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Gemma said nothing, but shifted closer to his legs and gingerly rested her head against his thigh. Jason closed his eyes, letting his head tilt back to rest on the back of the chair. His hand hovered for a few seconds before he brought it to rest on her hair and lowered it in a slow stroke down her twisted strands. A tiny sob slipped out of her mouth.
***
Love. Gemma had wanted love that night. Sexy lovemaking between man and wife. The kind of passionate intertwining that made her feel good about herself and not about yielding control to him. She had only wanted his body next to hers, loving her and comforting her. Circumstances had changed. He needed to know she was his to enjoy and savour. When she strayed from the rules, Jason would call her back and expect her to be contrite.
He tipped her head up so he could see into her eyes. Their wateriness would be evident, and she tried to show him her emotional state. A state not brought about by drugs or alcohol, and entirely of her own making—her surrender.
“You’re tired. Yet, having you here at my feet makes me want you more than ever. You understand?”
Gemma felt him tug on her arm, lifting her upwards into his lap. She curled into a ball, letting him bring his arms about her thighs and shoulders, holding her against him. Her face buried into his neck, sniffing the cologne and, amongst the manly fragrance, she smelt another—fresh perspiration. The odour of a man who had seen her drift away from him in the club, had his emotions sharpened when told what his wife had nearly drunk, and then witnessed her distress in the car.
She inhaled the remains of his angst and disappointment, adding her own soup of scents, perfume and sexual arousal—she couldn’t thwart its arrival.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please, don’t be cross with me anymore.”
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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.
“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.
