Divine Solace: 8 (34 page)

Gen rose, movements uncoordinated, but Lyda gave her butt a
slap sharp enough to elicit a yelp and narrow glance. It did help her focus
enough to go find the drink machine, though. Putting in the dollar with
fumbling fingers, Gen retrieved the soda, came back. Lyda was leaning toward
the mirror, applying some eye liner, making a perfect presentation of her ass
in the snug hold of the skirt. Gen wondered what Lyda would do if she slapped
her
ass.

Lyda met her gaze in the mirror. “Do it, and next time I tie
you down, your backside will match my hair.”

Occasionally there was an advantage to having an
easy-to-read face. When Lyda threatened such a thing, Gen’s pulse accelerated,
telling her she wanted such a punishment. Gen had never particularly longed for
pain as part of sex, but the way Lyda took control of her and Noah, the way she
administered discipline, was like discovering an adult love of roller coasters.

Plus—and this was an important component of it—her reaction
fed Lyda’s pleasure, which in turn escalated Gen’s…and so on and so forth.
Despite that, she wouldn’t be slapping Lyda’s ass. There was a right and wrong
way to incur discipline at her Mistress’s hand, and doing it that way felt like
feeding tofu to a cheetah.

Lyda was studying her face. “You’re not a brat, Gen,” she
said softly. “Or a bottom, just seeking to get off by being topped. I like that
about you. Very much.”

Mutely, Gen offered the Diet Coke. Taking it, Lyda pointed
her back to the bench. “Same position. Whenever I command you to sit, you
assume that posture. If I make you kneel, your knees stay shoulder width apart,
no matter what you’re wearing, because if you’re on your knees, we’re in
company that understands what’s going on. They know you’re under my protection.
You’re safe, as long as you follow my commands. I want you to think about that,
because occasionally I insist on some PDS outside a club. Public Displays of
Submission.”

When Gen was seated, Lyda turned back to the mirror to
finish up her makeup. “Noah invited me to meet his grandmother. She lives in
Tampa, but goes up to Gatlinburg to stay with friends for a month in the
summer. One of them also has a rental house in town, so Noah’s grandmother
wants him to come stay there for a few days, do some maintenance on it as thanks
for her room and board. I think she also likes to show off her cute grandson.
He asked me to go with him. I haven’t said yes, but I’m thinking I might.
Particularly if you’d like to go too.”

She anticipated Lyda’s agreement would shock Noah as much as
it was taking her off guard. “Does he usually invite his…Dommes to meet his
grandmother?”

Lyda gave her an amused look. “You were stumbling over that
one, weren’t you? You knew ‘girlfriend’ didn’t fit. No, I expect he doesn’t.”
Lyda sobered, studying herself in the mirror. “Which is why I shouldn’t go.”

“Do you want to go?”

“Yeah, I do. Which worries me.” Lyda gave her a rueful look.
Such a woman-to-woman exchange was something Gen had as a matter of course with
Chloe, and rarely but sometimes with Marguerite. It was the first time she’d
experienced it with Lyda.

“How would we introduce ourselves? As his friends?” Gen had
a hard time keeping her hands off either one of them. If his grandmother had a
sharp eye, or even a single functioning brain cell, it was going to be
difficult to keep their relationship under wraps. But people tended to see what
they wanted to see, right? Both of her mothers-in-law had thought everything
was going great, that their sons were perfect. Until the day they announced the
divorces, and then it didn’t take too much for them to turn the blame all on
Gen. Despite the fact Guy wouldn’t have even visited his mother except when Gen
nagged him to do it.

“We are his friends, aren’t we?” Lyda asked.

Gen didn’t know how to respond to that. Chloe was a friend.
They shared laughter and jokes, hugged a lot, worked together. They told each
other about their lives, their feelings. Yes, Chloe shared more than Gen, but
over time, Chloe had earned enough of Gen’s trust that she knew more about Gen’s
feelings on things than she’d ever anticipated sharing. With Lyda, she felt a
desire to share a lot of things, but she hesitated because of Lyda being Lyda.
Gen could certainly call her and Noah her friends in front of his grandmother,
but did that really fit?

“I asked Noah what he thought he deserved,” Gen said
instead. “He said whatever his Master or Mistress thinks he deserves.”

Lyda pressed her lips together, packed her lipstick away.
“It’s why most Dominants don’t hold onto him. That lack of identity and self-esteem
is a harrowing responsibility. In the right circumstances, it seems like a
treasure, but it’s hazardous to the sub. It’s tempting to the worst kind of
Doms.”

