Divine Solace: 8 (9 page)

“Gen.”

“Shh.” She brushed her cheek against damp male skin,
squeezed her eyes shut. Then she drew back, rose to her feet. “So maybe I was
wrong about the housetraining thing,” she said. “You follow commands pretty
well.”

Her voice was thick, heart pumping hard. Was she taunting
him? She wasn’t sure. She retreated to the sink, her T-shirt in hand, pressed
beneath her breasts. She stared out into the backyard, at her pretty groupings
of potted plants, the privacy fence and small plot of grass.

“Would you like to see the less housetrained side of me,
Gen? On your terms?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. He’d risen to his feet.
A delicious shiver ran through her. His tone was rough, male, not boyish at
all. She’d met men in their twenties who weren’t much beyond high school when
it came to maturity. Noah wasn’t one of them. He was as versatile and timeless
as a Fae sprite. Or an incubus. Maybe a vampire.

That fit. She imagined him as a vampire, forever young in
appearance, yet looking at the world through the eyes of an old soul. Other
times he had an emotional vulnerability that summoned her protective instincts.
He was unpredictable, intriguing. And Lyda had given him to her for the
weekend. He’d said so. Her first reaction to that had been disbelief,
amusement, rejection. Then she’d moved so quickly toward the desire to touch,
to experiment, it had frightened her into a quick retreat last night. But now
the feeling was back, thicker, richer. She was far less willing to run away.

She looked at the wall clock. “Five minutes,” she said. “For
the next five minutes…show me.” Five minutes had to be safe, right?

It was the last coherent thought she had. At least for the
next five minutes.

He moved like sunlight, bringing heat to her flesh, his
erection pressed against her backside. Banding his arm around her waist, he put
his teeth to her throat and bit down, hard, giving life to her brief fantasy.
When she gasped and arched, he used the movement to slip the button of her
jeans and tunnel down. He captured her clit over the silk of her panties,
providing a friction that had her writhing, all the desire she’d suppressed last
night surging against his hand.

“Fuck, your clit’s so swollen, so needy. You should have let
me take care of that for you.” He muttered it against her throat and bit her
again, sucking hard, making her shudder at his obvious marking. He’d taste the
salt of her perspiration from their exertions, the flavor of her skin beneath.
The smooth metal of the tongue piercing slid along her carotid, the unexpected
sensation intensifying everything else.

He brought his other hand over her shoulder, across her chest,
clever fingers sliding into her left bra cup to cradle her flesh. He stroked
the full curve all around the nipple, but not actually making contact until all
the nerve endings in the peak were vibrating and begging for it. She’d never
been handled with such care and skill. If either Guy or Amos had known how to
do this, she might have considered her time with them far less of a waste.

But this was about more than skill. You had to care about
someone, think they were the most special thing on earth, to touch them like
this. As crazy as it was, with every caress he made her believe that.

As he stroked her through the panties, she was rotating her
hips against him, her arousal increasing at a rate she couldn’t contain. He
growled in response. He knew just how to stroke her cunt, how to circle, pinch
and tease at the right moments, in the right places. He was a quick learner,
adapting and recognizing what would pleasure her the most.

“Noah…”

He slid his hand from her breast to her throat, holding her
against his bare upper body, her pulse crashing against his palm as he stroked
her there, put his mouth beneath his grip, teased and bit again, even as his
other fingers pulled on her clit, plucking at it, tapping it, an excruciating
technique that had her hips beating against the counter and thrusting back
against his cock, trying to get more. She felt the rise of the climax, taking
her toward a sweet freefall.

Their movements and the pressure of his forearm had brought
her jeans halfway off her hips. In an impatient, uncoordinated move, she pushed
them down, out of the way, and groaned as the hard bar beneath his jeans
pressed intimately between her cheeks. She wanted his fingers inside her. She
never wanted that. She wanted…

The orgasm hit her, unexpected, no time for her to grab
anything in her mind to stop its hurtling force. She shrieked as he kept up
that same crazy light patter rather than a strong milking stroke. Only when she
thought she was on the downside of the climax did he adjust to a clamping,
squeezing touch, catapulting her into the clouds once again. Latching onto his
forearm where it was bent against her chest, his hand still holding her throat,
she dug her nails into him, needing to draw blood, a desperate, needy creature,
overwhelmed by what he’d done to her so effortlessly.

When she turned her head, he released her throat, pressed
his mouth against her jaw. He held the intimate gesture as he kneaded her clit,
bringing several screaming aftershocks rocketing through her body.

