Trust Me to Know You (40 page)

“What!”

“Your name was next to mine. Proof we were together and she told him. After that she was used to force you out.”

“Who gave her the list?” I probed. He had mentioned a weak link.

“Somebody who used to work in the hospitality division. Libby pretended to ring from the hotel, liaising over security. Issues normally dealt with by Martinson’s team and not by a
nyone else. The list should not
have been released.”

“You fired someone?”

“Yes. Protocols were not followed, Gemma. They were put in place for a reason, not just to protect you. There are others working for my charities who require protection from publicity.”

“Is that why they’re masks?” I asked.

Jason laughed. “No,
babe. That’s just a gimmick. Some of the lawyers at the ball compile legal evidence against some nasty pieces of shit. I invite them and they don’t seek publicity for their pro bono work.”

“Oh. So, he used Libby. Nobody else?”

“Nobody else was involved. It’s over now,
babe. You’re safe.”

“I get to drive my beamer again?” I perked up.

Jason chuckled.

“I’ll go to work tomorrow
,” I said.

My mood was shifting upwards. I decided I needed a major distraction from the weekend.

“Is that wise?” his voice hardened.

“What else, I can’t sit here. I start to hear imaginary things. I’m physically alright.
Your
very nice Dr. Mead has given me the all clear,” I risked a dig.

“
My
very nice Dr. Mead. I see,” Jason’s lips curled up a little. He patted my leg and stood up.

“Oh, Thursday night are you up to a night out? Glamorous Miss Marshall is needed to go on show again.” He crossed his arms and looked down at me. I was intrigued.

“I’m yours, whatever you wish,” I said humbly as possible.

“I’m taking you to a movie premier. Red carpets, everything.” My mouth dropped open. I had no idea Jason was into the movies that much.

“Don’t go thinking Hollywood or anything. An old school friend of mine has been doing well as a director. Making small budget films that have received critical acclaim. I offered to invest in a new big budget movie for him, bigger stars and expensive sets. The effort has paid off. The studio and distributors are pushing it hard. I am a silent partner. I’ll get a cut from the ticket sales, so I am expected to be there for the opening night.”

Wow, this was going to be exciting. My mind raced as I thought of another new dress, a date with a hairdresser and high heels to go with the red carpet.

“Well,
I can see that’s captured your imagination.
I’m off to earn some more money.” He was about to leave when he caught sight of my face. An unpleasant thought had crossed my mind.

“What?” he snapped impatiently.

“The press will be there. My name, last Saturday ....” My voice trailed off. Suddenly Thursday evening
did not sound as appealing.

“Don’t concern yourself. I’ve issued an injunction on Sunday preventing your name being published in the press. Most of the attention is around Libby anyway.” He picked up the newspaper and unfolded it. Reading a passage out to me, “‘Attempted abduction of an unnamed woman, which went wrong’ blah.” He folded the paper back up again and slotted it under his arm. He had no intention of letting me read it.

During the night, I woke myself up
screaming. Jerking up in bed
, I pressed my hands to my ears and tried to block out the encroaching sounds - metallic rattling sounds.

What am I hearing in my head?

“Babe?” Jason sat up alongside me and put an arm about me.

“Noises,” I said wiping the sweat from my upper lip. “Shit, nightmares. More fucking nightmares.”

“Do you want a sleeping pill?”

“No!” I exclaimed quickly.

Drugs did not
appeal to me and I had to find my own way to deal with my fears. New fears.

“I thought, with him being dead, things would get easier. Sorry,” I murmured.

“Don’t apologise. Saturday was traumatic in its own right. You’ve got to give yourself time. What noise?” he asked helping me lie back in bed.

“Handcuffs. He jangled them in his hand. Don’t ever show me handcuffs again will you?”

“No, Gem. Handcuffs are a hard limit from now on, OK?” he spooned his body around mine. “Try to sleep. Think about red carpets and glamorous Hollywood.”

I closed my eyes and snuggled back against him. I matched my breaths to his and the steady pace sent me back into sleep.

