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“Gemma, it’s your birthday!” Andrea blinked in disbelief at the amount ringing up on the cash till.
“And I get to treat you. I like to please, remember?” There had been no mention of Gemma’s submissiveness in front of her ignorant friend Trudy. She couldn’t bring herself to own up after all their years of friendship. Their lives had drifted apart, and she’d decided it served no purpose to come out to her vanilla friend. Andrea, fortunately, had made no off-the-cuff remarks or hints, and for once left her inquisitive nature locked away.
With Trudy gone, Andrea couldn’t resist a little dig. She whispered in Gemma’s ear with a tiny smile. “Still his slave?”
She rolled her eyes at Andrea’s remark and glanced over to Clara, who was occupied with pushing Joshua in his buggy. Andrea followed her gaze and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Yes, she knows.” Gemma sighed. “But, she’s never asked a single question about what we do. Unlike somebody I know.” She wagged a finger at her sister-in-law. The warning worked, and they went back to talking about maternal topics.
That evening, Jason treated Gemma to a meal at the Presario, while Clara stayed on to babysit.
Unlike the previous time, with Mina, they had the usual seats in a secluded corner, and Marco waited on them in person. She peered about, over the tops of other people’s heads, wondering whether the insolent waiter, Marcel, was working that evening. She couldn’t see him.
Jason clinked his fork on the plate. “What are you looking for?”
She turned to face him. “You know”—she dropped her voice— “that waiter from last time.”
He said nothing. Merely the smallest of smiles formed on his face. It told her everything she needed to know. He didn’t tolerate racism in his businesses. Marcel had been sent packing. She felt justified in having told him. He’d taken her complaint seriously, and it showed he valued her friendship with Mina.
“Oh,” she murmured and picked up her wine glass. “Cheers, darling.” She raised it before taking a mouthful. Unlike the cheap cup of tea at lunchtime, the wine probably cost several hundred pounds a bottle. “A lovely meal.” She fluttered her eyelashes at her husband. Especially true, since Jason had permitted her to choose whatever she fancied, including an extravagantly calorific dessert.
“Back on the chocolate ban, tomorrow, I think, Mrs Lucas.” Jason admonished at her sweet-toothed choice. His eyes twinkled—a tease.
“My birthday, Mr Lucas. When am I getting my present?” Under the table, she risked a small rub of her toe against his calf.
“Patience. Don’t drink too much, or I won’t let you play with your birthday present.”
“Play! Is it a toy?” She leant across the table, while her foot attempted to slide under the hem of his trouser. “A sexy toy?”
Jason sat back in his seat, shifting his leg out of reach. “It’s a good job it’s your birthday, or else all this asking would get you in trouble.” Again, his eyes twinkled. Birthdays were a great day for demanding things from your Dominant. Guaranteed pleasure, even if he appeared to be holding her at bay.
They discussed the property she’d viewed on Monday. It would require a legal change of usage, enabling it to be reclassified as a retail outlet, since Gemma would be selling artworks.
“I love that it’s by the river. People walking along the embankment will come across it, and it’s a prestigious location.”
The plan gave her good vibes. Having established her own charitable foundation, she’d set aside grants for budding art students from disadvantaged backgrounds. Through contacts opened up by her obstetrician’s husband, Hugh, she now had links with two art colleges and a university. She planned to give the best students a chance to exhibit, eventually, in her own gallery. In the meantime, she would sponsor temporary exhibitions at other locations. Part of the arrangement meant issuing prizes to the best of the bunch, and she would have to present these awards at ceremonies. Not something she relished, public speaking.
Since Joshua’s birth, her self-confidence continued to grow, bolstered by the progress in her art-gallery plan. Jason reached over and took her hand. With little consideration for their surroundings, he brought her knuckles up to his lips and gave them a small kiss.
“I’m proud of you, Gemma.” A succinct sentence, and it made her heart soar.
By the time they arrived home at the White House, the pounding beats of her heart had reached a pulverising level of anticipation. A situation not helped by Jason’s tongue exploring her mouth throughout the journey.
Jason quickly and politely dismissed Clara. Having checked on Joshua, Gemma came back downstairs to find him in the kitchen, resting against the breakfast bar with a coffee mug. On the pine kitchen table, parked in the middle, stood a box—large, oblong, and unmarked. Her eager hand shot out to open the lid. Jason cleared his throat and shook his head. Her palms itched to know what was inside, and she stood riveted to the spot. Jason put down his mug and approached.
“For God’s sake, put me out of my fucking misery,” she whined, wringing her hands.
“Tut, subbie. Show some respect, even on your birthday.” He looped a finger around her collar necklace and, with a gentle tug, drew her into his arms. His adventurous hands, with practised ease, began to strip her naked. He tossed items of clothing about the floor. With a jerk of his wrist, he ripped her knickers apart.
“Oh fuck,” she murmured, squeezing her legs together
. How did he do that? Make her so wanton just by shredding her underwear? Her bottom bumped into the table edge as he walked her backwards, lips nibbling on her neck.
He slipped a hand between her legs, forcing her thighs apart.
“Oh fuck,” she muttered again while fumbling with his shift buttons.
“You’re so wet, babe,” he chuckled. He withdrew his fingers from her pussy and held them to her lips. “Suck. And no more swearing.”
