by Jaye Peaches
“Inappropriate?”
“He boasted about how on other cruises he would take women out on the boats and they would beg him to make love to them. Señora Lucas didn’t believe him, but she sent him away all the same.”
Ted hadn’t been present on the main deck.
“She has done nothing to warrant your anger, señor. You had me confined to my room, leaving her alone on a boat full of men. She is a very chaste lady. You should be proud of her. There. I’ve said what she should have been able to say to you without fear. A wife shouldn’t fear her husband.”
Jason inhaled deeply and shut his eyes. Maria had chosen to emphasis the one word he promised Gemma she shouldn’t feel towards him. “How do you know all this?”
“This morning, I gave her a massage. I asked if she was coping without you. I talked to Esteban, too. There is something else you should know.” Maria pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging them. “Ted. He is confined to his cabin. I do not know why. Enrique knows why. The captain and Leo sent him there. There was lots of shouting in the captain’s cabin this afternoon while your wife slept on the sundeck. Catching up on lost hours.”
“I will find out about Ted tomorrow.” Jason rubbed his fatigued eyes. A long, arduous day. He walked over to Maria, taking her chin between his fingers. She flinched.
“You’re a good woman, Maria. As I said before, a brave one, too. I have been hasty and judgemental about Gemma. Do you think she is in a forgiving mood?”
“Yes, señor. She would have done anything for you this night. It was I who encouraged her to refuse you. I warned you about her self-esteem. You want her to awaken desires hidden deep within her and be a more complete submissive for you. Don’t make her something she isn’t.” Maria shook her chin free of his fingers.
“I won’t. It will always be her choice. Just as it was to write this.” He held up the paper. “I will go to her now. You need have no fears for her.”
***
Gemma lay staring at the stars above her head. The streetlights of Valletta had diminished their intensity and number. The day had been a continuous mix of emotions. She had awoken to find Maria had returned to her side, with a cup of steaming coffee and bright smile.
“You’re all right now?” Gemma had asked nervously.
“Sí, señora. Fine.”
There had been the offer of the massage, which she took up. She had received the occasional texts, informing her of his whereabouts and progress. Eventually, he had sent an e-mail explaining the deal had collapsed as a result of the seller and nothing to do with Jason’s team of negotiators. The CEO of the other company had apologised. A rogue analyst had sabotaged the figures in a hope of altering the outcome of the deal. Having been exposed, the closet alcoholic had killed himself, adding to the fallout. The chief executive had assured him the deal would be back on once he had put his own house in order. She could sense the relief in Jason’s brief missive.
Later, after lunching with the captain, she had disembarked and toured the sights of Valletta. She had lit a candle in a Carmelite church and offered up a small prayer, although she wasn’t religious.
“Please, give us a baby,” she had murmured under her breath.
Lubinsky and Remy had given her plenty of space. Not so close as to hinder her ambling, but close enough to be a noticeable presence around her person. She had visited the National Museum of Fine Arts. Apologising to her escorts if they found the trip boring, they shrugged and told her not worry about them.
She had drunk a little wine with her evening meal. Again, she had dined with the captain and chief engineer. The conversations low-key and understated. Jason’s absence not mentioned. She couldn’t enter into the spirit of aimless chatter. She realised even with his quiet reserve, Jason often directed a conversation or chipped in to encourage a different topic of discussion.
The wine must have been sufficient to bring down her previous level of formality to a degree that had opened her to Jason’s accusations. The crew had gathered, in dribs and drabs, as the evening progressed. Finding a CD of Santana, she had let Gaspar show her how to improve her salsa technique. He was good, far better than her instructor back at home. The joviality had been contagious, and everyone relaxed. She had quite forgotten the hour and that Jason was due back. With regret, she wondered if she should have kept to their private deck, hidden from view.
Maria’s outspoken words enabled her natural rebellious spirit to resurface. The Mexican was right. Jason should be made to listen to her as his wife. As such, she was entitled to parity, an equal stage to converse upon. But how to make him be her husband and not her Master?