If ever there was a therapy for the trauma I had suffered then I had been gifted it by Jason: a
brand new job and planning a night out. My personal shopper reeled off a list of dress designers’ names and recommended a top hair stylist for me to visit on Thursday afternoon. Thank goodness I was part-time
. Jason had good foresight with that idea.

When Martinson opened the car door on Thursday evening, I was wearing a long black gown, resting off my shoulders and my hair was braided up into a high bun. Jason was there to take my hand. He was dressed again in a black bowtie and suit, slightly different fabric and cut,
not the same tuxedo as Saturday. He paraded me up the red carpet, camera lights flashing and names been shouted out, thankfully not mine. I was introduced to various people connected with the making of the film including Jason’s director friend, who was visibly appreciative of Jason’s generosity.

The film was quite good, a balance of drama, humour and action based in London. Jason sat through the
movie holding my hand gently
and the familiar thumb caressed me now and again. I had the temptation to snuggle up to him as if we were teenagers in the local cinema. I kept glancing across at him
, trying to catch his eyes, but he was impervious to me and his blue eyes were fixed on the screen. Perhaps he was mentally totting up his profits from this adventure into the world of film making.

After the film credits had finished, Jason led me into the bar at the top of the cinema theatre. The cramped bar was crowded with people, gorgeous women swishing by in their frocks and posing with their suited men. I started to be aware of how uncomfortable I was - a fish out of water. Jason never stepped more than a few paces away from me and I had to deal with an impending visit to the toilet.

“Jason,” I whispered in his ear. “I have to go the ladies room.”

He nodded and let go of my hand.

I walked over to the door, my heart was beating fast. M
emories of a fierce slap across the face were returning to me. I breathed a sigh of relief, the room was busy with
women
, reapplying makeup and congratulating each other on the success of the film. I was
completely anonymous to them and I avoided all eye contact. Once done I returned to Jason’s side. He quickly took my hand in his again, offering me a glass of wine. I smiled a thank you.

Time moved forward quickly and the wine must have had an effect on me rather more
than I would have wished. The throng of the crowd in their extravagant clothes was casting my mind back to a mirror lined ballroom. I could see the chandelier above my head and the movement of the people around me. The panic started to rise in my throat and the nauseous sensation returned. I swayed a fraction and shut my eyes.

“Gemma. We’re leaving now. I’m taking you home,” Jason’s words were clear and softly spoken but full of intent.

I opened my eyes, the panic dissipated. Jason was with me and I was safe.

***

Jason was standing behind me, kissing my neck. He sighed gently and his breath was warm across my skin.

“You smell incredible and taste delicious,” he said. “My gorgeous thing, my delightful toy.”

Did I mind being called his thing or toy? Not in the slightest. It was what I wanted to be feel. The way his words made me wanted and desired drove a fiery furnace inside my belly that was my physical submission.

I squirmed. H
e was almost tickling me as he licked the back of my neck. His hand
slowly began to lower my dress zipper. Down it went to my waist, my hips and then he slipped it off my shoulders,
so it dropped to the floor at my feet. I was left in my
knickers, stockings and heels. He knelt down and slipped off my shoes, then peeled down my stockings before removing my knickers,
allowing me to slip my feet out of them with grace. I turned to face him. He looked smouldering, I reached up and pulled his bowtie lose then flicked it over my shoulder with a small smile.

“Undress me,” he commanded quietly.

I did so slowly. First, his jacket, then unbuttoning his silk shirt and sliding it down his muscular arms. I knelt at his feet and with slightly trembling hands, I undid his trouser zipper and solitary button. A hand gripped my hair, winding his fingers in the loose strands, making my scalp tingled. His clothes fell alongside my dress and looking up at his blue eyes, I passed his boxer shorts, over his upright erection and down on to the floor.

In a few swift moves,
we were on the bed and he was on top of me. My legs parted and wrapped around him. I stretched my arms up and held the bed rails, gripping them tightly. We
did not say anything, there was nothing to say. I was all his.

***

Jason was peering into the fridge.

“Mrs Harris promised she would leave us something to eat.” He rummaged around and retrieved two Clingfilm covered dishes. “Mmmmm. Look’s good.”