“But not to you?”

Lyda lifted a brow, leaned against the sink, gaze sliding with
leisurely pleasure over Gen in her submissive posture. “What do you think?”

Thinking was difficult. But Gen gave it a try. “I think you
refuse to let yourself back away from a challenge. And you think you’re
entitled to his service, because you feel you earn it by what you give back to
him.”

“I
feel
I earn it?” Lyda gave her an amused look,
then sobered again. “Noah ‘s submission is a beautiful thing, but there’s a
missing foundation support, like a chair with only three legs. You don’t
realize a leg is missing until you tip in that direction. The thing is, he’s
very good at keeping anyone from tipping him in that direction. However, if he’s
pushed there, a crash happens, and it’s not beautiful at all.”

Gen’s brow furrowed, but Lyda continued, forestalling
comment. “Eventually, I hope to get deep enough inside him to help him put in a
prosthesis.”

“What happens after that?” Gen gazed at her.

“That will be up to him, and me. And maybe you.”

Lyda hooked a finger in Gen’s shirtfront, beneath the
connection between her bra cups. She tugged there, letting her thumb drift over
Gen’s left nipple. “Nope, no moving. Keep those hands at your sides. You’ve
touched me as much as I’m going to permit right now. Your pussy’s needy as a
virgin’s on her wedding night, isn’t it?”

Gen wet her lips. Lyda spoke again, sharp. “You answer me
when I ask you a question, Gen.”

“Yes Mistress. Yes.” Gen bit back a plea as Lyda plucked at
her nipple. Gen’s fingers dug into her thighs as she tried not to squirm.

“Drop your panties to your ankles, Gen. Don’t interrupt what
I’m doing.”

It wasn’t easy in a seated position. It required some
awkward wiggling. Lyda moved to the other nipple, making Gen gasp.

“I’ll clamp these during one of our sessions. Once they’re
nice and swollen, I’ll pull the clamps off. It’s excruciating, but when I have
Noah suckle you after you’ll love it. Pain and pleasure work that way for you,
Gen. Have you noticed?”

“Somewhat. Maybe. Yes.” She was certainly experiencing those
two elements right now under Lyda’s firm fingertips.

“Eyes open. You don’t get to hide from me in any way. A
hundred percent present when your Mistress is commanding you.” Lyda stepped
back, taking her hand away. “Pull your skirt up to your waist, and straddle the
end of the bench so you can’t close your legs. Hips tucked under so your pussy
isn’t in contact with the wood at all.”

Lyda gave her another of those kick-your-ass looks, and Gen
moved to do it. She made sure her back was straight, the bench cool against her
bare buttocks.

Lyda picked up the soda, still so cold that the metal sides
looked frosted. Squatting at the end of the bench, she put the top of the can
right up against Gen’s cunt.

Fuck.
The provocative contrast of aroused heat and
relentless cold drove a cry from her, but she made herself stay still because
that was what Lyda had ordered.

“You tell me when it’s too much, Gen. I decide when to take
it away.” Lyda propped her other hand on the bench, her tone casual even as her
expression was anything but. “And while you’re thinking about that, you think
about this too. You ever raise a hand to me again, there will be tough
consequences.”

“Do you mean when I almost slapped you for the doormat
comment, or what I was thinking when you were bending over the sink?”

She must be insane to try yanking Lyda’s chain, but her
state of arousal wasn’t helping her judgment. Lyda’s eyes glittered,
appreciating her fire while also conveying she was more than capable of melting
Gen down like candle wax with it.

“Both. Consider me the Old Testament God. I punish for
thought as well as deed.”

At first, she’d been so hot between her legs, the can felt
good. But as Lyda kept holding it flush against her tender flesh, the cold
invaded, followed by pain, because that was how the brain warned a person when
things became too much. Gen struggled against it, though. Her Mistress was
watching, waiting, and she wanted to show her she wouldn’t fail her. But oh
fuck it was starting to really hurt…

“Beg me, Gen.”

“I…can hold out.”

“No, you can’t.” Lyda took it away, gave her thigh a
reproving tap. “Begging your Mistress for mercy is a gift to me as well. You
don’t risk nerve damage just to prove a point. We aren’t in competition. You’ll
figure that out eventually.”

Giving her an even look, Lyda straightened. “If nothing
else, that’ll settle you down enough I don’t have to worry about you driving.
As for me…” Her fingers slid over the tab top. “I’ll have the pleasure of
knowing just where this has been as I’m drinking it.”

