He wrapped her back up, and, with little effort and considerable grace, carried her back upstairs to their bed. The marital bed.
Under the duvet, they cuddled and kissed. Gentle caresses and nibbles from him and, in reply, she rubbed her hand up and down his flaccid penis. It twitched slightly.
“You were crying again when I was up with Joshua. Why?”
She ceased roving about his loins. “Hearing you sing, that’s all. You were so gentle and sweet with him. Yet, a few minutes earlier, you weren’t with me. An incredible contrast. I don’t know how you do it. Flipping between sadist and father. My submissive nature is there for whoever, whether it is Josh or you. I want to please and be of use, be needed.” She chewed her lip.
“I’m a Dominant, and self-control is the most important trait I carry. Controlling you extends from that self-control. I put my emotions in compartments and draw on what is needed when I need it. I don’t work like a computer program, shutting down one emotion and opening up another one. More like, I allow different ones to hold sway over me. From my perspective, I don’t understand how you process pain. I don’t have the mechanism to deal with it in the way you do. Emotional pain, I can cope with better than you. Yes, I’m a sadist. You allow me to be that person. A gift, remember, babe. I give you my power, control over you. My self-control. You give me your body and the pleasure it gives me.”
He admired his own abilities, a touch of vanity, perhaps, but she wondered if he really understood her concerns. “I wouldn’t be a good mother if I didn’t worry that your sadistic traits weren’t fully under control.”
Jason sat up and stared down at her. His lower jaw had dropped at her statement. “You think I would hurt Josh? No, Gemma. I wouldn’t hurt or harm him. Do I beat people for annoying me at work? I don’t touch or lay a finger on anyone. I confess, I was a bit of a bully at school. Then, I realised I didn’t make friends, or at least the right kind of friends. I learnt not to use my fists. Strange as it may seem, I’m not a strong advocate of violent retaliation, am I? My need for sadism is about the sense of power it brings me, as well as control over you. Plus there is a kick out of pushing you, taking your pain limits and hearing those enticing erotic squeals. Don’t over analyse. It does you no favours. Take pride in your abilities, how you process pain and focus on giving me pleasure with your masochistic tendencies.”
She reached out and ran a finger down between his firm pectorals, feeling the abdominal muscles flex as he lay back down. “You pushed me hard this evening. I was over my pain limit with those weights.”
“Over? You didn’t safe-word. Why not? You know I would have stopped.”
Why? The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. In fact, she tried to remember the last time she had used her mercy word. The last occasion—their holiday aboard the luxury-yacht Sublime and during sex when she was pregnant, but that had been expected.
“Does that mean I want to push my limits, or I’m pushing them for you?” Why hadn’t she given her safe-word. The thought troubled her. “Disappointment. I don’t want to fail. I suppose it is the dilemma.” She bit on her lip.
“If I’m pushing your limits, and you want to safe-word, you should, my little subbie. What you’re capable of doing one day may not be the case for another. I’m seeking a tangible change in your tolerances.”
Changing her. He’d denied it in the past, and now he implied he wanted more from her. “You are pushing me, though. Pain wise.”
“You’re pretty obedient, most of the time, given your independent streak. I think you can do more in other areas, including addressing some of your hard limits. Eventually, we will hit a plateau. By then, kids will occupy all of our energies and time. Play will be a luxury.” He chortled half-heartedly. He’d want to keep going forever, if he could.
Hard limits. Her ears picked up on the phrase. The things she said she would never do with him. He wanted to push her that far? Her previously sleepiness vanished. The conversation took them into territory that made her uncomfortable. She perched on her elbow, determined to unravel his words. “After that week in New York, you said you were happy with me, my submission and limits. Now you’re giving me the impression you’ve changed your mind.”
She expected a frown, but instead he smiled. “You changed your mind. Not me. I would be happy to continue as we were. Time limits, scenes only, nothing 24/7. You wanted this, asked me, brought in rules. I can go with either scenario, if that is what keeps us happy as Dom and sub.”
Go back! She couldn’t contemplate it after she had tried so hard to be his full-time submissive.
“No. I don’t want that. I like that I can please you whenever. Even when you wake me to fuck me in the night, I love it. I find the obedience hard and, with it, your demands. I know it’s not about my choices any longer, and that’s tough sometimes, and I will screw up on that somewhat. You punish hard, too. My tits are still throbbing. It’s an incentive to not stray from the rules, but then I have this need within me to be your masochist.” She paused, collecting her rambling thoughts. “You’re right. I don’t want it any different,” she blurted.
“There you are. Stop bloody analysing and give without thinking.” He took her lips in his mouth and kissed her hard and passionately. An electric bolt shot through her. His kiss marked the end of their conversation.
He made love to her. Intense vanilla love, with her body aching for him, and not from the pain of bondage and submission. By the end, the bed was a battlefield of sex. Duvet and pillows scattered everywhere, semen spewed across her body in a sticky gloop. Exhaustion couldn’t be dissuaded the second time.
“Babe, you’re so gorgeous. I can’t take my eyes off you,” he murmured as she dozed off.
Chapter 22. The Drop
The property viewing went brilliantly. Gemma hopped about with excitement. She ticked off all her checkboxes for the first round of viewing. She spent most of the rest of Monday compiling lists of questions to fire at her solicitor for the legal issues, the surveyor and her chosen architect to make the necessary alterations to the interior. The origin layout had been designed for office use with a small kitchenette and toilet facilities. For Gemma’s purposes, the ground-floor expanse needed to be versatile, with movable interior walls and eye-catching décor. But also minimalist. Not common requirements for a commercial property.
Gemma rattled off her findings that evening to Jason. He smiled across the dining table at her enthusiasm and complimented her on the systematic approach she used to find the property: no wild ideas or indecisiveness. At long last, she reacquainted herself with her lost work ethic. The person who made good judgement calls in the world of asset valuation had returned from an extended vacation. She’d felt wide awake and vibrant again.
The day of the money drop arrived. Tuesday. The morning dragged oppressively for Gemma. Thankfully, Joshua did a good job of keeping his mother occupied with his numerous failed attempts at walking. She hoped Jason would be there to witness his first steps.
Johnson reminded her of the plans as he drove her to the dance class. Gibson sat alongside her in tight black leggings and sweatshirt. Not her typical attire.
He adjusted his rearview mirror, and his eyes flitted between her and the road ahead. “I’ll drop you off. Go straight to the changing room with Gibson. Dump the kit bag in the same spot as last week. Gibson will stay and watch, make a big thing of brushing her hair or something girlie. Don’t hang about after the class.”
His attempt to inject humour into the proceedings did nothing for her nerves. Her hands shook.
The lesson was abysmal. The dance instructor’s star pupil wasn’t the same person as the previous weeks. Gemma danced without elegance and borderline clumsiness. All sense of rhythm flew out the window. She kept glancing around the class at the other pupils. Did she recognise any of them? After an hour of eyeballing her fellow dancers, she was convinced none of them were forgotten acquaintances from her distant past. They didn’t pay any attention to her. No furtive stares or sniggers.
Returning to the changing room, she entered with a pounding heart. Gibson had gone, which meant the b