We were back at Blythewood House and it
seemed ages since we last were at the country mansion. I
could not adapt to the two separate houses. Jason suggested treating them as one big house in two locations. I shook my head at him and reminded him he had been living the dual house life for several years.

The food went quickly and yet again I was tidying up the kitchen,
returning it to a spotless condition. I found Jason in the sitting room, in front of a blazing fire. He had changed into casual clothes and was lounging in an armchair. His head thrown back and eyes shut. He looked asleep but I knew he
was not.
What he did look was tense, wound up and weary. He had given me all his energy and attention this week. I needed to pay him back. I quietly undressed. He
did not
move or appear to notice. Then I was there at his feet kneeling with my head bowed. I waited and after a few
minutes, he stirred and focused his attention on me. I could sense his all-seeing stare penetrating me.

Nothing was said as he walked around me and he approached me from behind. Drawing me
back,
he knelt behind me. Hands kneaded my breasts and twisted my nipples, I could only respond as I knew he wanted me to. His lips worked their magic and his tongue teased my vulnerable flesh. I was about to be taken on all fours and sent to my cloud nine
yet again with all the silver trimmings.

The thrusts were almost savage. I gasped and writhed, not with pain. He kept hitting my sex spots with such accuracy.

“
Oh God, Jason,
I’ve got to come,” I cried with unbearable need.

“Yes.
Yes
. I want you to.”

I screamed as I achieved my orgasm. Such a different scream from last week, a scream of delight not terror. It was short and contained. Then Jason followed. His appetite was as needy as mine. Unusually loud, he shouted my name repeatedly. At the last thrust, he pulled me back on to his lap, clutching me tightly.

“I love you, Gemma,” his words hovered next to me.

I could barely believe he had said them to me. Last week
was not a dream.
Jason is in love with me
.

I knew I should not ask but I could not stop the words falling out of my mouth.

“Please, Jason. Take me to your room.” I shut my eyes and relaxed.
My greedy lust for kink - to feel the taut
powerlessness of bondage, the flinching kiss of a flogger and his all-encompassing control - was all I could think about as he held me tightly to his body.

The scene centred on
tying me up and semi-suspending me above the table. Ankles kept apart with a spreader, he tied my
knees to my elbows and then my wrists to my ankles. The spreader bar was hoisted up in the middle to the pulley system above the table. My back barely touched the table and my head hung off the side. Perfect for position for him to seek out my mouth and let me give him an upside down blow-job. Which I did until he was close to coming.

Prior to being tied up, he had me on the St. Andrews cross for a prolonged flogging. Something in the order of two hundred lashes had hit my back and bottom. Well, maybe not. He did not ask me to count, but it was a lengthy session with a selection of his floggers. The purpose of the flogging was not to take me to my pain threshold; he did not come anyway near it into terms of severity of blows. He wanted me pliable and in that state of wishy-washiness. ‘Away with the fairies’ he sometimes said jokingly. I had not fully subspaced, nevertheless he had left me in very subbie state of being.

So when - with me trussed up with two clamps attached to my nipples and a chain stuffed into my mouth - he told me to pull the clamps off if I wanted a fuck. I may not have been fully listening to him. He had said something to me in a fog of painful arousal. What had he said?

“Fuck!” I screamed letting go of the chain after giving it a hard tug.

What was that he said about asking?

“Sir, please do it for me,” I whimpered barely coherent.

“You’re asking me?” he said sharply.

“Noooo,” I cried out quickly and he pressed the chain back into my open mouth.

“That was asking, don’t deny it,” he said dispassionately.

He went across to the other side of the room and came back with tiny crocodile clamps, which he attached
between my toes on both feet. I writhed, trying hard to ac
commodate the extra discomfort. Far from wanting to end the scene, I was aroused by his erotic humiliation. Making me beg for sex with my body was strangely gratifying knowing he found it thrilling. Behind his façade of indifference, he was stiff for me. I was convinced of it. I shut my eyes and tugged but the blasted clamps did not budge.