Bringing Gen to her feet with a firm hand on her elbow, Lyda
straightened Gen’s skirt back down over her hips, not allowing her to do it,
and then cupped a hand over Gen’s buttock, giving it an admonishing squeeze.

“Going back to this nonsense about you feeling ‘less’. The
only function of your past is to be the building blocks to your future.
Whatever parts of your past are in the way of that, bury them like the dead,
accept their loss and move on.”

“Is that how you did it?” There was no need to state the
obvious—Lyda emanated the self-confidence only a woman who’d accepted all parts
of herself could.

“I was born believing the word impossible didn’t apply to
me. So far, I haven’t been proven wrong. Time for you to get to work.” Lyda
shouldered her purse, flashed her a smile. “I told you I’d keep you safe, and
Marguerite will give you the death-stare if you’re running late. Even I
wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

A case of cold sodas couldn’t keep Gen’s mind from being
like a scrambled egg throughout the workday. Chloe teased her about it, bumping
her hip once to knock her out of it. “So is it Mistress Lyda or Noah? Or both?”

Gen made a face at her. “Shoo, annoying fly.”

“You look so happy. Crazy batshit freaked out, but happy
too. That’s good, right?”

Gen chuckled. She couldn’t help it. “Yeah, that pretty much
describes it.”

“Have you ever wanted to kiss Marguerite? With tongue and
everything?”

“What?” Gen bobbled the Brown Betty tea pot she was bringing
back to the counter. She put it down abruptly, terrified she would break one of
Marguerite’s collectibles. Part of Tea Leaves’ appeal was that the patrons
could request service from specific tea sets Marguerite had collected from
around the world. While sipping from cups that had graced Victorian parlors,
grand Russian dining rooms or Japanese tea houses, they could learn about the
set’s history, either from Marguerite herself, or from Gen and Chloe, because
part of their training included a thorough history of tea.

Fortunately, Marguerite wasn’t here right now. Beyond the
embarrassment of nearly dropping the pot, Gen would have had to see
Marguerite’s reaction to the question. Chloe was professional enough to show a
certain restraint around customers—and they had a lull in traffic right now—but
she was nigh irrepressible with M and Gen.

“Is this the first time you’ve been involved with a girl? I
know it’s different, with Lyda being a Mistress, and you really have a
three-way thing going, but it feels a little bit like what I’ve always felt
between you and Marguerite.”

Gen turned to look at her. Lyda had made her consider the
Dom/sub undertones in her relationship to Marguerite, but it surprised her to
find Chloe had picked up on it, and connected a sexual element to it as well.
Gen felt a moment of alarm. Did she feel…? No. Right?

“It’s different.” She should stop talking, but except for
her own relentless internal monologue, Gen hadn’t really sounded it out with a
neutral party. And truth, Chloe was her best friend. Her sudden serious look of
interest reminded Gen of that.

“Lyda thinks my relationship with M is a symptom of why…it’s
working with her. For my part, I don’t know. I don’t know what I am, or if I
want to be boxed into a name. Gay or straight, Dom, sub or switch. Even
thinking about myself in relation to those labels is new to me, no matter how
familiar they feel…deep inside. If that makes sense.”

Chloe nodded. “Yeah. It actually does. When I act as
Brendan’s Mistress, some of it feels familiar, like we all do have some of it
in us, some inclinations stronger than others, but… Actually, can I tell you
something without making you mad at Lyda?”

Gen’s brow raised. “Yes. I think so.”

“The first time I met Lyda was at that BDSM carnival Tyler
and Marguerite do each year. Lyda saw me with Brendan, and she didn’t hold
back. She made it clear she thought we’d fail, because I couldn’t be what
Brendan needed.”

That was a little more than Noah had implied. Despite her
assurance, Gen felt a spurt of anger on her behalf, especially seeing the
shadow cross Chloe’s face. It told Gen that Lyda had hurt her feelings and cast
doubts on her relationship with Brendan, at least at the time. “That’s just
stupid. Seeing the two of you together—”

“I know. I know that now. But in a way, it was good to have
someone like her question it, because it brought my own worries about it right
up to the top to confront them. I wanted Brendan to be happy, and now I know
that was what Lyda wanted too. Dommes can be pretty scary-protective of those
they care about. As if we haven’t noticed.” She tipped her head toward
Marguerite’s empty office.

