Indecent Intent (10 page)

He rolled from her, totally replete. Okay, so she was a high-class hooker and he'd paid big bucks for her, but with two million of them he could afford to treat himself a little – or even a lot.

But, on the other hand, it wasn't two million any more. It wasn't even one million. He had lost heavily at the blackjack table. And as for the roulette… But what the hell; he could still afford to indulge himself if he chose to.

The girl slipped from the bed and moved silkily to the low table in the centre of the luxurious room, and he watched her pick up an exquisite silver tray upon which were laid a silver straw, a knife, and a tiny pile of white powder. Tom eased himself up on his elbows. The very thought of snorting the coke at the same time as the girl did unmentionable things to his cock turned him on, and he grinned as he looked down his body at his thickening prick, feeling proud at how quickly it could revive itself. He had never been such a stud with Gabrielle… but the thought of his wife brought an unexpected lump to his throat.

‘You did say you want me long time, Tom San?' the dusky beauty said, bowing before she reached the bed. Her breasts, though small were exquisitely shaped, with tiny nipples, dark as midnight on her lightly tanned flesh. Her pubic hair was jet-black and oiled to give it an exciting sheen, and the neat sex lips were kept shaved and smooth, creating a delicious contrast of maturity and immaturity. He had fucked her three times already, and could not get over how tight she was, back and front. No one, not even Gabrielle, had ever excited him so much.

‘Long time,' Tom agreed huskily. He wondered about Gabrielle again. Was she all right? Was she being well treated? It was four months now since he had sold her to that creep Verity, but now she was mainly only in the back of his mind, and only then in the odd moments when he wasn't occupied with the Las Vegas girls, gambling, or drinking excessively. He loved his new life, and it certainly beat the shit out of living in that fucking trailer park.

‘Let's snort some coke, babe,' he said, caressing his erection and thinking about the girl's tight cunt.

‘Whatever you wish, Tom San,' she said with another little bow, then placed the silver tray on the bed and with dainty movements separated some cocaine into lines. She looked up, her head on one side, her long black hair swinging over her breasts.

‘I have friend who would not charge very much to join us,' she said in her usual endearing manner.

‘Is she like you?' he asked, giving the lines of white powder a sideways glance. He liked every aspect of the high life – the sex, the coke, everything.

‘She not Japanese, Tom San,' said the girl.

‘But she's sexy?' He picked up the silver straw and placed it to his nostril, relishing the high he knew the substance would give him. It did things to his cock – big things. He grinned and sniffed the white powder and his senses were immediately sharpened.

‘She American, but very beautiful,' said Lia, as Tom lay back and pulled her on top of him. She parted her thighs, her sex poised over his upright cock, its tip just touching and probing her moist folds.

He gripped her slim hips and tried to pull her down onto his erection, but for all her petite build she was strong and resisted his force, tantalizing his throbbing prick.

‘You want my friend too?' she asked.

Tom was gritting his teeth with frustration. ‘Is she tight like you?' It was not true to say he was hooked on coke, but he was definitely hooked on the tightness of her cunt, which hovered so close over his straining cock.

The girl laughed. The sound was like temple bells and she spread her legs even wider so that her soft folds brushed his seeping knob. ‘She tight and she know all kinds of tricks to tempt a man,' she said.

Tom sighed and nodded. If he didn't get his cock inside her wonderful tightness he would surely shoot his load too soon.

‘I go and get her right now,' said the girl and, before he could stop her she was off the bed and slipping into a black satin robe embroidered with dragons. ‘She must have finished with her last friend by now,' she said, walking quickly to the door. ‘She only next door.'

Groaning, Tom rolled over on his front, pushing his turgid cock into the softness of the rumpled bedclothes, seriously considering whether to jerk himself off when the door opened again. He rolled over and sat up, his eyes wide.

‘This friend,' said the Japanese girl.

