by Jaye Peaches
“Yes.”
“Let’s assume, during your first visit, someone recognised you, perhaps even followed you about. But they didn’t get close enough to see your wedding ring.” Martinson stared at the diamond collar necklace with its miniature pedant J dangling down. “You wore that, too?”
“I don’t take it off.” She was about to add “without permission”, but stopped short of the revelation. “The letter doesn’t show, unless close up.”
He had yet to deny her permission to remove the symbolic mark of his ownership, trusting her judgement. Most times, she hated the idea of being without it. Its absence could be disconcerting. She missed having it close about her neck when she visited her parents. She and Jason had discussed her having a permanent mark of his ownership on her body, somewhere hidden about her personage. Jason frowned upon permanent tattoos. He didn’t like the way they changed colouration as the skin aged and wrinkled. The idea of piercing still felt too fearful about, not the pain of having the procedure performed, but the idea of a sharp spike entering her flesh filled her with morbid dread. Too close to her nightmares. It left her with the necklace—her symbolic collar.
Martinson cleared his throat. “Would its significance be understood by the person who had the photo?”
Jason answered. “Yes, more than likely.” Under the table, his hand squeezed her thigh, and it stopped her heel tapping relentlessly on the floor. A little act of reassurance on his part.
The security chief scratched his head thoughtfully. “But, the note doesn’t imply that you are married or in a relationship. So…they didn’t get that close to you. Perhaps the person went away that day, thinking they had recognised you. Found your photo and began to remember you. The next week, they had a better look at you, confirming your identity. Not Gemma Lucas—Gemma Marshall.”
Jason spoke up. “If the blackmailer didn’t get close enough to see the necklace or rings, how did they identify Gemma’s bag?”
Jason had made a good point. The bag was one of many left on a bench in the changing room. She didn’t bother to lock it away. There was nothing of value left in it, and the bag itself was old and tatty. A much-loved relic of her life before Jason, a memento.
“Wait!” She didn’t have time to explain; she leapt out of her chair and dashed out of the room. Upstairs, in the spare room, which acted as extra storage space, she retrieved her blue sports bag, complete with dodgy zipper and frayed shoulder strap. Returning to the breakfast room, she dropped it on the table in front of the two men. Jason wearing a grim expression of distaste, stared at the bag as if the item were diseased. It was old, easily as old as eight years, but clean and usable.
“I’ve had this bag for years.” She patted her kit bag and re-took her seat.
“So I can see.” Jason flicked the strap away with a finger.
She unzipped the bag and rummaged near the opening until she found the manufacturers’ label. Written on the label with a laundry-marker pen, clearly legible although somewhat faded: GEMMA MARSHALL.
She showed the label to Martinson and Jason.
The discovery triggered another bout of head scratching from Martinson. “Okay. The culprit searched all the bags in the changing room. Must have taken time, if people were coming and going. Finds your bag and now can put a name to an old photo. The following week, the blackmail note appears. Which makes me think, whoever this person is, they’re not there for a class. They have the time to slip in and out without you seeing or anyone else noticing something suspicious. They’ve come with someone else.”
“Parents arrive with children, after school, and hang about, usually in the dance rooms or the cafe,” she said. An unpleasant thought: the blackmailer was a parent.
“The Facebook page…why would he think Gemma had a Facebook page?” Jason leant back in his chair and handed Joshua another breadstick. His sticky fingers grasped it, and he giggled enthusiastically at his daddy. Jason ruffled Joshua’s blond hair. “Good boy.”
“I checked that out,” said Martinson. “Ignoring the pictures with profile faces that don’t resemble yourself, Mrs Lucas, plus they have to be within the London area, it leaves us with three Gemma Marshalls out there. Two had profile pictures, one of a dog and the other a tree.” Pausing, he shook his head in mock disbelief. “Sorry, my wife uses it, not me. The other was blank,” he continued. “None of the three revealed anything in the public domain to help identify them. Basically, the blackmailer has made an assumption you would have a Facebook page. I don’t think they can do much with a photo if they don’t have access to a person’s page, wall…whatever. The whole thing smacks of an empty threat that plays on your fears rather than the practicalities of publishing a revealing photo of you. That’s the strange thing. Without more personal details about where you live, work, and so on, there isn’t much that they can do with a photo that would seriously cause you embarrassment or problems. That is, if they see you only as Gemma Marshall.”
