Chapter 4
"Frankly, I have no idea what will happen to me once I hit the Continent," Sabrina Moore was saying. She smiled at him over the glass she was twisting between her hands. "I do have the place on the Cote d'Azur if I care to go--but I rather think it will be terribly dull there."
"The place?" Roger echoed, not really listening, trying to smother his bubbling impatience. A sort of hypnotic spell had come over him, somehow, leaving him numbly incapable of making a forward or backward move. He had to wait for Sabrina.
"Oh, it's just a big villa that I managed to acquire during my travels. It isn't much, but I like it. Then there's the apartment in Paris--costs me a fortune and I don't get to stay in it more than a few weeks a year. Still, I suppose it's worth it to have someplace to land whenever I do get there. Hotels in Paris can be awfully crowded at times."
Roger was impressed. Here was a person who had every right to be a kept woman, but who retained an amazing independence. The fact that she had her own havens and hideaways to go to was ample proof of that. She evidently didn't have to depend upon handouts or charity or luck to figure out where she might wind up spending the night.
And it was doubly encouraging to know that she wasn't likely to tap him for a loan---or worse yet, to try to set a price on their inevitable relationship. What it meant, ultimately, was that she was genuinely interested in him.
Sabrina sat in the armchair that slanted back so steeply that her crossed knees were nearly on a level with her head. The position contorted her body onto a delightful series of curves. Each was more stimulating than the next: breasts awry, the slope of her belly, the uptilted thighs, the revelation of slim ankles and tiny feet beneath the hem of the gown.
"Of course," she went on quietly in that husky, throaty tone, "there's always the possibility that my agent will land me a job that I can't afford to pass up. In that case"--shrugging the nude shoulders--"well, I'm stuck. And my whole vacation goes up in a puff of smoke."
"Might it happen?" Roger was feeling increasingly uncomfortable at the nearness of the girl. Glass in hand, he was balanced on the edge of the bed and fighting the roll of the vessel. Inside him there was an ever-mounting tension. Even his wife, with all her angelic beauty, couldn't bring on this kind of excitement.
"In this business," the girl said wearily, "anything can happen. And I've learned to take it in stride. I never know when I'll be asked to do the unexpected."
Roger nodded as though he had just heard a world-shaking opinion. With some difficulty he rose and walked to the chair and stood above it, looking down at the delectable creature, down at her face and past her face into the fleshy meadow of her bosom. He saw now that only the strapless garment pinioned those lush breasts, that the slightest tug on the topmost part would let them billow out into his gaze.
Sabrina reached up and drew her fingertips over his hand. His own fingers leaped excitedly --and then he could no longer hold back. He had to do this. Clawlike, his hand went out to pull at the top of the gown. For an instant it remained firm. Then, with a reluctant sigh, it gave way and collapsed.
The expression on Sabrina's face did not change as she was abruptly naked to the waist. "Mmmm, so impulsive. You're the kind of man who takes what he wants, I see."
It was a novel notion, really, but Roger grabbed at it. "Yes. And I want you."
With astonishing ease, she lifted herself out of the chair and slipped into his arms. Even through the thickness of his coat and shirt he could feel the inherent warmth of her body. Her flesh seemed to hiss as it slid against him. To combat the roll of the ship, she had to stand with her feet planted wide apart, stretching the fabric of her fabulous dress drum-tight across the voluptuous breadth of her hips.
"Remember," she whispered in his ear, "this doesn't in any way make me yours."
"Huh?"
"You know what I mean. I'm a free soul when it comes to things like love and lovemaking. So I'll be perfectly happy to remain your friend-- just as long as you don't start becoming possessive. Can you understand that?"
The rolling floor threw her against him and they clung together tightly. For one of the few times in his life, Roger knew what it was like to have a woman offer her body completely to him. And it was incredibly thrilling.
"We'll get along," he mumbled thickly. "I've got a wife, you know. And a reputation. So if you behave, well, many things may be possible between us."
Hearing his voice say the words was like eavesdropping on someone else's conversation. Some stranger, perhaps. Could this be Roger Martin?