‘Gabby?' Tom's voice was disbelieving. No, it couldn't be. It was the coke – it had to be the coke. But that lovely red hair, those green eyes, that cute expression and that naturally submissive pose; how on earth had she escaped from Verity?

‘You've come back,' he mumbled. ‘He's sent you back to me.' He clambered from the bed in a slightly ungainly fashion, staggered across the room and pulled her into his arms.

‘If you want my name to be Gabby, sugar,' said the girl, pouting her rouged lips provocatively, ‘that's just fine and dandy by me.'

The southern accent was as thick as molasses and she most definitely was not his Gabrielle, just a poor resemblance to his wife, which made him angry, although he could not put his finger on why. The girl was dressed in very little, her white lace thong and matching bra clinging snugly and sexily to her generous curves.

‘Do you like my friend?' asked Lia, slipping out of her satin robe. ‘We do tricks together, if you wish,' she added in a coaxing tone, sensing the danger of Tom's inner unhappiness and wanting to appease it.

‘Yeah, I do wish.' Tom threw himself back on the bed, hands behind his tousled head and stared up at the canopy of the four-poster bed. ‘I wish you to go fuck yourselves,' he said crudely. He knew it was not the redhead's fault that she wasn't Gabrielle, but he had to take his simmering hatred for Marshall Verity out on somebody – anybody. He did miss his lovely wife. He did not want to admit it and had not admitted it for four months, but he could not believe just how much he missed his lovely wife.

The two girls settled next to him, head to feet, their legs lewdly parted, heads nestled between thighs. Despite his sudden feeling of emptiness, he could not resist watching as they worked on each other, hips gradually moving with increasing urgency as their mutual passions rose. Tom groaned and began to stroke his growing length. He sat up on the bed and stared, heavy-eyed, at the sensually twisting limbs.

The beautiful little oriental girl was on top, her black curtain of hair flowing out over the redhead's thighs. ‘I want to see,' he grunted, grabbed a hank of the silky black hair to pull her head up, and the exposed cunt displayed there was so like Gabrielle's, with its swollen lips and flushed pink folds, open to reveal the erect nub of succulent flesh.

The redhead did not stop licking her friend's sex, nor did she stop thrusting her fingers deep into the darkly flushed channel. Lia gave a little mew of pleasure, which summoned the beginning of her orgasm. Why didn't she make such lovely sounds with him?

Tom thrust two fingers into the redhead. The flushed and swollen flesh closed around them, clutching wetly. He added a third finger. She was so beautifully passive, so receptive, so like Gabrielle. The Japanese girl was twitching in ecstasy and Tom rolled her off the redhead, who lay smiling up at him, coaxing, challenging.

‘You can do anything you like to her,' Lia whispered. ‘She will not mind.'

Tom's simmering disquiet grew. ‘D'you think I'm stupid?' he growled. ‘This is a set up, right? One of Marshall Verity's jokes.'

‘Marshall Verity?' Lia echoed, her almond eyes slanted more sharply as she questioned him. ‘Who is that?' Her inscrutability seemed to be cracking. ‘We do not know a man of that name.' She glanced at the redhead, and Tom thought he saw an unspoken warning in that furtive look.

‘Liar!' Tom hissed, and Lia squealed as she was dragged across his thighs and a fresh volley of slaps rained down thick and heavy and her bottom was again the target for his wrath.

The gleaming white yacht was thirty meters long. It was anchored off Key West and Verity had said earlier that they would set sail for the Caribbean islands first thing in the morning.

Gabrielle leaned over the polished teak rail and gazed at the silver path of the moon's reflection in the calm water. For once she was alone and for once she had no pain, only a numbness of spirit. She wondered what Tom was doing, whether he still had money or whether he was lying in some gutter, drunk and penniless and broken.

Elegant in a long black crepe dress that hugged her slender but shapely figure, she wished she were anywhere but with Verity. She spent every waking moment counting the days to the time when the contract between Tom and her owner expired, even though there were still a little less than six months to go.