“I missed my husband, Maria,” she had told the Mexican before she wrote on the notepad. “I yearn for him with all my heart. He doesn’t trust me though, does he?”
Taking a breath, she had written one word. Sometimes, being both his wife and his submissive didn’t balance out. She had to choose which was more important to her. The decision had been easy. She had left the piece of paper on his pillow and quickly walked past the closed door to his office, running upstairs to the sundeck. The stars would keep her company.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him standing under the mast arch—he had come to her.
“I apologise,” he said across the open space. “I missed you terribly. Being alone in the house for two nights, I overreacted to what I saw down below. I forgot I had only provided you with the company of men, without a suitable chaperone.”
She waited. He knelt by her sun bed and took her hand.
“I trust you implicitly. I love you and would like my wife to be with me tonight.”
Gemma wiped back a tear of relief. “Oh, God, Jason. You don’t know what those words mean to me. I only wanted you ever. I need you.”
“I know, babe. Forgive me?” His eyes sparkled in the dim light.
“Yes, of course,” she answered immediately.
The embrace and passionate kisses ended when she found herself on top of him on the sun bed. He handed her the reins. Peeling off her dress, she unzipped his fly and released his erection. She undid the buttons of his shirt and ran her hands down his chest, over his sculptured muscles. She lowered herself onto him and leant back, making him penetrate her deeply to her core. He did nothing to aid her other than to hold her waist while she made love to him.
She knew her sexual strengths well, the pace of her undulating hips, the clenching of her internal muscles, and the angle of her body. They mutually stifled their cries with warm, open-mouthed kisses and, at the end, he held her tight against his chest. Breathless and satiated, they remained in place until the air was too cool for her to bear against her naked skin.
Gemma listened to his heartbeat. “You walk a fine tightrope with me, Jason. My mother contained me in my bedroom, my brother stalked me, and I’ve been held in captivity. Don’t let your control over me become irretrievably suffocating. I’m too fragile. I could have thrown myself off this deck into the sea if you hadn’t come to me this evening. I can’t breathe without you, and yet, sometimes, I struggle when you dominate me.”
“I will try not to suffocate you, Gemma. I know what you are saying. I came back tonight in the mind-set of work. Expecting you to submit meekly. I forgot you would welcome me back as a wife, too.” He stroked her hair out of her face. “Let’s find somewhere more comfortable to make love.”
They did so on the bed, on and off for most of the night. Between pauses for sleep and moments of sweet-natured pillow talk, they made love as equals. Each took it in turn for the other to direct and lead. Simple, romantic lovemaking and deeply satisfying to the both of them.
Gemma drew back the blinds in the morning. Her husband remained fast asleep. She found he became youthful in his sleep, almost boyish and innocent. Long eyelashes curved down, straight nose, and high cheekbones. She was glad he had been her husband that night, but now she acknowledged he was more to her. She had missed two men over the last few days. One had returned, an
d she wished the other to make his presence felt.
As he stirred from his slumber, she knelt by his side of the bed and patiently, with head bowed, waited for her Master to wake.
Chapter 22. Dancing for Him
Day Thirteen
“Tell me about Ted.” Jason reclined in his leather chair, wearing cut-off jeans and his “Dare Me” sweatshirt, reclaimed from his wife’s clutches. She had confessed to sleeping in it during his absence.
Captain McKenzie grimaced, running a hand through his greying hair. He sat on one of the suede couches near the desk while Lubinsky stood by the door. The man’s straight-backed military mode reminded him of his own bodyguard back home—the stance he adopted when he had something incendiary to tell Jason.
“Ted is nothing more than a laddie,” said the captain. “Likeable and experienced at what he does. Fancies himself a lady’s man. We all knew this…his harmless banter, trying to impress the rest of the crew. Your wife took offence to his stupid boasting on Tuesday and refused to go on a boat with him. I, foolishly, saw it purely as loose-tongued, inappropriate behaviour on Ted’s part. My Navy background to blame for that. I should have taken the matter more seriously.”