Jason drummed his fingers on the table. “Gemma Lucas, on the other hand, would be a far better target. But the money asked doesn’t make that connection.”
She could see the frustration in his thrumming digits. A signal of impatience. How would she have handled the situation on her own? “Eight years ago, I would have been brazen. Ignored the threat until I was convinced they could do me serious harm.” She knew it was not her game to play, but they had to have her cooperation. “I can do this.”
Martinson folded his arm across his chest and glanced across at her husband. Jason gave a small nod. “Mrs Lucas, we’re going to play this out. Leave the money on Tuesday. Go about the day as you would normally. Don’t be too secure in appearance; as far as the blackmailer is concerned you’re worried about the threat sufficiently to pay the money. Emma Gibson will observe in the changing area, looking the part of a budding dancer. Dave Johnson will be ready to follow the blackmailer once Emma has identified them. You just pick up your bag and head to the car. If there is another envelope left inside, don’t touch it. We’ll deal with the contents.”
More money! “Another envelope?” Next to her, Joshua gurgled, spitting up crumbs of bread. “Jason—”
Jason took her quivering hand and sandwiched it between his own. “Pay, and they want more. It’s what happens. Don’t worry, once we’ve spotted the blackmailer, you need only help with the identification. I will not put you in any danger. Understand?” He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles and she nodded. “What time does your class finish?”
“Four thirty.”
Jason looked over her shoulder at Martinson. “I’m going to be there to pick you up. You won’t be alone. Okay?”
She ignored Martinson and bowed her head, touching his knuckles with her forehead. “Thank you, Master,” she whispered, not caring if the other man heard.
Jason worked the rest of the afternoon in his study while she entertained Joshua, whose health improved with each passing hour. Clara rang, too, announcing she would be back the next day.
By bedtime, an exhausted Gemma happily crawled under the duvet. Outside, the air was crisp with icy frost and the lack of wind or cloud cover heralded a cold night. She wore nothing in bed, as he liked, so she tossed an extra throw over the duvet, adding a layer of heat.
Gemma dreamt, lying nestled in her own body warmth, that he caressed her bottom, gently squeezing the flesh. She wriggled and moaned. His breath warmed her back, and in that moment she knew she was awake, barely, but not dreaming. The duvet moved, slithering back over her. He’d gone. She settled back down into the pillow, confused, but too tired to query.
His hand returned, but with a difference. There was a coolness to the fingertips, a sleek coldness, which he smeared between her folds, spreading the oil. She tensed. A small rush of adrenaline left her belly and journeyed about her body. She felt its effects immediately. He lifted the duvet off her back. This time, he replaced it with his body.
She inched her arms above her head, sneaking them out into the cool air
, and grabbed her soft pillow drawing it down under her, embracing the fabric in her arms. He parted her thighs farther and pushed his slick cock into her sleepy pussy. His weight bore down on her, and a mist of breath bloomed on her back as he nudged his way into her. She sucked in a lungful of air and relaxed.
Don’t tense, let it go.
She tried to recapture her drowsy state by keeping her eyes shut and her mind closed to waking thoughts.
Do not think of anything. Hold on to nothingness.
The tip of his erection slowly penetrated, and she let out a small cry of exquisite delight at his impending seizure. The pressure continued, edging deeper, without force, but neither gentle.
“Uh,” a silly utterance, and she repeated each time she spread a ring about him. Her nose buried in the pillow and she gave into his occupation. Now, his panting breaths hit her neck.
“Baby,” he crooned into her ear.
An arm looped under her pelvis, lifting her up towards his own thrusting hips. She attempted to bend her knees but, in her sleepy state, she couldn’t support his weight. The gentle lunges continued until he slapped into her buttocks. He pinned her down into the mattress, crushing her and forcing her lungs to work harder.