“I figured out that it didn’t matter that I’m not a
dyed-in-the-wool Mistress like Marguerite or Lyda. Brendan, the way he treats
me, acts toward me, tells me he serves me. That summons the part of me that can
give him a more souped-up version of what he needs, when he needs it. And that
works for us. How much we love each other is more important than any definition
of what either of us is. We can’t imagine a day without the other being a part
of it. That’s why it works. It’s fluid, Gen. Don’t let anyone make you think it
has to fit into a shoebox. You create the box in which it fits, and that box
can change in size and shape, depending on what you put into it.”

When Chloe put her hand on Gen’s, underscoring her
earnestness, Gen sighed. “I’ve been married twice, and I never questioned being
in a monogamous relationship with a man. I don’t even question it now, because
it was what I wanted then, no matter that I made some poor choices. But it was
a safe paradigm. Now I’m completely baffled. I can’t stop thinking about either
one of them. And not just together. It’s separate and together. But they’re
still a package deal in my head, if that makes sense.”

“Sounds exciting and fun.” Chloe slid around the counter, nudged
hips again. “I know you like things to be comfortable, and there’s nothing
wrong with that, much as I harass you. As long as you’re happy. But this seems
to make you happy too. In a thrilling, scary way.”

Gen looped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Yes. I
think it does.”

Chloe gave her a sly look. “So have you ever fantasized
about Marguerite?”

“No. And I don’t suggest you do it, either. Tyler strikes me
as the type to be possessive, regardless of gender.”

“Well, hot as M is, Tyler’s the one I fantasize about. In
full color.”

“What red-blooded woman doesn’t? Might as well stop
breathing as try not to do that.” Gen said. “Though if you don’t share pictures
of Brendan naked and tied up on your bed, I’ll tell M about that morning you
sneaked a glance at Tyler bare-assed in the upstairs bedroom when she was doing
her yoga in the garden.”

Chloe’s eyes widened, then she snorted with laughter.
Yanking Gen’s ponytail, she escaped from behind the counter to greet and seat
some incoming customers.

As Gen started preparing the order she heard Chloe taking,
she pushed away guilt. She rarely lied to Chloe, but she wasn’t prepared to
share that yes, she
had
fantasized about Marguerite.

It wasn’t a sweaty sex fantasy, and she didn’t fantasize
about her boss regularly. Just when random things hit her a certain way. Like
the time Marguerite had been sitting at her desk, dressed for a meeting with
the bank. She’d been wearing a snug blue skirt with a sheer blouse tucked into
it. Her lace-clad breasts had been outlined through the fabric. She’d worn a
pair of slender heels. Simple accessories that enhanced the beautiful woman’s
odd mix of fragility and strength.

Gen had been preparing her morning cup of tea like she
always did, but when she moved to bring it to her boss, an erotic vision had
taken hold of her imagination. She saw herself in an ancient Far East setting
where Marguerite was the lady of the house and Gen the servant. Marguerite sat
on folded knees on a cushion, painting graceful black slashes on a curl of
parchment. She wore a silk kimono in peacock colors, her hair in a thick bundle
on her neck. Gen knelt at Marguerite’s side and held the teacup out before her
bowed head, holding it steady as if her hands were the table.

Marguerite lifted the cup, sipped, set it back down, paying
no attention to her. Until she finished her task. Then she turned, removed the
tea from Gen’s hands and framed her face in her cool, long-fingered hands. She
pressed her lips to Gen’s mouth, giving her a teasing touch of tongue before
she dismissed her, leaving her aching.

“Gen?”

Gen saw Chloe standing on the other side of the counter,
waiting for the order. “You really are in the falling-in-love-zone today,” her
friend said, low, though her eyes danced with mischief. “Bad as me when I was
falling for Brendan. Almost as bad as M falling for Tyler. Though in all
fairness, he jerked the rug out from under her and then claimed she was falling
for him.”

“While that may be accurate, it still had the same results.”

The screen door creaked as Tyler entered from the side
hallway. Through the open door, Gen saw his black Ferrari, one of several
vehicles he drove. From the look on Chloe’s face, Gen knew the girl had heard
the car purr up the driveway and intended to tease him. Gen was the only one
taken unawares.

Neither of them had been exaggerating about Tyler Winterman.
It wasn’t just his amber tiger eyes and dark, salt-and pepper hair, nor even
the powerful, well-dressed body that emanated power and wealth. The man had an
authoritative, sexy vibe that said he was an alpha’s alpha, which wasn’t a bad
way to describe his and Marguerite’s relationship. His unquestioning love and
devotion to their reserved boss only enhanced his appeal. Gen was never
surprised to see female customers pause with cups halfway to their mouths or
completely forget what they were talking about when he came into the tea room.
She’d known he was a Dom for a while, but the way Lyda was grooming her Dom/sub
radar, it hit Gen’s senses particularly hard today.

