Judged by Him (2 page)

Did Jason intend to test Gemma’s declaration she wasn’t a bisexual in any capacity? He had always been adamant about not sharing or loaning her out; however, he had made those claims in the context of men. Would he have Maria on board purely to taunt or tempt Gemma into giving in and letting her be used by a woman?

Her lack of interest in women had no deep-seated reasons. At school, she’d had predominately female friends and likewise at university. Like all teenagers and young women, they’d talked excessively about sex and relationships. They’d bitched and teased each other.

When she had turned thirteen, she’d had her first serious snog with a speckled boy and suffered his halitosis. He had stuck his tongue in her mouth when their lips had barely met. Gemma had told all her schoolmates she had a fantastic French kissing session with him and tried hard to make the frivolous girls envious of her. In the end, many of her so-called friends weren’t her real friends. They quickly got jealous of her good looks and sexually gregarious nature. By the time her school days ended, Gemma had amassed a core of three companions who weren’t judgemental about her behaviour or competitive about boys.

In her daily school life, she had been constantly followed around by a pack of panting, lanky, sex-obsessed adolescents, whom she suspected of secretly placing bets on who would have her first. She’d held out for some considerable time before the inevitable happened.

Guy would never be a hunk. He had been a bony, skinny young man, who relied on charm and a rather pathetic moustache. Why she fancied him had been lost in the backwaters of her memory. Probably because she craved sex. Her sex drive had been switched on the moment her periods started. Seeing pictures of copulating humans in her biology textbook enthralled and made her tingle inside, right in her belly. By the time Guy came along, she was fully developed, curvy, and well versed in the theoretical intricacies of sex.

Their brief affair had lasted one night. Not only had he shown no interest in her gratification, he promptly fell asleep, leaving her rather taken aback and disgruntled. She had wondered whether she should have given more on her part.

Instead, she had learnt to masturbate, at home, in bed. She had read reams of romantic fiction, leafed through women’s magazines about sexual dissatisfaction, and secretly perused
Joy of Sex
in the corner of the library, stuffed between the pages of a large atlas.

At no point in her sexual education had she thought about girls. Her own sex organs she accepted as part of her and necessary, but she didn’t feel a burning desire to plonk a mirror between her legs and gawp in amazement. She liked to masturbate, yet couldn’t imagine doing it to another woman. The image of Guy’s penis lingered, and she had built bigger, better ones in her mind. Visions of titanic, godlike men standing over her with enormous erections poised and her legs quivering underneath.

“Put it in me!” she would shriek in her head.

Feeling sordid and disappointed by the experience, Gemma hadn’t boasted of her deflowering to any of her friends. Instead, they had styled each other’s hair and make-up, bought clothes at the flea market, and walked arm-in-arm down the streets, talking brashly about absolutely nothing of consequence.

When Gemma started university, she had met new men of all ages, not just immature youths. Each new acquisition in the bed department had improved her technique and style. What had been lacking was romance and emotional connections. She’d failed dismally to have a real boyfriend, an admirer to show off to her parents. Her sexual encounters had rarely lasted beyond a handful of dates.

She’d been tactile and needy from the outset of her sexual awakening. Her breasts a wonderful playground, she had offered them keenly as soon as a man had his hand down her front. She liked the feel of strong hands holding her tight, pinning her underneath. On all fours was joyous, having herself pulled on and off a good-sized cock.
Do this, do that. Stand there. Bend over.
Men who simply got on with the deed liberated Gemma.

She enjoyed romantic kissing and cuddling, but to fire her boiler to its highest setting, she had to be taken. A conquest. Their faces when they’d watched her respond instantly to their instructions had been delightful to see. She had seen satisfaction, pleased expressions, and heard their grunts, exertions, and final climaxing cries. A man skilled in how to use his body parts effectively, capable of splendid acts, hit her erogenous zones every time.

Guy’s whimper had long been forgotten.

