CHAPTER SEVEN
Sylvia tried to analyze her emotions as she walked out on the wharf toward the waiting motor launch from the Jolly Rogue. She knew she was rapidly approaching a point of no return. Part of her churning uncertainty was Shelton’s fault. He had, quite unexpectedly, once again asked her before they left the hotel, “Are you positive you want to do this?”
She had stared at him, perplexed. “I told you before: that’s why we’re here.”
“And you’re quite prepared to go to bed with Hunt, Reem, and two other men you’ve never seen before? Prepared to let them use your body… two, three, even four of them at a time?”
“Yes!” It was said sharply, and in a tone of voice that requested him to drop the subject.
Shelton was persistent. “One more question, and I’ll leave you alone!”
“Well?”
“Would you, even though… ah… suppose you don’t like the two men?
“I don’t care terribly much for Ed baby, or Sam; neither is exactly what I call my cup of tea.”
“But you’d do it to get revenge?”
She was exasperated. How many times did she have to tell him! Her voice indicated her anger, “Tod, you’re not that dense. I’ve told you at least twice now that revenge is the only I repeat… the only reason I intend to go through with this. I’ll do anything to humiliate Bruce.”
He had sighed. “Okay. End of subject. You’re over twenty-one.”
Still, though, the conversation had disturbed her. She knew he had been trying to say something important; his real meaning had eluded her.
She abruptly put it out of her mind when she heard Sally’s shrill voice calling from the landing, “Over here, Sylvia… Tod! Yoo-hoo!” Sally waved frantically to get their attention. She was wearing a pair of black matador hip-huggers so tight that they looked as if they had been painted on her. For her top, she wore a button less, black silk, long sleeve blouse that was tied just under the breast. Obviously, she was not wearing a bra.
Sylvia heard Tod’s low whistle of admiration, and for a second she was jealous.
Ed Hunt’s boisterous laughter boomed out, and he shouted loudly enough for tourists to turn around and stare, “Hey… come on. The booze is getting hot… and the broads are cooling off”
Sam’s giggle cut through the air like a jackal’s bark.
Sylvia climbed down the ladder to the skiff She still had six rungs to go when she felt Hunt’s hands cup her hips and his voice say, “Okay, I’ve got you.” His fingers were digging unnecessarily into her full rounded buttocks as he lowered her to the deck. She was surprised at his strength; he had brought her down as lightly as a sack of sugar. Even after he let go, she could still feel the tingling where his hands had been.
Sally gazed enviously at Sylvia; alongside Sylvia’s expensively cut, navy blue cashmere sweater and white raw silk sailor pants, Sally looked slightly cheap. “Gee,” Sally said, blinking her eyes, “Your outfit sure is cute.” Then her eyes shifted to Tod and began glowing with an animal-like intensity. “Hello, there… she said breathlessly.
Hunt seated Sylvia in the front seat between himself and Reem, and indicated Tod was to sit in back with Sally.
Tod still had not settled down when Hunt opened the throttle with a roar, throwing Tod down against the Reem woman. His shoulder scraped across her breast, pulling the skimpy cloth aside. The aureole and half of her left breast was unveiled; she made no effort to pull the cloth back. She merely stared at him, her tongue quivering on her lower teeth as if daring him to bite.
Tod finally got himself adjusted in a comfortable position, and discovered Sally had slid over until her leg was wantonly pressed against his. In the front seat, he could see Sam’s hand slowly and surreptitiously massaging the top part of Sylvia’s shoulder. He was wasting no time, Tod thought, then mentally added as Sally pressed her hip against his, “and neither is she.”
“Where’s everyone else?” Tod asked.
Sally simpered, “They’re all on the boat already.” She put her hand on Tod’s knee and acted as if she were testing the cloth of his trousers. “I just love the feel of good wool, don’t you?” she asked, blinking, and running her hand up and down his leg.
Tod went along with the gag. He put his hand on her leg at mid-thigh. “I like your nylon better.”
She giggled, and then lowered her voice. “So do I; that’s why I’m not wearing anything under them.”
Up front, Sylvia was aware of Sam’s hand moving over her shoulder; she could also feel Hunt’s knee suggestively rubbing against her leg. She was a little frightened… and a little amused. Sam, gaining courage as they got closer to the yacht, dropped his hand until his fingers idly brushed across the tip of her left breast with each movement the launch made. That disturbed her a bit; it wasn’t displeasing, but it seemed rather obvious, so she captured his
hand and held on to it. Hunt snorted, obviously he had been aware of what was going on.
Hunt abruptly swung a wide circle as they approached the yacht. The unexpected swerve of the vessel threw Sally over onto Shelton and, in what seemed to be an accidental attempt to straighten herself, she put her hand in his lap for support. He felt her hand squeeze his prick once, twice, before sitting upright again. “Little girls get into trouble that way,” he said quietly, as his cock stirred out of its sleep.
“I can hardly wait,” she answered, staring directly at him in an unmistakable fashion. Her eyes were really smoldering now, Tod noticed and he knew that Sally, dear little Sally was very impatient for the evening’s entertainment to begin.
Hunt cut all power as they came in alongside the Jolly Rogue, and the motor launch came to a smooth stop right opposite the gangplank. Sam reached out for the mooring rope, and then they were snug against the large vessel.
The sound of stereo music came from the decks, along with laughter from somewhere within the confines of the ship.
“It sounds like they didn’t wait,” Sam said petulantly.
“What the hell, there’s enough for everyone,” Hunt grinned lewdly and stared at Sylvia.
Sylvia climbed up the coconut matted steps to the teak deck. She stared around her. The yacht was much larger than it had looked from a distance. It was in immaculate condition, obviously Hunt thought a lot of it. “I’m impressed,” she told him.
“You should be,” he grunted, “the goddamned thing costs me twenty grand a year for taxes, fuel and mooring fees.”
Sam cackled, “Don’t listen to him, the cheapskate. He writes it all off on taxes.”
“Why, you little son of a bitch… do you want to walk back?” Hunt snarled, rising to the bait.
“Now… now, gentlemen and I use that term loosely,” Liz Hunt said, coming out on deck. She grinned as she saw Sylvia and Tod, and came toward Sylvia with her hand outstretched in greeting. “I’m so glad you came.”
“We’re happy you invited us,” Sylvia said.
“I’m glad they came too,” Sally said, wiggling her eyebrows and flaunting herself against Shelton.
“Sally, darling! Why don’t you go into the cabin and mix yourself a drink,” Liz said through tight lips.
“Ta… ta,’ Sally waved good-bye to Sam and Hunt. She grabbed Tod’s arm, “I’m taking you with me.”
Liz shook her head in mock dismay, sighed, and laughed. “Come on, Sylvia. I’ll show you what the old tub looks like.”
“Hey,” Hunt growled. “That’s my chore. I’m captain.”
“You have duties to do… do them… Captain,” Liz retorted.
Sam cackled again, and was rewarded by a glare and a command from Hunt. “You can help, buster. Get that launch tied up at the stem and for Christ’s sake, do it right this time.”
Sam, grumbling, helped secure the launch to the davits, and a moment later the boat was raised dripping… out of the water.
Sylvia followed Sally and Tod and Liz into the main cabin salon where two women and a man were gathered, singing, around a male playing show tunes on a solid red piano even the keys were red. The luxuriousness of the salon startled Sylvia; she recognized the work of several well-known contemporary artists whose original oil paintings lined one entire wall of the spacious main cabin. The other wall was taken up with a long mahogany bar with eight red leather stools. A round divan about six feet wide was placed in front of a fireplace. The fireplace, she noted, was genuine.