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“Definitely stylised,” remarked Jason with a nod. “I like it.”
Gemma could see the picture captured the scene with a distinctive cartoonish style and exaggeration. She handed the drawing to Enrique.
“Very kinky,” she said.
“Sexy, babe. You were incredibly sexy.” Her heart soared at her husband’s appreciative expression.
Enrique had walked over to the archway. He glanced up as if searching for something hidden or concealed.
“Do you remember, señor? How we hung her up here.” He pointed to a spot above his head.
Jason laughed, wandering over to join Enrique. “That was a long time ago, Enrique. Yes, I do remember. Suspended. We all used her that day. The sub with the suspension fetish.”
Jason glanced at her then to the archway, as if to transpose Gemma into the scene he had recalled.
She shrank into the expansive lounger. Enrique was encouraging her husband to relieve memories Jason had said he wouldn’t recount—his carefree days of his early wealth and the hedonistic pastimes of a Dominant in full experimental and exploratory mode. She didn’t seek that Master.
Her memories started to haunt her. Jason could reminisce about his past, savour it. Hers was a personal nightmare of terror.
“I’m sure we could find a way to do it again, señor.” Enrique waved a hand up at the archway.
Do it again! What again? Not here, not now. A sea of nausea hit Gemma. Panic took her pulse rate to a furious pace. She felt faint.
Terror. Don’t go back. Stay here!
“Red!”
***
Jason spun round and saw a pale façade of the woman he had seen sunbathe. Her face, horror-struck, imprinted with fear. Her body began to ripple with violent trembles.
“Go! Now!” barked Jason, pointing to the stairwell.
Enrique retreated rapidly.
Jason enveloped her in his arms. “Shhh, babe. I’m here.” He rocked her back and forth.
He had no idea what had triggered the attack. Normally, a specific event or visual cue was needed. Nothing he had done would have set her off, surely? The apparent lack of cause worried him. Stroking her hair, he waited for her to reappear from her trance-like existence. He had seen such panic attacks before, but it had been some time since her last.
Over two years had passed since her rape, and yet the memories would spring out to haunt her without warning. Something had brought them to life again, and Jason couldn’t see what had been the trigger. She rarely spoke of the details of her assault—it had taken over a year of marriage for her to describe it to him, to allow her recollections to resurface long enough for her to speak in excruciating detail. He feared his scene had awoken something else she might have kept hidden in the recesses of her mind. The beating with the barbed-wire cane she did remember, but the sexual assault had occurred when she had been unconscious—or so she had told him. He dearly hoped it was the truth.
***
His heartbeat wasn’t as calm as Gemma would like. She had alarmed him. The beat raced, faster than she expected. Not surprising—she had shocked herself.
Memories! Hateful and intrusive memories. My own and nobody else’s.
She became aware she was crying uncontrollably. Wracked sobs, gut-wrenching cries. They hurt her belly and her head throbbed.
“Gem. Darling. What’s going on?” he whispered in her ear. “Look at me. Was it the scene?”
She found his eyes, Jason’s concerned eyes with expansive whiteness shining brightly around his startling blue irises. Her display of raw emotions affected him deeply.
“I...wasn’t....” She hiccupped. “Not the scene. It made me confused. I tried to focus on you, and it was working.” She lifted her head from his shoulder. “You looked quite magnificent.” She reached out to touch his face.
“Why thank you.” He smiled at her, wiping away a tear.
“There was nothing for me, though. Nothing tactile from you. No stimulating me directly,” she tried to explain, her words stopping and starting. “I thought I was pleasing you, so it didn’t matter….”