She was jerking against him, making little needy noises as
he nuzzled her, soothed, brought her down slow. When she eventually released
his arm, she dropped her head over the sink as she tried to regain her breath
and balance. She was vaguely aware of his hands moving over her. He brought her
jeans back up on her hips, zipped and fastened them. Passing his hand over the
juncture between her thighs, he pressed down on the outside of the denim,
sending a nice vibration of feeling through her, a pleasing finish most men
wouldn’t have thought to do. She leaned back against him as he adjusted her bra
so the cup he’d disturbed cradled the occupant as intended.

He was still hard against her backside, and when she moved
against him experimentally, he let out a short breath, a huff of a half-laugh.
He didn’t seem as though he planned to demand anything for himself. She should
offer, shouldn’t she? Yes, she felt like a dishrag, and other uncertain
emotions were swirling in her, but fair was fair.

When she opened her mouth to try for reciprocal courtesy, he
spoke first. “I owe you an apology. I exceeded your set time. Five and a half
minutes.”

“I’m still giving you a gold star on your report card.” She
gave a weak chuckle, then an edge of despair cut into her. “Oh God, Noah…”

“Sssh.” He turned her so she could put her cheek against his
chest, head tucked under his. “Don’t. It’s just a nice, sunny day, and we’re
tiling your kitchen. I know you’re working through stuff. Just let it go for
now and feel this moment.”

She let out a sigh, nodded. “Okay.”

“So…how was your weekend? Did your floor get tiled, so to
speak?”

Gen sent Chloe a look. “Have you worked on that one all
weekend?”

“Oh, no. That’s nowhere near my best stuff.” Chloe nudged
her. “Come on, I have to give you some crap, knowing you were spending the
weekend with a hot guy. Seriously, how is the floor looking?”

“He did a great job.” She was delighted with the updated
look of the marbleized earth tones that had replaced the dingy white linoleum
beneath. “He said he’ll come back if I want and paint the walls. I think he
figured out I hate painting.”

“Yeah, Noah’s crazy intuitive. I told him he should join the
circus as one of those fortune tellers. The ones who don’t really have any
psychic ability, but are good at reading tells. Of course, that would be a
waste of his best skills.” Chloe bounced her eyebrows, pure lecherous
insinuation.

“And what would you know about those?” Gen tried to keep her
tone just as teasing. She was
not
going to get possessive about the guy
who’d been loaned to her by a Mistress for a weekend.

She’d told him she’d drop him off at the marina Sunday
morning. He had an adult class to teach that day, and Lyda would be picking him
up from there. He’d agreed, but offered to drive. She’d taken him up on that,
as it gave her the opportunity to stare at him and wonder if the last two days
had been an odd dream.

Despite the temptation of that embrace in her kitchen, she
hadn’t orchestrated a repeat of Friday night with him. Instead she’d closed her
door and taken a couple of sleep aids to be sure she didn’t get restless in the
middle of the night and do anything regrettable. Fortunately, Saturday’s
exertions—tilework and an orgasm way off the charts, unlike anything she’d
experienced—had helped get her to sleep.

When he pulled into a parking space at the marina, she’d
exited on her side, circling around the bumper, ready to take his place behind
the wheel. She found herself self-conscious before the knot of students waiting
for him close by. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she wondered if this
was the kind of farewell that involved kisses. Probably just a hug and buss on
the cheek. That was okay. A hug would let her be close to his firm body once
more.

He’d held open the door for her so she could slip in behind
the wheel. When he closed it, he squatted and crossed his forearms on the open
window. “Come to the club next weekend,” he said. “Saturday night. Chloe and
Marguerite won’t be there, if you’re worried about that. Lyda will put you down
for a guest membership and I’ll meet you at the door. You can just watch, and
you can leave whenever you want.”

“Will Lyda be there?”

“Yes. She wants to get to know you better as well. And you
can see the wildlife in their natural environment.” When she gave a half-laugh
at that, he touched her arm. “Come be with us, Gen. I promise you won’t be
pressured in any way. We respect caution.”

She looked down at the connection between their bodies. “If
I decide to come, it would probably be at eight.”

“Ok. Don’t talk yourself out of it. I’ll wait at the door
from eight to nine, but even if you come later, all you have to do is ask for
me up front and I’ll come. We’re usually there for a good four hours.”

She studied the way his forearms overlapped. “You should
head for your class. It starts in five minutes.”

He touched her chin, but she wouldn’t look up. She hadn’t
kissed him this weekend, she realized. Nor had he pushed that agenda. She found
she wanted to taste his lips. But that was way too intimate. The things
crowding into her head right now, into her heart, might explode wide open. “I
need to go,” she said.

