Judged by Him (37 page)

***

In the back of luxurious spacious limo, Jason could see his wife process the information. The realisation of what might have transpired if she hadn’t been watched, protected by others. He thought she was about to faint. Her eyes drifted. She would remember being tricked by a woman before, a precursor to an attempted abduction. He cuffed her face, not hard, but sufficient to bring her back from her memory trail. She jolted, her bleary eyes trying hard to focus. She let out a low sob. A strangely forlorn sound of distress.

Jason quickly displaced his anger. He would not allow her to disassemble in the back of the limo. He pulled her up into his arms and lap, holding her tight in his arms.

“Shhh. It didn’t happen, Gemma. Look at me!” He waited for her lost eyes to find his. “You’re safe. You didn’t drink it?”

“No,” she whispered. “Oh, God. Jason. I...why me? Why is it always me...?” Tears held back, filling the brims.

“Bad luck.” Jason shrugged, trying to comfort her. Something in Gemma’s demeanour told him different. Always, she had struggled to lie to him, to hide her true feelings and inadequacies. Now, yet again, he could see guilt bubbling to the surface of her facial features.

Her pupils flittered. Her lower lip trembled. “I told her…I was on my own.”

He spoke through clenched teeth. “How could you be so idiotic!” He inhaled deeply, trying hard to keep his anger in check.

Gemma rattled off her confession with an air of resignation. “She bought me a drink because I implied I had no cash. I didn’t want her to know about your tab. I was pissed at you for making me put the bra back on. It’s all my fault she picked on me.”

Jason turned away from his wife in disappointment. Through the car window, he could see the waterfront and the illuminated
Sublime
.

Gemma had come clean. She had been unwise and had played into the girl’s hands, making herself vulnerable. The opportunity had been given to trick her, and Gemma hadn’t been innocent as she appeared. Now the truth was out, she would find out what the information meant to him.

“When we get back on
Sublime
, go to the stateroom and wait for me. The police have been called, and Lubinsky has stayed to speak to them. The girl was probably a lure, the bait. She would have taken you somewhere else. The drug added to your drink was probably Rohypnol or GHB. You understand, Gemma? This is what they do. They ensnare women. Once Lubinsky is back, I will deal with you.”

He pushed her off his lap and handed her his handkerchief. Gemma wiped away her tears, sniffling and blowing her nose. His anger had returned for a second time, and it proved harder to keep it at bay.

***

Gemma made her way to the stateroom, ignoring the welcome-back smile from Esteban. His face switched to a neutral expression. He would quickly surmise something bad had happened onshore. Maria joined her as she curled up on the bed in disarray. The groggy maid, summoned by somebody, wrapped in her dressing gown, didn’t question why she had to keep her company. Gemma said nothing to her. She suspected Maria was to report to Jason if she should become excessively anxious or distraught, almost a form of benevolence from him.

Deciding he was going to be some time, she undressed and bathed her tear-streaked face. She took the offered towel and satin dressing gown from Maria then sat staring out the panoramic windows to the docks and commercial areas of Dubrovnik. A long, sprawling city whose bright lights hid its historical turbulent past. She had been so looking forward to exploring the old walled city.

Curled up in an armchair, Gemma waited. It was nearly three in the morning by the time Jason arrived in the room. He quickly dismissed the dopey Maria. Gemma took a deep breath and looked up at him.

Jason placed himself in an armchair opposite his wife, his shirt half-unbuttoned and jacket gone. He noted the glass of half-drunk water on the coffee table and a pile of used tissues. Her makeup had been removed, making her face especially tired with her hollow eyes and her hair hanging loose about her face—tangled strands with no grace or form.

At that precise moment, when Gemma looked at Jason, he had only one wish on his mind. He had struggled to watch her dance, sharing her with the occupants of a nightclub and having men’s eyes ogle her all evening. In the club, he had witnessed yet again her vulnerability when left to her own devices and not simply to the opposite sex, but to her own trusting nature.

If there was a reason why she might easily be victimised, it was because she believed in others more than herself. A beautiful woman who liked attention and wished to be pleasing to others, desperate to be desired and needed. She had forgotten to keep him in her sights and mind. A flaw in her attitude, which had proved dangerous to her safety. She should have been dancing for him all night long, not for a hooker.

His loins ached for her, to claim her back from the clutches of others. Those eager men and temptresses who tried to lure her away from him. Seemingly decent people with wicked intentions to ply her with drugs and sweet talk. His eyes devoured her beauty, and his erection grew rapidly, hardened by her pathetic stance.

Gemma straightened herself up, then she slipped onto the floor, the robe discarded, and crawled to be at his feet. She came towards him, her nudity and silence her consent, her submission.

She looked magnificent, his painted wife. Seducing him with her tanned skin and parted legs, showing her sex right there before him, beckoning to him. Jason knew she had a romantic vision of the night’s endpoint. He loved her, and yet what he wanted was to repossess her. The sexual gratification he needed and the control he demanded all facets of his love for her.

“If you had kept me in mind while you danced as you said you would, you wouldn’t have been tempted away from me.” He let his final words of judgement hang in the air between them.

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.”

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.

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.