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His arms dropped away and she sat up, unaided. “I’ve overreacted to all this.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re a good sub, even with the odd breakdown in communication.”
“Don’t end this, please.” She pressed a hand to his chest.
He wiped away her tears with a thumb and cocked his head to his side. “You know how gorgeous you look? Pathetic, but deliciously sexy. I’m a sadist, but I don’t enjoy watching you fall apart. I’m don’t want you to be an emotional masochist for me. It’s not you. No more punishments. If you screw up, we’ll deal with it without resorting to penalties and lectures.”
“How will the rules work if you can’t make me accountable?”
“Babe, your own disappointment is punishment enough. Come clean, apologise, and we’ll draw a line under it.”
She drew in a long breath. “After the birth—”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
They talked about the scan, the latest edition to her picture collection. Something to show the grandparents when they next called round for a visit, a bump-admiring visit. The conversation perked her up. Sitting side by side on the sofa, snuggled up to him, she chatted about her gallery plans. Since she’d e-mailed Hugh Henderson, his connections had proved very useful, and from his contacts, Gemma continued to build a network of people to help with her art gallery and scholarship ideas. Jason applauded her efforts.
He made love to her, later that evening, a glorious display of his skills in drawing her out from her despondency and making her glow. Sinking into her, as she rested over a pile of pillows, he eased in and out, clutching her shoulders. She clenched hard about him and let her extended stomach rest on the pillows. Rocking against her, he leaned down to nibble on her neck. She giggled and in her faintest voice, asked him to pull on her hair.
Grasping the ponytail, he drew her head back and her chin upwards. Deeper he went, a penetration of his hardness which transcended the disappointment of anything she’d done that day. It brought out her baser needs, and she panted as he growled above her. She let him verbalise his needs, to hear him utter obscenities wasn’t an insult—she sought the lust of being his slut. Still desired and wanted. It fed her emotional ego, allowing her to surrender to a state of submission.
She begged to come, a string of pleading words. He teased her, flicking his fingers about her body and playfully pinching her between his forefinger and thumb. The command to come given, and she did, with Jason locked in her pussy. On she went, howling in disbelief at the sensations inside her belly as he pumped, making her shake uncontrollably.
“No more,” she gasped. “I can’t take…it…Sir.”
Jason finished. Releasing her from his clutches, he murmured into her ear. “I love you. Don’t ever doubt that I love you. You’re a gorgeous sub and a beautiful wife. Plus, I love fucking you.” She melted against him.
With Jason fast asleep next to her, Gemma resolved not to put a foot wrong. Those last few months of pregnancy, she would stay focused, not stressed. Maintain a serene state of pregnancy. She didn’t care about Daniel and his company. She’d played her part, contributed to the company’s success. She was moving on. She wouldn’t miss coffee—herbal teas would be her new passion. Jason would treat her to meals out, allowing her to indulge in desserts and cake. Having him present them to her as gifts would be far more nourishing to their relationship than clandestinely devouring them in his absence.
What had started out as a list of rules became a release from stress. Over the next few weeks and months, Gemma spent a considerable amount of her time curled up on cushions at Jason’s feet, showing him her gratitude by simply being with him.
Chapter 8. Preparations
At seven months pregnant, Gemma plucked up her courage and asked Maggie out for afternoon tea. They’d both agreed their friendship wasn’t a breach of ethics. She was an expectant mother, not a patient. Her obstetrician accepted the offer with appreciative words and they agreed to meet one Thursday afternoon. Gibson pulled the ca
r up outside the side entrance of the private hospital. Waiting in a doorway, Maggie scrutinised the rain clouds. The doctor seemed apprehensive as she tugged on her collar, trying to shelter from the bitter December cold. Stepping forward, Maggie peered at the privacy window. When Gemma lowered the window, Maggie’s face lit up.
Joining Gemma on the back seat, Maggie stared at the driver’s seat. “Wow. A chauffeur.” Maggie grinned.
Gemma couldn’t tell if Maggie was impressed or perturbed by the presence of the driver. She recalled how ill at ease she had been when Jason used to collect her from her tiny apartment in his chauffeur-driven cars. Jason told her back then she would become accustomed to the privilege and accept the arrangement without thought. Seeing Maggie’s disconcerted face, Gemma realised he had predicted the future quite accurately; she felt quite at home in the back of the Jaguar.
“Gibson is my protection officer. Driving high-powered cars is a perk. I assume?” She lifted her voice so Gibson could hear.
Gibson tilted the rear-view mirror before answering. “Depends on the car, ma’am.”
Turning to Maggie, Gemma spoke. “I thought you might like to have tea at the Dorchester Hotel. Starbucks doesn’t compare to a proper, well-presented afternoon tea.”
Maggie put a hand on her chest. “That would be fantastic.”
Gemma leaned back and repositioned the uncomfortable seat belt yet again under her bump.
“Do you have afternoon tea at the Dorchester often?” Maggie asked.
“Oh no. I’ve taken my parents a couple of times. Mum likes to be pampered. It’s nice to treat people.”
“Your husband doesn’t take you there then?”
“Not so far. We dine out for lunch sometimes, but he doesn’t stray too far from his office. A quick hour for lunch and back again.”
