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“Good,” said Jason, staring at the wall behind me. Then his mobile rang. “Excuse me.” He stepped away and answered the caller in German. Going by the sharpness of his tone and the rising volume, someone received an ear bashing.
“Your man’s not happy,” remarked Malcolm, dunking another biscuit into his tea—he’d eaten half the packet.
“So it seems. Best not to get on the wrong side of him.”
“I’ll remember that.”
I hid a grin behind my hand. I couldn’t imagine Jason running into Malcolm on a regular basis. Malcolm had no need to remember anything.
“Bloody hell,” exclaimed Nicholas, jolting out of his own little world. He dropped his voice and blabbered. “Jason Lucas. Your husband. My God, I didn’t...I mean....”
“Is the name familiar?” I raised an eyebrow, wondering what eureka moment had caused Nicholas to recognise my husband.
“My father, he’s an editor of a financial journal, and he’s been trying to get an interview with your husband for years. Well, I never.” Nicholas, with his eyes widening into black moons, glanced over towards Jason, who paced the floor with his mobile glued to his ears. “Wow,” Nicholas repeated several times, perhaps too loudly.
“I hate to say this, but you won’t get an interview through me. He doesn’t do them. Period. I should keep quiet, or else he will avoid you like the plague.” I didn’t want Jason being hassled by my employees.
“So who’s this Jason Lucas, other than being your hubby?” asked Malcolm, attacking yet another biscuit. Did his wife not feed him?
“I suggest you get back to the toilet, Malcolm.” It was time to end the break and the awkward questions. I’d no doubt Nicholas would fill him in when my back was turned. Mina, bless her, had stayed mute throughout the exchange, and only a twinkle in her eye displayed her amusement.
The call over, Jason called me over. “I have to get back. It’s looking good, babe. Tomorrow will go like clockwork.”
“I really hope so, or else my head will explode.” I’d needed his ongoing reassurances insatiably, as if I’d developed a bottomless pit for his company.
He’d kept me distracted every night that week w
ith some ploy or other. Last night had been backgammon—one spank for every one of my counters he’d knocked off. I hadn’t played well and had received a number of hard smacks. However, I wasn’t planning on going to Blythewood that weekend, and I pined for the country, the atelier, and lair.
“I want payback for all the distracting therapy I’ve given you this week, my insatiable one.” He rocked against me, trailing a finger down my face. “Tonight included.”
“I know. I’m grateful, Sir,” I whispered, keeping my back to the others.
“You will show your gratitude soon, tomorrow night.”
“I have to be here on Sunday,” I reminded him. “Just for this weekend.”
“Next week, you should start painting again, Gemma. Concentrate on that—fodder for new exhibitions. You’ve a good team; let them see your trust in them.”
I nodded, fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. “I know.”
He tenderly nudged my lips with his own, leaving a momentary kiss. “I’m proud of you, babe. Remember that.”
What more could I ask for than the approval of my Dom.
I stood by the door and watched him climb into the car then turned, took a deep breath, and went back to work.
***
I’d hunkered down on the floor of his study in the White House—not our usual house on a Friday—propped up on a pile of cushions with a fleecy blanket swathing my nudity, and ran through my scrawled checklists, repeating the order of events as if learning a mantra or ceremony. Do this, then that, make sure of this, tell somebody that. On and on, I mentally chanted my list of to-dos.
Eventually, Jason moved over from his desk to the Chesterfield couch to read a document, and I crawled over to lie at his feet. He took advantage of my prone body to prop his legs on my butt. I didn’t mind. Quite the contrary, I put my list down and revelled in the pressure of his feet. He burrowed his toes under the blanket, seeking out my flesh.
“Cold feet!”
“Warm them up for me then.” He didn’t shift his eyes from his reading. I shuffled around until I could touch his toes with my lips. I licked his big toe, slowly drawing my mouth around it then sucked. What once had been a challenge—foot worship—came naturally. Delicious, well-kept feet with trimmed nails and soft skin.
Licking my lips during a pause, I raised my head, hoping to catch a smile from him. “Warmer?”