“I’m thinking the mega-rich thing saved your ass,” Chloe
said. He aimed a swat at her backside as she danced out of range. “Hey, that’s
sexual harassment.”

“That only applies if I work here, which I don’t. What are
you two talking about today?”

Please, dear God, Chloe, don’t…

“If Gen fantasizes about kissing Marguerite. I think she
does, as red as she blushes when I ask her about it.”

Gen groped for casual amusement. “Since I’m seeing Lyda,
Chloe is trying to determine if I’ve had the hots for her and Marguerite all
this time.”

“Not me.” Chloe shook her head. “I think you only go for the
true Domme thing. You have a vibe like Brendan on that, but it’s a different
note. It was really low key until Lyda came around, and now it’s a full piano
chord.”

Please shut up, Chloe.
Talking about it in front of
Tyler, with customers nearby, was stepping way outside Gen’s comfort zone. Gen
wondered if there was a hole in the back garden big enough to swallow her up.

“Chloe,” Tyler said mildly. “That’s enough.”

Proving just how good a Master he was, Tyler did the
impossible, focusing Chloe with merely a look. Her attention went to Gen’s
still face, and chagrin captured her pretty features. “I didn’t know I was
getting on your nerves, honey. I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t.” Gen took a breath. “It’s fine. It’s probably
not going to work out, anyway. I’m not sure why I started down a road I don’t
understand. When I hit a dead end, I’ll feel like I’ve painted myself into a
corner with no way out. The two of them already feel like…I can’t breathe
without them. And that sounds silly and cliché and young. So it’s better if you
don’t get too into it. Maybe it’s best we don’t talk about it…so much.”

Words were falling out of her mouth she didn’t mean to say.
Crazy batshit was right, with a nice dose of bipolar thrown in. Grabbing
several boxes from the hall that needed to be broken down and put in the
storeroom, she fled, giving Tyler an apologetic look.

As she hurried down the path, she tried to corral her
emotions. She was a grown woman, but every thought, every beat of her pulse,
was centered around Noah and Lyda, evidence of her desire to be with them. Her
penchant for safety and clear lines kept her falling back, challenging Lyda,
even as she surrendered when the woman looked at her a certain way. She was
balanced on a knife edge, with an abyss on one side and a fiery pit on the
other, yet she knew she was going to jump, let go of the safety bar. The matter
wasn’t if, it was when.

“Damn it.” She broke the boxes down with passion and
shouldered into the storeroom, plopping down on a stool. “I’m so fucked.”

“In its literal translation, a good thing. But I expect you
meant the pejorative.”

Gen started. Marguerite sat on her stool in the corner,
separating out the latest India shipment. Her tiny silver spoons were arrayed
before her to sample the inventory.

Maybe because of what they’d just been discussing, when Gen
looked at her boss, she couldn’t tuck it all back into her safe subconscious.
It was probably the first time she’d stared at her openly like this, cataloging
her effect on Gen’s senses. Her moonlight-colored hair was clipped over one
shoulder, her lips frosted a pale pink. She wore very little makeup because she
needed almost none. Her pale-blue eyes were like a mermaid’s eyes, mysterious
and tragic, yet hypnotic.

Since getting married, she’d finally gained some weight,
because Tyler stayed after her about eating, but she still had an ascetic look
that emphasized the fine bone structure in her face, her slender neck and those
beautiful hands. Ironically, the starburst-shaped scar on the top of one of
them only made them more fascinating.

Gen knew the childhood horror that had created that scar,
the past that Marguerite always carried in her eyes and aloof manner. But being
with Tyler had made it better, had brought healing to wounds that had bled for
years. The scars would always be there, the memories, but Marguerite carried
them more easily now. Tyler bore part of the load, helped carry her when she
needed it.

Would Gen get to that point with Lyda or Noah? Had her
feelings for them unlocked what Gen wanted so badly at this point in her life?
Was that what was really scaring her so much? The contentment she’d created for
herself had come at a cost. She’d lowered expectations and discovered the pleasure
of accepting the little joys, rather than making leaps into the unknown. What
she faced with Lyda and Noah was hell and gone from that. It was standing at a
canyon edge and wondering, if she stepped out, would a bridge materialize out
of thin air to connect her to the other side. And would what waited for her
there be worth the risk?