What To Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection Part Two (39 page)

Slowly he touched me everywhere, his fingers sliding over my skin, lingering here and there, stroking softly. I was moaning against his mouth, relishing the slow gentle touches, so different from this afternoon’s session.

I’d reached down, undoing the buttons on his jeans, running my hands over his cock. He sighed, burying his face in my neck.

“Oh, god, Abby. It’s impossible to resist you.”

“Why would you want to?” I’d never thought Jake wanted to resist me.

He lifted his head. “I don’t really. But sometimes I think I cross the line from our agreed relationship into something more, something I know neither of us wants.” He kissed me, something urgent and passionate in his kiss.

Was this really as complicated as it seemed? Did it need to be?
I was beginning to feel I was the one in control here, sometimes more than Jake.

“Don’t resist, Jake, give in. It’s not going change things for me.” I kissed him, pulling him down to me.

“Think of it as after care.”

We made love for a long time, slowly, Jake taking his time, holding me gently. There were no loud cries, no bucking and thrashing. I was carried away on a gentle current, my orgasm feeling like the stretch at the end of a yoga work out; my muscles relaxed, pliant, my body and mind at peace.

Jake came with a low moan, his face buried in my neck. I felt him shudder briefly, holding himself still inside me, then a flooding warmth. He exhaled, slowly, pulling me against him, curling his body around mine.

I woke a long time later, shivering in the chill air. The room was dark; Jake was lying next to me, his arm loosely flung across my waist. I watched him sleep for a long time, his face just visible in the light from one partially covered window.

There was no reason for me to leave. I pulled the blanket back over my shoulder, jostling Jake in the process. I felt him stir next to me.

“Go back to sleep,” I whispered in the dark. And he did, tightening his hold around my waist, pulling me back against his body.

Jake fed me breakfast, insisting that I eat before I went home. I’d taken a long hot shower, methodically working through a vast array of scented shampoos, soaps, scrubs and other products I’d found in the bathroom in the tower. For a small bathroom in a guest wing, it was remarkably well-stocked.

I took the confusing maze of hallways back to the main house rather than walking outside, making only one wrong turn on the way. The scent of food was as good as GPS though and I found Jake in the kitchen making French toast. I took a seat at the kitchen counter and a plate was placed in front of me, complete with fresh strawberries, and a dollop of what I believed was homemade whipped cream. I dove in, realizing I was famished.

“Oh, my god, Jake. Where did you learn to cook?” He was leaning on the other side of the counter, watching me with amusement.

“Living alone and getting tired of take-out and fast food. I’d had enough of instant noodles in college. As soon as I had my first apartment, I invested in a set of chef quality knives and cast iron cookware. And learned how to use them.”

I was too busy chewing to do more than nod. Jake poured coffee for both of us, setting mine in front of me and coming around the end of the counter with his, and a plate piled high with French toast, to sit next to me.

We ate in silence. I resisted the urge to lick my plate clean, instead using the last pieces of French toast to clean up the syrup and whipped cream. I sat back, sighing, relaxed and content.

“Abby, there’s something I wanted to ask you.” Jake pushed his empty plate away, looking at me.

“Okay. What is it?” There was hesitancy in his eyes, not quite the confident Jake I had grown use to.

“I’d like us to go to a BDSM club. There’s one in Houston; I think it would be good for us to see how other doms and subs interact, maybe learn something.”

He turned toward me, taking my hand. “I’m asking you…not demanding that you go. But I think it would be a good idea.”

I thought about this for a minute. There didn’t seem to be a down-side. We’d get a different perspective, see how others acted. I nodded.

“I think it’s a good idea. We’re kind of in our own little bubble here. Seeing others… meeting others…yeah. I think it would be good.”

Jake’s face relaxed, a broad smile on his face. “Good. I’m glad. I’ll make the arrangements. From what I’ve heard about of the club, you need an invitation. I’ll take care of it and let you know when we can go.”

Jake and I fell into a routine over the next couple weeks, while we waited for an invitation to the club. We’d have dinner during the week, spend the evening at Jake’s, in the bed in the tower room, and he’d drive me home later. During the week the bed was dressed in soft linens and blankets and pillows, a stark contrast from the plain black sheet of the weekend.

It was during one of these dinners that Jake presented me with an elegantly wrapped box. We weren’t in session so I was free to oh and ah as much as I wanted…and to question what it was.

“Open it, Abby.” Jake was patiently waiting for me to untie the cream colored satin ribbon. The black wrapping paper fell away from a black velvet box. I opened it cautiously, peering beneath the cover.

“It’s not going to bite you, Abby.” Jake was laughing at my trepidation. “It’s not alive.”

The box held a necklace, a length of interlocking rings that looked like a miniature piece of chainmail. It was beautifully constructed, weighty and solid as I held it in my hand, but sinuous and sensual as it flowed over my fingers.

“Jake, it’s beautiful.” I looked at him. He appeared to be waiting for me to say something else.

“Thank you.” After a beat of silence he took the chain, turning it in my hands until the clasp faced me. I looked closely; it was a tiny pair of interlocked handcuffs.

“It’s a slave necklace. I thought it would be more comfortable—and prettier—to wear on a daily basis than the leather collar. We’ll save that for sessions.”

I looked down at the necklace, and all that it represented, the weight it carried, not just in its solid silver links but between Jake and I. I closed my eyes for a moment. While this wasn’t a traditional relationship, the necklace seemed to represent a commitment of some kind. Did I want that commitment, and that responsibility?

I looked up at Jake. There were so many emotions playing across his face, but the biggest one was something akin to fear. I held his gaze for a moment and then held the necklace out to him. He almost flinched away from me, but took the chain.

“Would you put it on for me?” I turned on the banquette, lifting the hair from my neck. After a moment, I felt the cool silver against my skin, the weight settle on my neck. There was a tiny click as Jake fastened the clasp, a soft sound but it seemed to echo through the restaurant.

I turned back to Jake. The look of relief on his face was so palpable, I would have laughed. But I didn’t think that was the right thing to do at the moment. Instead I leaned forward, kissing him gently, brushing my lips over his, my tongue catching a hint of the bourbon he’d had before dinner.

Jake was attentive and gentle that night in the tower room, the sex long and slow. He approached me almost in an attitude of gratitude. I wasn’t sure, afterward, lying in the dark, if the necklace was really for me, or for him in some way. I fingered the silver, counting the links with my fingers, almost like a tiny set of prayer beads.
Or worry beads.

“We’ve got an invitation to the club.” Jake’s voice on the phone was excited. “A week from Saturday. We’ll be guests of the club’s owner, Chase Thomas.”

Even though I was expecting the news, my heart did a little stutter-step. A bondage club had never entered my mind until Jake suggested it. But I was also very excited at the prospect of going. And, as usual, I panicked over what to wear.

“Relax. Chase said there’s no real dress code; you’re not required to wear latex or anything. Just be comfortable.”
Latex?

“Although, if you’re going to be a sub and join in any party-play, you’d probably want something appropriate…you know, sexy and with easy access. Then again, pretty much anything you wear looks sexy, but I’m biased.”