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careful,”
     
    I looked across, but her face hadn’t moved, and her eyes were still down and lost in the shade.
     
    Halfway down the ladder, the boat bucked and pulled out towards the sea. Spray leaned majestically back as she cut her way across the gentle water. My grip on the rail tightened and I held on until the motion settled. Feeling her move, and especially from so high up, I had a sensation of the real size and power of this boat. Boats have never been a particular thing of mine, but such potent force makes a real impression.
     
    Behind us, the great house shrank into the distance.
     
    Someone was driving or piloting Spray, and I wondered who it was. The wheelhouse or the bridge or whatever it was on this kind of a boat, must be fairly high, and facing forward. It wasn’t on or above the skydeck, so I guessed that it must be just below it, above the sunlounge. I looked up, and found windows facing forward and to the sides. That must be it. Through the tinted glass, I could see there was somebody in there, and it looked to be male. That was about all I could make out. In frustration I looked for a way to get there, but I couldn’t see a door and no steps or ladders seemed to lead there on the outside. The head of the silhouette seemed to turn towards me, but he made no acknowledgement, and I still couldn’t see his face. 
     
    On my way back to the galley, I passed the glass doors of the room where I had spent the night. They were locked. Somebody must have locked them since I left. It seemed appropriate. Last night under the stars and the magical moon, I had the run of the yacht, and of her master too, or so it seemed. Now, in the brightness of day, the spell was gone, the dream was gone like a mist, leaving no trace that it ever was there. I was locked out. My access was now quite firmly restricted.
     
    I stood right at the prow, leaning on the rail. Stretching my neck to look straight down, I saw the sea below. The boat had stopped, and I turned to peer up at the windows below the skydeck. There was no-one to be seen at the helm, although through the tinted glass there was no way to be sure. Sea stretched out to the horizon in all directions. The sky was a clear and perfect blue, and a cool breeze softened the heat of the sun. Deep, endless and calm, the blue sea reflected the blue sky and my thoughts drifted. The sound of the water was calm and soothing, we were out of sight of land and on a sleek, fabulous yacht. And I felt utterly miserable. My mind flashed on the uncomfortable picture of Kaysha. The that way I was feeling had a resemblance to the way she had looked, lost and bedraggled, not even covering herself.
     
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    Recollections of last night on deck were never far away, and, hungry for any kind of comfort, I allowed them to wash over me.
     
    His skin and mine, in the cool blue moonlight. The scent of him. The warmth of him. His hot breath in my ear, and on my throat. Between my huge breasts, on my breasts, beneath my breasts, fanning my trembling stomach. His Breath blown through his hot, eager lips. Lips that brushed my hips and brought a huge, wet tongue to my thighs. And up, up to the crease of my buttocks, up to my own hot, quivering lips, parting, wet and yearning. The tongue that met my tongue as our breaths coiled together, ropes wrapping, making knots, breath that made a column from his mouth and into mine, down my throat and through my breasts.
     
    A column of pulsing waves of trembling air, of gathering intent, of sighing need, and hungry want, all the way from my pelvis, fanned upwards by the heat that we could both smell as my lower lips wetted themselves with that perfumed honey to lure him, to call to his mouth, to capture and welcome his tongue along those hot lips, around the charge in my clitoris. Around and around. And then up, firm and urgent, up into the wet heat. Up. Up and in. And up. And in.
     
    The graze of his hair between my hot,