The whole evening was perfect—Gemma, the wine, the food, the soul-nourishing conversation—everything.
I told Gemma she could have something in return for dinner, and at this rate, I’ll give her whatever the hell she wants.
When we finally arrive at her flat, she flings her clutch across the room and kicks off her heels, groaning as she stretches her toes.
My eyes are drawn to a large purple object on the floor.
“Is that a tentacle dildo?” I ask.
She follows my eyes. “Yes.”
She doesn’t bother to elaborate.
“Come, sit. I want to do your cards,” she says, patting the spot on the sofa next to her.
“I don’t know if I want to risk it after what might have happened to your neighbor.” I smirk, enjoying the way her eyes narrow.
“Just sit, will you?”
I join her and watch as she shuffles the cards, cutting the deck in half and shuffling them again. Pulling three cards, she places them on the coffee table face up.
The first one reads Death.
“What does that mean?” I ask, skeptical. I’m not a superstitious man, but she seems to be enjoying herself.
“It’s not as ominous as it sounds,” she replies calmly. “It doesn’t have to mean literal death in tarot. It’s about transformation, endings that make way for new beginnings—letting go of what no longer serves you.”
Okay. I guess that resonates.
“Do you do this a lot?” I ask.
She hums. “Every day. I find it’s just another form of reflection. I think you can find meaning in any of the cards.” She shrugs. “Sometimes when I feel a little stuck, they help me look at things from another perspective.”
She points to the middle card. “The Lovers. This doesn’t only represent love, but a decision. Usually between heart and head. It asks you to be honest about what you want.”
I lean closer, breathing in her jasmine perfume. “And the last card?”
Gemma’s knee brushes mine. Her eyes flick up and hold my gaze as she says, “The Tower.”
I press my lips to her neck as she explains, feeling her pulse accelerate beneath my mouth. Her breathing becomes labored.
“It represents…” She tilts her head to give me better access. “Sudden upheaval. It’s about”—she inhales sharply when my teeth graze her silky skin—“truths that can’t be ignored.”
I hum, running my hand up the inside of her leg, cupping her bare pussy.
“I want this,” I growl.
She parts her knees without hesitation, allowing me better access. “You got your dinner. Now give me what I want,” she says.
I don’t waste a second. Lunging forward, I shove the coffee table away and settle between her legs, flipping up the fabric of her dress.
I hold her pussy open and my mouth waters.
“Fuck, Gemma…” I drag my thumb through her wet seam, circling her clit. Her hips arch. “I’ve been wanting to taste this all night. Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“You,” she breathes.
I dive in.