By her final year of study, she’d run out of sexual steam. Nothing set the fireworks off anymore. From then on, she had shifted into increasingly masculine areas of work or pleasure. By the time she’d graduated and started employment in the antiquated bookshop on a nondescript back street, she was lonely, undisciplined in thoughts, and fantasising about ever more unorthodox forms of sex. She shouldn’t have been the least bit surprised when the grey-haired gentleman, who owned the shop, had asked her to bend over his desk and let him spank her. The moment of hesitation had been fractional, barely a second. Gemma crossed the threshold and moved on in her personal journey until it led her to Jason Lucas, multimillionaire CEO, her one-time boss and now her eternal lover.

Maria wouldn’t be touching her between the legs. Gemma’s body wasn’t on offer for sex from anybody, regardless of gender. Jason’s definition of sexual play didn’t reassure her in the slightest though. There were plenty of other ways to be used by man or woman without penetrative intercourse. Jason claimed the couple were there as servants. Not that he would lie, but he was very capable of manipulating her into thinking they were for something else and letting her be led from there. Unconvinced by his little handmaiden lecture, some decisions had to be hers.

In his past, Jason had engaged in ménages with more than one woman. He hadn’t told her the details; however, Gemma had extracted rudiments from Judith, her submissive friend and confidante. After several glasses of wine, Judith would openly let loose about his early years. Jason had been right when he had told Gemma his history was off limits. Judith’s stories illustrated extreme adventures in brinkmanship and sexual deviancy involving voyeurism and orgies.

Gemma hadn’t anything to compete on that scale. The sordid parties she had attended were mild in comparison. Whatever he had up his sleeve for the next three weeks, she would keep her husband focused on her and not give him the chance to involve servants.

Her meandering recollections were interrupted. Boats and masts came into view, a flotilla of moored boats, bobbing up and down on the surface. Sizes and shapes changed as they drove around the perimeter of the marina. People milled around, tourists and locals, intermingled and colourful. Gemma turned to Jason. His blond hair framed his pleasant face.

“Which one?” she asked. “There are so many!”

“Babe, the ones you are looking at are small fry. Cast your eye wider afield.” He grinned and pointed out the window.

An enormous luxury yacht occupied the farthest jetty. The biggest vessel in the marina by a considerable margin. Dwarfing its neighbours. White, sleek as if aerodynamics had been built into its design.

“No!” Palpitations rose into her throat. “All that for two of us?”

“Just for us. Though it’s chartered for up to twelve guests.”

“It’s ridiculously extravagant for two people.”

“Wait to you see the inside, Gemma. You’re going to swoon!” He laughed.

“Are you going to tell me what she’s called now?”

Jason whispered in her ear, “
Sublime
. She’s called
Sublime
.”

Her face flushed.

The cold air between them quickly thawed, and she was glad. Gemma didn’t want to start their cruise with the lingering emotions of a Jason punishment.

Opulent, extravagant, and luxurious. Numerous descriptive words entered Gemma’s head. She had boarded a 200-foot long floating palace.

They went through to the main deck and the communal salon, complete with grand piano and gigantic TV screen. Gilded door frames. Shiny glass facades and mirrors. White marble floors. Pearwood finishing. Halogen lights dazzled. Soft furnishings of cream leather or suede. Simple decorative cushions neatly aligned on the upholstery. Glass-topped tables and a tropical fish tank…. Some of the features she had been able to assimilate in the few brief minutes before she was introduced to the assembled crew.

The majority dressed in white shirts and navy shorts. The yacht’s team of officers, in navy trousers and jackets, lapels and cuffs striped according to rank, stood at the head of the line.

Crikey
,
I’ve joined the Navy
.

Jason introduced the man with the most stripes as Captain Mark McKenzie. His Scottish accent was a welcome discovery for Gemma.

“A pleasure to see you, Mrs Lucas.” He shook her hand warmly. “Allow me to introduce the rest of your crew.”

Down the line he went. Chief Officer, Ludo Savage. An American, Gemma guessed from his accent.

Chief Engineer. Gemma heard only Kevin and lost the surname in her head.

“Essential for keeping a boat afloat, Mrs Lucas,” informed Captain McKenzie jovially.

Head Chef Dario, short and very Spanish. He bowed slightly to her. Do not argue with a chef, her mother had told her.

“Señora.” Lips parted to reveal a toothy grin.