Marshall Verity said he admired her more than any girl he had ever owned, but he could not say he loved her. He was incapable of love, she was sure of that. He had a heart as hard and as impenetrable as a diamond. The thought made her fingers drift up to where a diamond choker fitted snugly around her throat. It matched the hoops that pierced her ears and sometimes her labia. Verity said they made her truly his. He said they made her his possession, and his possession alone. Every time she moved when he insisted she wore them, the diamond rings brushed the inner sides of her thighs, touched the engorged bud of her clitoris and made her aware of the vulnerability of her sex with its shaved outer lips. An incredibly wealthy man owned her – she was his plaything for the time being until he tired of her, which he said he never would do, but she was sure he would and felt dreadfully insecure.

Not that she wanted to stay long-term with Marshall Verity – the year would be plenty long enough – but what would become of her when he did move on to pastures new?

And Tom, how did she feel about him now? She was still his wife. They had exchanged marriage vows. They had made crazy passionate love for the four years of their marriage. She smiled wistfully… very
imaginative
passionate love. It made her stomach knot excitedly just to think about it – but the memories also caused her pain.

Choking back a sob she looked down into the velvety dark water, and another wave of misery swept over Gabrielle like a black cloak. She could cope with the sex, the humiliation, the rough treatment by Verity and his insatiable guests, but she just desperately wanted to be free again. There was no one to question or oppose him on
Flying Lady
because she was his private yacht. Her decks were his territory. He could do anything he liked onboard her, and no one dared argue with him.

A sudden night breeze made the rigging in the two masts sing and flap. The night was suddenly cooler, there was a storm brewing, and the sea breeze lifted Gabrielle's gorgeous red hair, blowing it back from her forehead and face, her gown molding to her curvaceous body, clinging to her breasts and hips.

‘Gabrielle…!' It was Verity. She could hardly hear his voice calling for the sound of the waves now chopping against the hull and the wind blowing around her ears.

‘Gabrielle! Are you there? Come down below! There's a storm coming!'

His silhouette was there at the aft end of the deck. She saw the orange glow of his cigar and a tiny shower of sparks as the wind caught the tip. He and some of his friends had been smoking and drinking in the lounge when she'd come up on deck earlier.

The inky-black sea, its anger rising as the wind whipped it up, boiled and churned below her. It seemed to beckon, to lure her into its churning depths…

Gabrielle heard Verity call again.

‘Gabrielle? Where
are
you…?!'

The sea wasn't cold as it closed over her head. It seemed to caress her like a warm blanket, wrapping her in soft, moving folds.

Would her whole life pass before her eyes as she drowned?

She waited for it, to see it, and a sense of peaceful calm came over her.

‘I want Gabrielle,' said Marshall Verity. ‘Where is she?' The wealthy man was wearing a black tie and dinner suit, and he was pacing Susan's small cabin impatiently.

‘Well?' he spat through clenched teeth, stopping and turning to glare down at the lovely female, who sat anxiously on the edge of her low bunk. He had interrupted her shower, and she sat with her hair damp and clinging in attractive tendrils to her forehead, a towel wrapped around her, under her arms and tucked over her breasts, knotted between her cleavage, her knees tight together and her hands in her lap, her fingers twiddling with the hem of the towel, which was tight around her creamy upper thighs.

‘I don't
know
, master,' she insisted desperately. ‘I promise. How long have we been together? Have I ever lied to you?
Would
I ever lie to you?'

‘Well she must be somewhere onboard!' he snapped, his impotence fuelling his rage. ‘She can't just disappear into thin air! And you always were jealous of her – right from the start.'

‘Maybe I was; so what are you saying, master?' Susan challenged bravely. ‘That I've hit her over the head, tied her up and gagged her, and thrown her in the bilges? That I've thrown her overboard, or something? That I've done away with her?'