“Go on.” Jason had not seen the captain twitch so much before.
“Enrique came and found me,” pitched in Lubinsky. “Late yesterday afternoon, after I had returned from your wife’s sightseeing tour of the city, he insisted I find Ted and keep him in his cabin until Enrique had spoken to the captain. The young man was with his boats. Very excited, full of himself. I don’t think he had any idea how much trouble he was going to be in. It was only when he was summoned to Captain McKenzie’s room that he became withdrawn.”
The captain continued. “Enrique had informed me that while your wife slept on the sundeck, under the canopy, Ted had, well, to be blunt, had a wank. Masturbated while she slept. Enrique saw him standing over his mess.”
Jason threw back his seat. “Lubinsky, get the boy now!”
Lubinsky stood still, tucking his hands behind his back. “He’s no longer on the boat.”
“Maria said—”
“He was in his cabin,” clarified McKenzie, “but I had him taken off early this morning. Sacked and disgraced, he is currently sitting in a cheap hotel room, waiting for a flight back to the UK. I didn’t think it was appropriate to abandon him without passage home. Beyond that—”
It was Jason’s turn to interrupt. “Find Enrique.”
The security officer quickly exited.
“I’m very sorry, Mr Lucas.” McKenzie wrung his hands. “I had no idea he was capable of such an indecent act. Enrique, not wishing to wake or alarm your wife, waited for him to back off and leave the deck. He had to clean up the decking. Not a happy man.”
“She made no mention of this last night.” Jason stood hands on his hips. “She doesn’t know. I’m sure of it.”
The image of her waking to find a man masturbating in her presence would have terrified her. Too similar to a mental picture she would have recalled of another man who had once stood over her with a keen erection in his hand while she sank into unconsciousness.
The arrival of Enrique led to a repeat of the events, with Jason questioning in detail what had happened.
“I could have interrupted him before he had finished, but I feared to wake her, señor. After you said she suffered with the traumatic syndrome, and in your absence....”
“No, you did the right thing. Thankfully, she is generally a heavy sleeper. Are you absolutely sure he didn’t lay a finger on her?”
Enrique grimaced. “Well, one hundred percent, no, but I wasn’t left with the impression he did. She was undisturbed and covered.”
McKenzie fidgeted nervously. “Lubinsky kept guard over the stairwells and the boy’s cabin until arrangements were made to expel him.”
Jason dismissed Enrique and Lubinsky then returned to his seat with a deep sigh. “I will go speak to the boy.”
McKenzie frowned. “I know the kind of man you are, Mr. Lucas. I’m not an innocent. The world of gay men is full of Doms and subs, subtle or overt. I won’t stand for the boy to be hurt in anyway. He is under my protection, and if you wish to press criminal charges, I am happy to arrange for it to be done. However, the news of….”
“I understand, Captain.” He admired the man’s honesty. “I’ve no desire to sully my own yacht’s status as a charter vessel. I have no plans to hurt him, McKenzie. Merely to question him. You have to appreciate that, though my techniques may not be to your liking. As you probably are aware, we Doms like to humiliate. I don’t intend to lay a finger on him. I want to hear him confess and give me an explanation of his behaviour. That is all. As for charges, I will consider my options.”
***
Jason bounded up the stairs. He felt energised by his lingering anger towards Ted. He could control it—he generally did—but his undiminished ire tested his resolve. The temptation to give the boy a hard time remained strong. He had to find out the truth. Had Ted touched his wife?
Walking swiftly down the hotel corridor, he identified the room number and banged on the door with the flat of his hand.
The cheap hotel had no spy holes so Jason had the advantage. The moment the door opened, he stuck his foot in the gap and wedged it there. The face of Ted appeared briefly. The look of shock visible, eyes wide and jaw dropping. Jason shoved the door open wider.
“Shit,” gasped the panicking Ted, who scampered backwards, almost stumbling.
Jason leant back. The latch clicked.