His touch withdrew. “All right. I really had a good time
this weekend. Thanks for having me.”

“Anytime you want to spend a weekend slaving away over home
improvement projects, feel free.”

He didn’t laugh at the weak joke, though he might have
smiled. She didn’t know, because she kept her head down. He gave her hair a
quick stroke.

“Please come this weekend, Gen. I’d like to see you again.”

She gave an ambiguous nod. One more light touch, and then he
was gone. Lifting her head, she watched him stride away. Some of the students
met up with him, started talking. Because of that, as he walked toward the
docks, she was able to watch him undisturbed until he passed out of sight. As
well as hold onto the sincere urgency in his voice and regret the trace of hurt
there she knew she’d caused.

She was a bitch. But her trip down a path less travelled
should probably end with this weekend. Her “safe” dose of Noah had been enough
to fry her circuits. She should have asked him for a cell number, but she
hadn’t noticed him carrying a phone, an unusual thing for anyone these days.
She could always call the nursery and leave a message that she wasn’t coming.
If that’s what she decided to do.

She tuned back into the present at Tea Leaves. She was
already missing him, which was a crazy schoolgirl feeling she hadn’t had…well,
since she was a schoolgirl.

Chloe had brought one of her fresh pound cakes this morning,
as well as strawberry preserves made from the fruits of her garden. When she
and Brendan married, they’d decided to give up Brendan’s apartment and stay in
the house Chloe was renting. They were now on a lease-to-own plan. In a rural
area outside Tampa, the run-down cottage surrounded by a wild tangle of nature
had always been a good fit for Chloe. Brendan meshed with it the way he meshed
with Chloe herself.

That couldn’t be as simple as it appeared. How had Chloe,
not a Mistress per Noah’s description, made it work with a male who was as
devoted to the submissive role as Noah himself? She thought of how Noah had
adapted to her this weekend. True, it was a limited interaction, and she
certainly wasn’t a Mistress of Lyda’s caliber—she didn’t think of herself as a
Mistress at all. Yet taking the lead with him had felt so…refreshing. If that
was how it worked with Chloe, was that enough for Brendan, or was there more to
it?

It didn’t really matter, did it? Why was she even thinking
about it?

“Earth to Gen…”

Chloe was standing at her side. Her coworker was switching
out the teas Gen had put in the brewer, because she’d been about to make the
wrong flavor for the morning special. Though Chloe had her trying moments, far
more often she picked up on Gen’s moods perfectly, like now. Chloe squeezed her
hand. “Want some pound cake for breakfast?”

“Love some.” They still had about fifteen minutes before
opening and everything was ready. Marguerite was in early today, but currently
on the phone in her office. Chloe had already parked a piece of the cake at her
elbow, along with a cup of Marguerite’s preferred morning brew. Now Chloe
snagged herself a fork and she and Gen shared a piece while leaning against
either side of the counter, something they’d done often enough it was a
foregone conclusion they’d split the calories.

It was a good reminder of why Gen felt so accepted here. She
shouldn’t be doing anything to rock that boat, but that missing-Noah feeling
was putting pressure beneath her ribs, making her stomach all swirly.

She should have kissed him. He would have kissed her if
she’d lifted her head. Since she’d denied herself that, she’d let herself
indulge some idle curiosity along with the pound cake.

“So what do you think is his best skill? I’m just wanting to
know some more about him,” she qualified. “About…that side of him.”

“At the club, we call him the Pussy Whisperer.”

Gen choked, set down her fork. “What?”

“Thought that would get you to lighten up.” Chloe pressed
the tines of her fork against the top of Gen’s hand, a gentle tease. “But it is
true. Mind you, I haven’t experienced it directly. Brendan would absolutely
flip.”

Chloe beamed at her absent husband’s possessiveness. “At
first, he tried to be the way he was with other Mistresses before me. Like
whatever, whoever I wanted, it was all the same to him, but he left that
bullshit behind pretty fast. Especially when I made it clear it hurt my
feelings, him thinking it was okay for me to be with other guys. Even if it was
a club sub in a structured session. Sometimes it’s how things go both ways in a
relationship that locks it in, makes it a stronger bond, if that makes sense.”

It did, but Gen’s focus was on one particular submissive.
“Do a lot of them have that kind of arrangement? Multiple partners? Are Lyda
and Noah that way?”

Noah had made it clear that Lyda’s decision to share him
with Gen, without Lyda present, wasn’t their usual thing. So it wasn’t really
the same as a completely open relationship. Did they call it a relationship at
all?