Sabrina stepped back, regarding his face with just a hint of amusement. With deft movements of her hands she rid herself of the clinging dress. Her nylon stockings stayed in place, held by detachable garters inserted into loops on the borders of her panties. Then she was standing before him clad only in the three pieces, with nary a stitch above her waist.
Roger's brain went into a slow spin. She was even more alluring than he had imagined.
With a kind of feline insistence she forced him back to the bed. The edge of it met his knees, bucking them under. And then she was on him, hungrily, going after him with an uncanny knowingness that rendered him helpless, immersed in a drugged suspension. It was a happy suffocation of his senses, leaving him surrounded only by the heady perfume of her sensuality. She enticed him with a maddening cleverness. Her mouth was a cavern of warmth and wetness, her limbs spongily supple.
He had never had it this good.
And there was much to come, he knew. Oh, so much. This woman actually wanted him!
The ship plowed onward into the night. By now even the rankest of landlubbers knew that the Siwanoy had finally passed beyond the sheltering protection of Long Island and was churning through the wilderness of the Atlantic where the waves and swells beat at the hull endlessly as if endeavoring to swamp the craft. Now the bow rose high against the dark sky, higher and higher, then stopped, hung for a long instant and quickly dipped far into the shallow depths of its trough. Perhaps a watcher would not have been able to recognize any forward motion, only up and down but it was there just the same, with the powerful engines giving impetus to the shaft which in turn spun the three-bladed-propeller. Imperceptibly the vessel churned ahead--eastward--away from one continent, toward another.
And inside the rolling, tossing ship Roger Martin also rolled and tossed. As though--like the vessel--he too was trying to leave something and achieve another. Shudders seized him. He was in the midst of a transition that could well alter his way of life. And yet, surprisingly enough, he was not in the least bit afraid. Quite the contrary, in fact.
In such ecstasy how could there be fear?
Roger introduced the head of his dripping and throbbing penis to the curly hair-fringed nest that was revealed in her cleavage, the warm, moist opening seeming to purse its lips outward to receive him like a sucking kiszzzzz... and to draw him into her until the shaft was entombed within her body. He began working it in and out and, in a matter of moments, his passion had lofted him to a level of pleasure that was akin to pain in its fierce intensity. Then the ship rolled, the resulting heave causing him to plunge even deeper into her in a pulsing flood. The pumping action of his penis caused some of it to slush out of her brimming cunt, where their bodies met, now there was a wet and sticky area.
"Ah!" Sabrina sighed, straightening her body and turning her face for an awkward kiss. "What a perfectly lovely fuck!"
"Must you use that word?"
"It's the perfect word for it. What else could describe such a lovely sensation? Hmmmm? Can't think of one, can you?"
"Not at the moment. Never mind."
He looked down between their bodies at her breast. "Lovely," he said. "Nothing as pretty as that should ever be hidden."
Sabrina lifted herself to kiss him sweetly but fleetingly on the lips then, straightening, she thrust her ripe tit against his mouth. Her hand crept down and played with his cock, probing into its softness.
He placed his lips on the rose-colored nipples of her breasts and Sabrina sighed contentment. He kissed her lips again, tasting their tremulous sweetness.
Now his cock was in a velvety, steel-hard erection again, under her fondling. He slid wetly back into her.
"Ah, ah! All the way, that's it!" Sabrina cooed.
He held himself up from her on his elbows, bending his head to look at her and fully savor the perfection of her writhing torso and twisting limbs, feeling the warmth of her inner body, welling his ego with the warm juices of her increasing excitement and the scent of her musk stained the air of the small cabin, going to Roger's head like perfumed wine. The tightness of her pussy was a strong hand on his cock, caressing and milking it and sliding wetly up and down on it.
He was feeling the wonderful, terrible tension building up in his loins again, and his mind was approaching another sea, swept up momentarily out of reality and into space-time dimension of total passion.
Rolling with the ship, rolling with Sabrina's body...
Both her hands squeezed down between their bodies and toyed gently with his scrotum as she rolled his testicles between careful fingertips, coaxing a full load forth this time, urging him on, driving him mad.
Mouth-to-mouth, they both let out a scream of pure joy...