She gripped the pillow between her teeth. There was no pain, but the intensity of his fucking overwhelmed her. Where did he find the energy to fuck her so vigorously in the middle of the night? She couldn’t help the loud whimper escaping her lips. If he didn’t ease back, it would start to hurt. He grunted, paused, and withdrew. More unction about his cock. The cold gel smoothed the friction caused by his rippling sheath. He began to glide in and out. He didn’t speak words, but his vocal chords were active with sounds of pleasure. Gemma joined in. Although not close to coming, her submission pleased her and, she hoped, enthralled him. She gladly gave him her body, and he took, thrust after thrust.
One last pummel and a judder signalled a lingering ejaculation. She made sure she squeezed him empty and tightened her pussy to aide his climax. The weight above went, freeing her to breathe easily. In the darkness, she sensed him going to the bathroom. Lying as he had left her, he returned to place a towel on the mattress between them then he rolled her onto it. His creamy semen, mixed with her copious juices, leaked out. Once again by her side, he seemed to fall into an instant slumber, softly snoring, while she created a sticky mess under her bottom.
Gemma didn’t mind he plundered her without warning. The agreement, his rules, catered for the adventure. Scenes were no longer prearranged, timed events conducted with warnings, and wrapped around rituals or protocols. She was his to take and enjoy. Had she not dreamed of it as a maturing girl? The stuff of her fantasies, years of imagining alpha males commanding her body. Only her trust in Jason allowed them to come true. No other man would ever inspire her confidence or acquiescence. He’d captured her heart long ago, possibly before she even knew him to be a Dominant. Dominating, yes, she could tell that from their first encounter, but a Master, who sought the benefits of a power exchange, that she’d discovered later. That night, like many others, she offered him her willingness to submit. It wouldn’t be the last.
She rested there for a while until she was convinced she wouldn’t spoil the under sheet,then she curled up and drifted off. In the morning, he made no comment as she tossed the soiled towel in the laundry basket. His blue eyes shone in her direction, the kind of sparkle that made her smile with self-satisfaction. Hearing a squawk, she went to fetch the noisy child from his cot.
***
The post arrived after Jason left for work. Sorting through the envelopes, one caught her attention, the logo of the company embossed on the corner of the large manila envelope. The property agent, one of many she had searching for a suitable location for her art gallery, had previously failed to find anything she liked. As a consequence she didn’t hold out much hope. She peeled back the flap and tipped the contents onto the kitchen table. She spread the property sheets across the kitchen table, and perused the latest batch of offerings. Pausing, she slid one glossy page closer, casting her eyes over the photograph and summary.
Situated in her target area, on a wharf near the river, alongside busy offices and other lucrative holdings. She flicked the sheet over and checked the floor plan. Perfect! The right amount of floor space. Sitting down, she scrutinised the details, mentally ticking off her list of requirements, one by one.
“Yippee!”
She couldn’t resist e-mailing Jason at work. His clipped reply offered congratulations. He never liked to be disturbed at the office unless essential. She wanted to arrange to view the property on the following Monday. The paper view of the world didn’t always match the reality on the ground. She needed his permission. Anything that took her out of her usual routine required his approval.
She’d once detested the requirement. Sometimes it felt like she wore an invisible chain about her ankle, the other end firmly in Jason’s grasp. She’d rebelled in the past, and it had been costly. One time had resulted in an attempt on her life and a sound thrashing by his cane for being reckless with her safety. She’d known somebody had been stalking her. Another time, she’d simply wanted a spontaneous and unaccompanied walk in the park. Dave Johnson had jogged down the road to catch up with her. The CCTV had captured her escape. She’d never realised bodyguards lurked out of sight in the vicinity of the White House, ready to strike. Blythewood Estate was even worse. She couldn’t open the front gate without somebody pressing a button in the gatehouse. Her unplanned walk had resulted in a lecture from Jason.
She hadn’t hidden her frustration. “Fucking prisoner.”
