“Sweetie. Kind of effeminate endearment. I wonder if she thinks because Emily knows me, that I’m bisexual, or maybe it’s nothing sexual. She just likes tormenting people.”
Jason pursed his lips. “Perhaps. She might just spring it on you. The thrill of seeing your reaction in the flesh. You like men, and you get this woman on the doorstep, wanting you to get your kit off and pose. Imagine your humiliation.”
“Yikes. I mean not the lesbian aspect, just the whole setup— person doing this illegal stuff for a kick. Surely, there has to be an easier way! Is she after sex?”
“Whether Rothesay intends to have sex with you is another matter. I doubt she will risk being accused of assault. If you went to the police, you’d have the evidence of blackmail. She wants to humiliate you and make money on the side.” Jason logged Gemma out of the e-mail account. “Once this is all dealt with, you delete this account.”
She nodded in agreement. “I better ring Clara. Ask her to look after Josh in the evening.”
She got halfway out of her seat before Jason’s hand gripped her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
“You’re not going. You’re not needed. We have the place, the time she is expecting you, and we know she will be there. That is it for you.” He spoke softly.
She must not defy that voice. It was imperative to be obedient and yet, she felt compelled to speak her mind.
“Emily—”
“What did I just tell you, Gemma?” He dragged her down, pinching his thumb tighter and forcing her on to her knees by his chair. She didn’t struggle, but she landed on the floor without grace. She didn’t want to kneel, she wanted to make him see her point of view. No, not hers, Emily’s.
“Please, Sir, she will see men bursting into the house, threatening and everything. She will see her, Raven, I mean, Rothesay, as her protector. That won’t make her cooperate. If I was there—”
He interjected. “No. Emily might not even be there. We don’t know she lives with Rothesay.”
“But what if she does?” She rested her hands on his lap and tried to appear meek. “Martinson, whoever can go into the house and if
she’s there let me take her out, or to another room. Speak, as one friend to another, make her feel safe. There must be a stash of photos somewhere. She would know. If you go in and she sees aggression.... Please don’t make her afraid, Jason.”
Tears pricked her eyes. She hadn’t intended to ramble pathetically. Too empathetic again! Her earlier encounter with her forgotten fears had left her emotionally inflamed, a festering sore had been re-opened, exposing her to more triggers. Jason relaxed his grip on her arm.
He sighed, shaking his head. “I hope I don’t regret this. Very well. You stay with me. You don’t speak to Rothesay, and you do as you’re told. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” She leant forward and kissed the back of his hand then caressed it with her cheek. She felt the soft blond hairs brush against her hot face. Her pulse slowed.
“I need to send e-mails, Gem.”
She stood up and collected his plate. Jason used her laptop. He spent several minutes firing off e-mails while she washed up and tidied the kitchen.
She heard the sound of the laptop lid closing as she wiped down the draining board with a damp cloth. Then his footsteps on the tiled floor. They came closer, until he stood right behind her. Her breasts rose and fell as she waited for his touch. She didn’t jump when his breath bloomed over her from his advantageous height.
He coiled his long fingers around her waist. “Were you afraid of me up there?” His teeth nibbled on her ear lobe.
Was she? His anger had shocked her, as it rarely put in an appearance to such a degree. Jason’s burst of ire had reminded her of the potential he had to cause her harm. However, he’d never struck her hard in a rage and made a point of keeping his distance from her until he calmed down.
“I wasn’t afraid of you. I was afraid of being afraid. That awful feeling of dread. The next thing I know is I’m thinking of him. I’ve managed to deal with the blood, the cane, and spanking benches. I haven’t found a means of processing fear without panicking.” She squeezed the cloth, feeling the water trickle between her trembling fingers.
“Will you be afraid tomorrow?”
She shook her head. “No. You’re going to be with me.”
His hand snaked around her body and lay on top of her own. “You’re shaking. What are you feeling now? Because I can see you’re troubled by something else.”
Jason’s antennae, his emotion-seeking tentacles, pierced her and sought out her weaknesses. She knew exactly what haunted her: guilt. She’d shown a lack of trust in him, and he’d lost faith in her, too. All because she contacted Rothesay behind his back. Upstairs, on the bed, he’d said he had forgiven her. Gemma didn’t feel forgiven or relieved of guilt. There had been no liberating expunging of her culpability. Damn guilt. It gnawed at her.
“Guilt,” she confessed. “I feel bad that you can’t trust me, Master. That I went behind your back and gave you a reason to doubt. I disobeyed your authority. I want to show you my penitence in some way.” The cloth slipped out of her hand.
“That can be dealt with. What will you give me?”
Gemma had broken a primary rule of her submission, her unswerving obedience. She expected he could spank or torment her in a painful fashion. He’d done it all before, with a level of dispassion that intimidated her, and yet, knowing this, she had still disobeyed him, flaunted his authority and let herself be exposed to unnecessary risk.