The cabin became quieter and quieter as their breathing subsided. He could feel her and smell her in the room, and yet it was like she wasn't there, that this was all a strange and pleasant dream. It had all happened so fast. His mind skipped guiltily back to Vicky, foolishly picturing her waiting up on the deck for her drink.
He'd have to think up a dandy excuse this time... and he really should get this woman out of the cabin... fast!
... But her body was so warm under him...
The compulsion of ambition was strong in Larry Stevens. His head reeled from the effect of Patrick Doyle's offer. The dreams of glory which had so often afflicted him in the past seemed on the verge of being realized. A commission--imagine! A commission to design a house.
For a time he remained by himself on the deck, parking in a deck chair or restlessly pacing to the rail, unable to sit still. He was even unable to appreciate the beauties of the night-- all kinds. There were stars in the sky and there were young girls and mature women who strolled along, seemingly oblivious that, in such a setting, they were excruciatingly attractive, the wind snatching at their clothing, blowing their hair willy-nilly. They were without meaning to him, so dimmed were his eyes by the splendid fantasies in his fevered mind.
Not until two of the passengers appeared on his left and commenced a discussion was he brought down to earth again. About to leave the rail and go to his cabin, he caught a glimpse of them, both women. His heart flipped. The girls at the table. Tricia Goode and her blonde companion.
They had not noticed his presence yet. He debated whether he should slip away and get back to his cabin or stay, on the outside chance of introducing himself. Finally, making himself as inconspicuous as possible, he decided to remain.
"Lee, how can you?" the young one was saying. "How can you possibly condemn all men?
In spite of what happened to me, I'll be the first to admit that not every male is a louse. Just because one betrayed me doesn't mean that all those other millions are exactly the same."
Straw-hued hair flew in the breeze. "Well, personally I think I've had a large enough sample to make the judgment. Certainly larger than what you've had. And I claim that if a man gets the chance he will try to hurt you. Or even destroy you."
"Are you destroyed?"
"No--yet I have only luck to thank for it. And also, well, I've been strong. I've had to make myself strong. In a primitive way--like an animal in the jungle."
"But didn't you ever figure that your very strength and independence might scare men off?"
"What the hell do I care?" the older woman snapped. "I wouldn't want them anyway."
The words precipitated a silence that hung in the air around the deck. All that could be heard was the rush of the waves. Spray shot high, turning the atmosphere salty. Larry wanted to move but was afraid of being noticed.
"Aren't you lonely?" Tricia inquired gently.
The one called Lee appeared momentarily thoughtful. "No, not really. Men aren't everything. I have my work at the school. I travel. I meet new people--which, when you understand that I'm in no danger of getting emotionally involved, gives me a great advantage over them.
That is," she added, "in some cases."
"What do you mean--in some cases?"
"Too difficult to explain," Lee said curtly. "I'll tell you about it some day." Then, in a casual tone, "Has that young chap made a pass at you yet?"
"Hmm? What young chap?"
"The one in the dining room. Sitting with Patrick Doyle. I thought he was going to eat you up right there."
Larry's ears tingled.
"I--I don't know what you're talking about," Tricia said in a voice that practically admitted she did know.
"Come, come," Lee chided. "Or don't you care, either?"
This confused the girl, and her attempts to clarify the issue almost made Larry laugh out loud.
"Of course I care. I mean I don't care, but-- now don't snicker, Lee, I'm serious. You've got it all wrong. I care that he looked at me, naturally, but the way I'm feeling right now, well, it just couldn't matter less."
"But you remembered, didn't you?"
"Why shouldn't I? We did look at each other and..." Tricia's voice broke into giggles. "But you're so right. He did look like he wanted to eat me alive, didn't he?"
Steeped in misery, Larry clung to the rail. The merriment of the pair was a knife in his heart. Did he actually appear that insipid to them? The thought was devastating.
The wretched episode was a veritable nightmare. That was what he got for listening to private conversations. It was time to get out of there, but quick.
And with no attempt to conceal his identity, he stalked down the deck in their direction. As he went by them, he heard their chorused gasp and then a hurried whispering.
Larry said, "Good evening," and went on his way, suddenly feeling much better about the whole thing.