He’d pinned her down with those intense blue eyes. “I’m not keeping you prisoner. You can leave, but not on your own.”
“I’m watched, then, all the fucking time!”
“Damn right. Look at the mess you get in. You’re too trusting, too impulsive. You think with your heart and not your head. From now on, any travel, trips, or little strolls in the park that are out of the ordinary, you have to ask me.”
Her mouth had opened and shut numerous times. She’d fumed, kicking the door as she marched out of his study. Of course, she did what he asked. The first few times, she couldn’t hide the resentment. She’d laboured the inconvenience in her texts or e-mails. She’d even risked lacing disenchantment in her tone when she rang to ask. He’d ignored her sulking and gave her permission. After a while, contacting him became routine. Jason rarely said no. Was it a big deal? She noticed, after he responded to her requests, she tingled all over.
An hour after she sent the e-mail asking permission to arrange a property viewing, he granted it. She felt the familiar sense of an electric pulse whizz around her body. Was she that transparent to him? He’d claimed he wouldn’t micromanage her, but they both knew a modicum of control freakiness fired her up and kept him happy.
Gemma arranged the appointment for Monday morning. The visit would be a welcome distraction. She dismissed blackmailers and concentrated on art galleries.
Friday afternoon, with Gemma ensconced in her atelier at Blythewood, the intercom boomed across the room at her.
“What?” she snapped, unhappy at the interruption. Paintbrush in hand, she sighed as the guard informed her of the arrival of Audrey Lucas, her mother-in-law. After washing the paint off, Gemma charged across the freezing-cold courtyard, ducking her head in the bracing wind, and greeted Audrey in the living room of the main house.
“Gemma!” Her mother-in-law rose from her seat and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Where is my grandson?” A set of inquisitive blue eyes sparked at her. So like Jason’s, and quite unnerving on occasion.
Joshua hadn’t woken from his nap, leaving Clara to listen for him.
Gemma pointed up at the ceiling. “Asleep, still. Lazy boy, especially when granny is visiting.”
Sipping on a cup of coffee, Audrey updated Gemma with the family news about Jason’s siblings.
“Anthony’s business…not good. Something of a
rough patch, I gather.”
Gemma gave a shrug. She saw Jason’s brother a couple of times a year. It wasn’t any secret to the rest of the family that the two brothers didn’t get on with each other—chalk and cheese personalities.
“Louise and Ben have moved house. Much bigger place, and he now has a workshop for repairing musical instruments.”
The news pleased Gemma. She liked her sister-in-law, and ever since Jason had rescued Louise from a harassing boss, the bond had grown tighter.
“The big news. Michael has a girlfriend, Rebecca. A solicitor. I’m not entirely sure how serious the relationship is yet. Knowing Michael’s excessive work hours, she probably sees little of him.”
Michael, Jason’s younger and enigmatic brother, once presented Jason with a problem. He’d discovered Jason’s secret pastime and exposed him to the rest of the family as a Dominant and lover of kinky relationships. The resulting aftermath had rippled on for years, with the family uncertain how to treat their unorthodox member. In the end, numerous heads buried themselves in the sand, and Jason had been left isolated. That was, until Gemma came along and opened up the wounds, forcing the family to deal with and resolve their feelings towards her husband. She didn’t think for one minute everything was perfect. Michael, Jason’s favourite brother, had survived the unveiling unscathed. Jason had forgiven him without hesitation. Gemma saw Michael as a facsimile of his older brother. Alike in appearance and manners, their chosen careers cast them apart. Michael, the high-flying barrister, had a quieter edge to his nature, an introvert and unassuming in a social setting. She had yet to work him out.
Audrey gazed at her for a while, locked into focus on Gemma’s necklace. She’d been fingering it as she drank her coffee. The golden pendant locket with the letter J encrusted with diamonds hung from the diamond collar chain.
“You’re still, you know….” She jabbed a finger at the necklace. It had never crossed Gemma’s mind that Audrey might think they’d ended their arrangement following Joshua’s birth.
