Gemma could tell from the way the women at the play party were circling around Kevin—hungrily, greedily—that they wanted him, or rather, wanted something from him. Even if they hadn't had those predatory looks on their faces, she'd have been able to tell. She recognized that desire written across their slick lips, their bodies angling forward, eyes clocking his every move, hungry for the kind of recognition only an innately dominant man could give them. She understood it, too, because when her six foot tall, husky hulk of a man strode across a room, he did so like he owned it, and made women—and men—want him to own them in return. He could have easily owned almost anyone in the room, if that's what he was after, but Kevin wasn't made that way. He looked the part, but he had far more in common with those quivering, quaking, hungry-to-please women than he did with the doms they dreamed of.
Gemma regularly thanked her lucky stars that was the case, because she was perhaps the only one there who didn't want to be owned by him—not like that, anyway. Beholden, beloved, besotted, she'd cotton to, but actual ownership went in the other direction in their household. In her own way, Gemma appreciated the fact that her man was an object of attention, lust, and desire, but she also knew things about him that these kinky women never would, and she liked that just as much as having a popular man to...