Ted stood by the unkempt bed. Jason gave him a quick survey, reminding himself what the crewman had to offer the ladies.
A dark-haired young man. Strong in the shoulders from hauling rope, oars, and other marine paraphernalia about. A pretty-faced boy with grey eyes and droopy eyelids. He stood with his shoulders stooped, hands clasped tightly in front of his crotch as if knowing he was vulnerable. Sweat darkened his armpits, the smell of cold, anxious perspiration filled the room. His grubby trousers, worn at the knees, and frayed laces hung about his trainers. Not a man to take care of his appearance. The relaxed confidence he had shown on the launch boat had vanished.
“Do you know why I’m here, Ted?” Jason wandered farther into the room, ignoring the cheap décor. He noted discarded sweet wrappers and biscuit crumbs on the table. He didn’t touch anything.
“No, sir.”
“Oh, I seriously doubt that. You were caught wanking in the presence of my wife—”
“She was asleep—”
“Cut the crap. You’ve got a pathetic, needy dick, and I want to know why you did it. Is that all you plan to do, or were you going to—”
Ted wrung his hands. “Please, sir. I’m very sorry.”
“Sorry for what, Ted? Tell me.”
“For...with your wife.” Ted tugged on his T-shirt, dragging it down.
“Say it! Go on. For masturbating over my wife!” Jason loomed over him. His anger remained, but something about the crewman’s bearing halted him.
Ted sobbed. “For wank...masturbating over your wife. I’m very sorry....”
The young man disintegrated. A spectacularly rapid breakdown that took Jason by surprise. Curled up on the floor, Ted clutched his belly as if in pain. He cried uncontrollably, repeated his apologies in tear-drenched sobs. The anguished man tore at his hair and wailed incoherently Then, suddenly, he regained clarity. He pounded a fist on the floor with each statement.
“I’m a shit, sir. A fucking piece of shit. Worthless piece of shit. Good for nothing. Not even a decent fuck....”
Jason stepped back and wondered if the words Ted ranted were really being addressed to him or an invisible person in the room. Rarely thrown off course, he hesitated, uncertain how to handle the situation. Women in such a state, he would hug and hold, but a man he didn’t know, especially a virtual stranger, how to respond? The lack of instinct flummoxed him. He had come to the hotel to chastise and berate Ted. He had wanted to pun
ish him. Sometimes he struggled to contain his sadism, his desire to humiliate. Now, he regretted his intention. Gemma’s recovery from rape often reminded him people didn’t always act rationally when afraid or provoked.
After several minutes, the self-inflicted haranguing stopped spewing out of Ted’s mouth. Jason helped him sit up. He filled a glass of water, using the bathroom sink, and offered the drink to Ted’s trembling lips. After a few sips, the crewman pushed the glass away. Putting it on the table, Jason fished out his handkerchief and wiped Ted’s tear-streaked face. He made no comment as he pieced the boy back together again. Ted remained on the floor, his legs shaking ferociously.
Jason perched on the edge of the bed. “All right? What was that all about?” He waited. The nature of his collapse continued to surprise Jason. People often lost their nerve before him, rambled or stumbled over their words, but not to the extent of an emotional breakdown.
“I don’t know,” muttered Ted, his eyes darting about the room.
“How old were you when you lost your virginity. Fourteen, thirteen?” Jason raised an eyebrow when Ted shook his head at the two ages.
“Twelve, sir.”
“That’s very young. Tell me how that happened.” He spoke as if to a novice submissive, coaxing, reassuring.
“I was in care. My parents split up when I was a baby. Dad vanished. Mum, drugged up, nicking stuff, never had the time for me, often in prison, too. So, I went to a children’s home. I had a friend who visited his mum from time to time. Nobody bothered with me. I went with him. She was…the one. I went on my own one day, and after…you know…she cooked me tea. I hated the care home food. I was always hungry, ravenous. I liked her cooking.” He smiled for the first time since Jason had entered the room then it quickly vanished.