“Chief Steward Esteban Soto is in charge of supplying the vessel and providing you with anything you wish. Think of him as the concierge of your voyage. He is also trained in advanced first aid.” Captain McKenzie indicated a middle-aged, slightly balding Spanish man.

“Anything you need, Señora, I will find for you!” he claimed.

There followed the second officer and engineer, a sous-chef and the boson Ted—who was young, British and spoke with a lilting, broad Devonshire accent.

“I help with the motor launches, Mrs Lucas, the Jet Skis, snorkelling, and scuba diving. All the water sports. I’m also responsible for the lifeboats and safety equipment on-board.”

“Hopefully, I won’t be requiring your expertise in launching the lifeboats, Ted.” Gemma shook his hand; his jaw dropped slightly when she smiled.

Two deckhands, Modesto and Gaspar, the boat’s dogsbodies, helping to keep everything spick and span.

The last two in the lineup were a swarthy-skinned couple smartly dressed in black shorts and white T-shirts and, for them, Captain McKenzie stood to one side.

“Enrique, Maria. Delightful to see you both again. It’s been too long,” said Jason with sparkling eyes. They had accompanied him on previous voyages. Her husband had told her no more about their past relationship with him. “My wife.”

She took their hands, each one in turn, with a single, swift shake.

“Señora Lucas.” In Maria’s low voice swam a soup of American and Mexican Spanish, blurred and unique. A pretty woman in her early thirties, dark hair tied back and height equivalent to Gemma’s.

“Maria.” Gemma gave a slight nod of head.

Enrique was perhaps in his forties and therefore older than Gemma had imagined. Short and stocky, muscular arms with small tattoos, sharp brown eyes, and an unfortunate small scar down one side of his strangely handsome face. Another set of Jason eyes, noted Gemma with a quickening of her heartbeat. .

“Señora. Señor. Welcome aboard. Your stateroom is all prepared for you. I’m sure you would like to partake in some refreshments when they are ready. Maria and I will assist you with your unpacking.” His English was perfect in execution and grammar, his accent similar to Maria’s. A foreigner only in the execution of the language, not in its richness.

“Thank you, Enrique. Captain.” Jason faced the crew. “Thank you for the warm welcome. I’m sure you have much to do before we depart tomorrow. I will leave you to your tasks while I give my wife a tour.”

Gemma sighed in relief. Formalities dealt with, she couldn’t wait to see the rest of the yacht.

The crew dispersed quickly, leaving Gemma and Jason in the main salon.

“Wow!” She put her hand to mouth and twirled on the spot with glee.

“Gemma, come on.” Jason caught her arm and led her farther into the yacht. “These are the guest quarters. Ours are on the deck above. Let me show you around.”

The decor remained uniform throughout the yacht. Spotlessly clean, no smudges, scuffs, or marks adorned the pristine interior. Everything shone brightly, finished with elegance and refinement.

The main deck housed the gym, spa room, and galley. The main galley was situated in the midst of the deck, and the chef nodded when Gemma stuck her head round the door.

A dining salon with a metallic table and a dozen mahogany chairs, generously padded in white. At the bow of the deck were four compartments and, at the farthest stern point, the bridge with the captain’s cabin.

“Enrique and Maria have one of these compartments. Leo has another,” Jason indicated as they strolled past the rooms.

They had discussed the security arrangements during the flight. Leo Lubinsky was the chief security officer for the three weeks. Jason’s usual bodyguard and security chief, Martinson, had taken an extended break, and Lubinsky, an ex-Navy SEAL with plenty of experience as a bodyguard and surveillance expert, came highly recommended. His sidekick, Jean Dufour, was a French Canadian who had previously been in the Canadian Mounted Police amongst other security jobs. Meeting the men at the airport, Gemma had thought the pairing made a formidable team: hard muscles, inscrutable faces, and ears incorporating the ubiquitous communication devices.

Jason had already warned Gemma there would be armaments on board the vessel and, where the local laws permitted, both guards would be armed when on shore. Gemma had shrivelled at the idea of armed bodyguards, something forbidden under UK laws as only government agents could carry weapons. Were they facing a greater threat, or was the precaution purely because, away from England, they were allowed to be armed? She dare not ask in case the answer scared her.