you but me. I love you. Go to sleep.”
She lay quietly. She wiped away a tear—doubts about her behaviour in the club still haunted her, even after his words of love. She suspected she wanted to be punished by him. The contradictory states of emotion—relief and stress—fought for dominance in her mind.
Jason fell asleep and, with tired eyes, Gemma waited to join him.
Chapter 29. Screaming
She had heard footfalls. Initially, she assumed them to be Jason’s, going to the bathroom. But then, she heard the faint snoring, and she knew the sound didn’t come from her husband. Opening her eyes, she saw Modesto leaning over Jason, knife raised above his head. The instinct to curl up and hide filled her. She had done it before, and it might have saved her life back then, but this time had to be different. She wasn’t the intended victim.
“Die, sinner,” hissed Modesto.
She screamed as loud as she could and launched herself at the Filipino, reaching over Jason’s sleeping body while her mouth let vent the loudest noise she could possibly make. The knife came down too quickly.
As if in slow motion, Gemma shoved Modesto hard in the chest. He lost his balance, fell backwards, and tumbled onto the floor. The knife slipped out of his hand. She picked up the water jug on Jason’s bedside table and smashed it over Modesto’s head as the man tried to stand up. He fell to the floor and didn’t move, blood trickling down his face.
Turning to face the bed, she took a deep breath, forcing her eyes to stay open. Is Jason dead?
She had seen the knife come down. What had happened to Jason?
Spreading about the sheet, blood, crimson and flowing. She fought back her demons, her abhorrence of the red liquid, and climbed back onto the bed. His clear blue eyes fixed on her, wide-open with shock. She placed her hand over the wound and squeezed hard. She pressed down, and the blood oozed through her fingers.
“Babe, I’m all right,” a strained, but soft tone.
Her eyes came into focus properly, and she saw him lying on the bed. She remembered. As the knife had descended, Jason had moved, and instead of plunging into his torso, the sharp blade had slipped down past his inner arm. “It’s not serious, Gem.”
Jason used his uninjured arm to push himself up. Her bloody hands dropped away from his side. She could see the red ooze covering the sheet underneath him. There she remained, perched on her knees, on the bed. She had frozen into a rigid figure of shock and disbelief. Flitting across her mind, flashes of images that she didn’t want to see. She fought them back, sucking in air, slowing her breaths.
Jason used the intercom to summon help. Slow minutes passed, and then Lubinsky and Remy came storming into the stateroom in their underwear with guns in their hands. Roused by the call, they found Modesto unconscious on the floor, the knife close by his side. Lubinsky quickly removed the weapon out of reach and wrapped a towel around Jason’s arm, staunching the flow of blood.