“Not really. Before Lyda took temporary ownership of him,
Noah was picked up by different Mistresses for sessions. But it’s been only him
and her for a few months now.”

“Hmm.” Gen stole a quick look at Marguerite. Their boss was
still on the phone. “So how did he get his nickname?”

“Can’t say it, can you? Pussy. Puuusssy…” Chloe fenced forks
with Gen and Gen stabbed the last bite of cake in retaliation. “Say it. Here,
kitty, kitty…”

“Stop it. Tell me.”

“If you say it.”

“I won’t.” Gen studiously scraped together the crumbs on the
plate, then sighed as Chloe wet her finger and pressed them against the pile of
crumbs, popping the finger in her mouth.

“Oh, fine. Pussywhisperer.” Gen said it fast, mashing the
words together.

“Close enough. Noah has this weird inner focus thing. All
the Mistresses—as well as the subs they’ve had him play with—say he touches a
woman like he’s listening to something inside of her, figuring out what works
uniquely for her. It’s not just about him getting to touch a woman’s naughty
bits, which is of course where most guys screw up. You know how they are.”

“Like babies with new toys,” Gen said dryly. “They gurgle,
drool and grope, forgetting that what they’re squeezing is actually attached to
sensitive nerve endings.”

“Exactly. Brendan says Noah recognizes a woman’s body is an
orchestra and when he touches her, he finds the perfect soundtrack for her.”

It was an entirely accurate description. In those five
moments at her sink, Noah had let her body lead him, her gyrations and tiny
jerks guiding his fingers. No. Deeper than that. He’d understood her unique
emotional grid and matched it to what she needed physically. And he’d used that
to take her to that amazing orgasm. The man was scary good. Just thinking about
it made her warmer.

Chloe was watching her face. “Okay, if I didn’t have my own
maestro to have and to hold forever, I’d be feeling pretty damn jealous. He
really did tile your floor.”

“No, not like that. He did some things.”

“Noah is very good at doing things.”

Gen found herself grinning at her coworker. She flicked
Chloe’s arm. “You twit.” But she felt comfortable enough now to ask more
questions. “What do you mean, temporary ownership?”

“There are times a Dom and sub might hook up exclusively for
a while. It’s similar to being in a vanilla relationship, seeing where it takes
you, but they might put in place more structured stipulations that keep it from
being as uncharted as a relationship. I don’t know if Lyda and Noah have any of
that, but I do know they’ve been together as an exclusive item for a few
months. At first she’d play with him with other Mistresses, but over time,
she’s even eased back from that.”

Which matched what Noah had told her. Not that she’d doubted
his honesty, or was in deep enough with him to trigger her trust issues, but it
was always good to hear a corroborated story.

“When Noah first came here from New Orleans, Tyler was
watching over him. Not in a sex way, of course, but you could tell Noah
reported to him.”

Gen’s brow furrowed. “Are subs controlled by a Dom at all
times?”

“No.” An uncomfortable look crossed Chloe’s face, and she
glanced toward Marguerite. Their boss was off the phone and working on her
laptop. Marguerite wasn’t a big talker, but when she wasn’t on the phone, she
didn’t miss a word of their conversations, even if it appeared she was
otherwise occupied. Sometimes she’d insert a comment while Gen and Chloe
chatted. It was another familiar ritual.

“I’m wondering if she should talk to Lyda about him, M. I’m
not sure what’s okay to say or not.”

Marguerite lifted her attention from her keyboard, her
pale-blue eyes meeting Chloe’s with her unblinking regard. Gen looked between
them. “What am I missing?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Chloe collected residual strawberry
preserves off the rim of the open jar with a spoon and tasted it. “Most
submissives go to work, watch TV at night, whatever. They let the sub side come
out in the club or maybe in other structured ways with their significant
others, like me and Brendan, but they’re still really sort of like everyone else.
They run their own lives. Then there are those like Noah. He’s…fully
subservient. I don’t know if that’s the right term to use or not.”

“It’s accurate, to a point,” Marguerite said. “Noah is very
independent in some ways, Gen. I’m sure you’ve experienced his self-determined
side.”

Gen had a hard time not flushing at that. Marguerite didn’t
miss the reaction, but she didn’t remark on it, thankfully. “In other ways,”
she continued, “Noah requires protection. He has no use for money. Everything
that belongs to him is in that duffle he carries. I expect he has a couple sets
of clothes so that, when and if a Domme releases him, he can take his leave
with more than the clothes on his back. However, whatever his Domme chooses to
purchase for him he views as her property. Much like himself. Even if she’s
buying those items with the money he turns over to her.”

“Wait. You mean Lyda…”