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Jason chuckled, easing back, letting the rest of their juices tickle her inner thighs.
“Bed, Mrs Lucas.” He gave her bottom a hard smack.
Walking away, Gemma glanced back at the window. The imprints of her sweaty hands on the glass made her smile.
Early the next morning, the car took her to Daniel’s nearby hotel then carried the pair of them north to Connecticut and their daylong meeting. By the time she returned to the apartment that evening, she was exhausted, tripping over her own feet in the hallway. Jason ordered takeaway, and she filled him in on the day’s events. The meetings had been a great success, and Daniel was happy to move the process further, enter into due diligence, and expose his company to a detailed inquisition.
The next morning, Jason went to his New York head office to negotiate a new acquisition while Gemma visited numerous galleries, accompanied by their regular American bodyguard, Amando. His familiar presence was a blessing as she plucked up the courage to speak to various owners and gallery concierges about their experiences. They were very friendly, forthcoming, and helpful. She finished the day filled with ideas.
Jason tracked her down at the final gallery to collect her. Excited and ignited with creative passions, she regaled Jason with her adventures on the way to the airport. On the flight back, without Daniel, who had travelled a day earlier on a commercial flight, Jason took her to the private cabin, and they made love before sinking into a deep sleep.
***
Sitting on the toilet seat in their en-suite bathroom, Gemma kept her eyes glued shut with trepidation. Unlike a typical Friday morning at the White House, she was up before Jason. It was very early: the birds were still completing their dawn chorus of songs, and the traffic hummed in the background. Usually there was no rush for her to be out of bed—she didn’t work Fridays.
Her leisurely morning routine was to lie in bed as Jason headed off to work then rise to prepare for a weekend at Blythewood House. Not that morning. Nervous and strangely euphoric about something, an intangible part of her blazed with energy even though jet lag had exhausted her. The same excitement Gemma had taken to bed had woken her while Jason remained in a state of slumber. Then it had hit her. She was late, but not for work. Her period should have come in New York, however, she had been too busy and preoccupied to keep track of her ovulation calendar and its predicted dates of conception.
Gemma kept her eyes shut, clutching the pregnancy test stick, not daring to glance down at it.
Please. Please. It was the longest minute of her life.
She bounced on the bed as if on a trampoline.
“Jason. Jason.”
He jumped up, disorientated. “What the—”
She waved
the stick at him. “Look. Look.”
Gemma thrust the white piece of plastic at him. He took it and gazed at the blue word displayed on the side.
“You’re pregnant!” He tossed it to one side and grabbed her. “Well done! My brilliant girl!”
He rolled her onto her back and covered her with kisses. “I knew you could do it!”
“You, too. It takes two,” Gemma reminded him. “I’m pregnant, Jason.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m going to be a mum.”
She wanted to cry. She had to cry. She was that happy.
Chapter 3. Questions
Gemma was glad they’d visited Jason’s parents the previous Sunday, an obligatory requirement following their holiday, where, for the duration of lunch, she had perched on a chair with a sore bottom, the enduring legacy of the evening at the Nightshade Club. She couldn’t imagine sitting there now, across their dining-room table from her in-laws, and keeping her mouth shut. She would have still been in a state of disbelief, as she had been most of Friday. They’d celebrated in the morning with gentle lovemaking, making him late for work. Her reticence at sex would strike later. Once on her own, she couldn’t decide what to do with herself. She leapt about the house, playing her favourite dance songs at high volume. She wanted to shout the news from the rooftops.
By the time she arrived at Blythewood House later in the day, she knew she had to keep quiet. She didn’t tell her regular driver, Emma Gibson, nor the housekeeper, Mrs Harris, whom she greeted at the kitchen door. She was aware that pregnancy could go wrong in the early weeks. She wanted to tell people the good news with confidence. Patience would be required, and it wasn’t her forte, but Jason would expect her to hold out. She needed to find the right mental place to put her mind and enjoy the quiet, secret acceptance of her state.
As the day drew into evening and she awaited Jason’s arrival, it struck her that life was never going to be the same again. What about the kink, their lives when they were Dominant and submissive, the trappings of their secluded private life? What would become of that, going forward? The guesswork was about to end and the reality start to sink in.
She said nothing to Jason about her concerns when he arrived home. They ate, and she found speech difficult, as if the changes in her body had wiped out all other thoughts. Falling into the trap of ignoring her concerns, she drifted into safe territory by talking about her atelier idea for the stable block. Throughout the conversation, it became apparent how her life would be changing.
“It crossed my mind,” she put her knife and fork down on the plate, “that there is enough space to split the room into two.” She fiddled with the rim of her plate.
“Go on,” said Jason, helping himself to seconds from the pasta bowl.
“Keep the workshop on one side and add a play area. Like a nursery. I could paint and you know...watch over....”
Jason leant forward and kissed her cheek. “Babe. You can do as you wish. If that is how you see motherhood—painting in the company of children—then do it.”
