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“Sure, I’ll be in my study.” He disappeared leaving me standing uncertain in the hallway.
What had just happened?
***
Jason picked as the salad leaves. He had barely spoken since he went into his sexual frenzy in the hallway.
“Is there anything wrong with the food?” I was beginning to get concerned.
“No. No. I’m sorry, Gemma. I want to apologise for what I did when we got home. I was glad to be home and have the day go so well. You looked so sexy all day – that new dress is a killer. I didn’t hurt you? I didn’t give you a chance to ready yourself.”
He looked me straight in the face, blue eyes searching my expression.
“No I’m fine, it’s alright don’t worry. I’m glad the day went well.”
A partial lie. It was not pleasant sex that had to be said. Being banged against the wall hurt more than his sudden penetration of me.
“You’re lying. Please don’t lie. You know it pisses me off,” he frowned at me.
“You haven’t hurt me, honestly, Jason.” I spoke with greater conviction. “You know I like it rough. If you were really hurting me I would say my safe-word. You know that.”
I sought out another topic of conversation and my eyes rested on his hands as he held his cutlery. Long fingered with well-trimmed manicured nails, they were strong in grasp and smooth in texture.
“Who does your nails?” I found myself asking.
“Sorry?” said Jason glancing down at his hands.
“You take care of them well. Not typical for a man.” I added.
He seemed faintly embarrassed. A barely perceivable expression, however I was learning to spot them. “I visit a salon every couple of weeks.”
I could not stop the words coming out of my mouth, “a closet metrosexual.”
His face hardened. “I do it for your benefit - do you want your insides scratched out?”
I retracted my facial expressions back to meekness.
“No. I'm always grateful for the care you show me, sir. All of your care.”
His face softened again and I sighed. For a few brief seconds he had revealed a strange presence of narcissism. I was convinced his nails and other parts of his appearance smacked of vanity. No way was I going to push him to find out. I bent down and kissed the back one of his hands. All being said they were a beautiful pair of hands even though they have struck me hard.
The meal completed, Jason stood and walked around to my side of the table, bending down he kissed me on the head.
“I’m going to make it up to you babe. For my hard fuck. Tonight in bed, something for you.” He pulled back my chair and took me by the hand.
Oooo, make up sex - that had to be good.
***
I was pacing the sitting room. My parents were late and I suspected they had got lost trying to find Blythewood. I gave them clear instructions and emailed a map.
Please don’t embarrass me parents!
Jason was surprisingly unperturbed given his hatred of time wasters. His calmness was at odds to my restless state. I hovered in the games room or guest room, which gave me a view of the front drive. Rather pointless activity since the gatehouse would ring when they arrived.
Part of me was excited at the prospect of introducing my parents to Jason. To have them see him in the flesh and to witness their reaction to the house and grounds. I doubted my parents had guessed the true extent of his wealth and probably imagined he lived in a substantial rural property and not the remains of a Victorian stately house.
My mum would not think to check the internet and Google Jason’s name. If she had, she would have found a substantial number of pages dedicated to his businesses and news items from business sources discussing his enterprises. In addition, there were the conjectures about his personal life and opinions. A scantly populated Wikipedia page with a few other links to profile pages. Notoriously private and difficult to interview, Jason remained a public enigma.
