Divine Solace: 8 (10 page)

“Whatever money he earns, he gives to her,” Marguerite
confirmed. “Noah makes very few demands, but he’s adamant about that. He
doesn’t want anyone paying for his upkeep. When he doesn’t have a Master or
Mistress, I expect he uses his money for food or to give himself a place to
stay. Someone’s extra room, or a place that accepts cash. He thinks about what
his Master or Mistress may need from him and acquires the appropriate skills,
but when it comes to the structure most of us have—bank accounts, bills—he doesn’t
do those things.”

“So he’s like a homeless person, in a sense.” Gen was seeing
him in an uncomfortable new light.

Marguerite lifted a shoulder. “It’s tempting to define
someone on your own terms rather than understanding who and what they are. Noah’s
free will is a very elusive thing. It tends to be like a chameleon, adapting to
whoever has possession of him.”

She’d fought so hard for her independence, to own her own
home, car—to regain control of her life. She couldn’t understand someone who
turned their back on such things. It sent up all sorts of red flags. But those
protective instincts she’d felt around him were also back in an unexpectedly
strong way. “Can’t that be dangerous to him?”

Marguerite’s blue gaze flickered, telling her she’d said something
her boss had hoped she’d understand. Gen didn’t claim to comprehend any of it,
but Marguerite’s approbation was always enough to steady her in any situation.
“Yes, it can. Certain submissives are so immersed in their orientation that it
defines everything about them. It makes them a prize to a certain kind of
sexual Dominant. Unfortunately there are good and bad ones. Once Noah commits
to a Dom, he is everything that Master or Mistress desires him to be, because
that challenge fulfills his soul. Even that doesn’t fully describe it, because
there are many things about Noah that are unclassifiable. He is a special young
man.”

“M’s hitting the nail on the head,” Chloe agreed. “He’s
incredible, and yet a little scary as well. If he was part of one of those
cultures with arranged marriages, he’d accept the choice given him without
question, and serve his wife with utter devotion. Even if she was a hideous
bitch.”

“But how could that make him happy?”

“Happiness isn’t the primary priority to this type of submissive,
Gen,” Marguerite said. “Or rather, their definition of happiness lies in their
service. To a point. For Noah, that point is much further along the spectrum
than most.”

“So how would you know if you were special to him at all? If
you could be a hideous bitch, and he’d be just the same way with you as he’d be
with a generous lover…”

Marguerite nodded. “It’s the dilemma any Mistress who lets
herself care for him faces.”

Did she mean Lyda? The way M held her gaze an extra moment
made her think that was the case.

“Some subs get it mixed up in their head,” Chloe added. “The
ones whose craving for that fantasy, the idea that their wants and needs are
secondary to the Domme’s, is so strong. But the healthy reality is they have to
work it out where it’s more of a give and take. Even Brendan has some of that
problem, and I had to learn to understand it the right way, not think he was
being some kind of whore.”

Gen winced, remembering her initial agitation, her
accusation that Noah was being used as Lyda’s bait. Seeing it, Chloe made an
understanding face.

“Sometimes you have to have a come-to-Jesus moment to get it
cleared up. We did, even before we were married. Remember what I said about the
whole possessiveness thing, when Brendan was acting like it was okay for me to
make the decision to pick another sub at the club?”

The sudden bemused look on Chloe’s face, the light flush to
her fair skin, told Gen a great deal about the graphic nature of the memory. “I
forced the issue by doing exactly that, poking his inner Hulk,” Chloe
continued. “And yes, believe you me, he does have one. Once we reached the
green skin stage, I made it clear I only wanted to be with him, and I damn well
expected him to
want
that from me.”

Gen closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “So sometimes you
have to convince a certain type of sub that they have to get in touch with
their own wants and needs, because that’s what you want, as their Domme.”

“Yeah. Gives you a headache, doesn’t it? Like a snake biting
its own tail.” Chloe shrugged. “Don’t get bogged down in it. What you were
asking, about how do you know if he even likes you? That’s something you can
feel in your gut, no matter what signals he puts out or what he says. So much
of this is about intuition, not words. Yet in some ways Dom/sub stuff is more
straightforward than the vanilla relationships. A lot less games about what
they’re feeling, because it’s about being honest or nothing. So think about it.
Did you get the feeling he likes you?”

She thought of the moment at her car, the tone in his voice
when he said,
Come this weekend
. She remembered the way he’d held her,
soothed her. As if he understood what it was to be hurt so deeply, to feel so
lonely and afraid of her own needs…

“It was just a weekend,” she said. “He belongs to her.”

Chloe exchanged a glance with Marguerite, then looked back
at Gen. “You were kind of interested in her too, weren’t you? Things aren’t
always about couples.”

“I…” The automatic assertion she was straight came to her
lips, but she was already figuring out things weren’t that clear cut in the
BDSM world. “I told Noah I might meet them at The Zone this weekend.”

The unexpected admission jumped out of her mouth, but
fortunately Chloe didn’t explode with unfettered joy, something that would have
sent Gen into full retreat. Instead the girl merely said, “If you do, be sure
and try the bourbon brownies in their coffee bar. They’re awesome.”

Gen couldn’t read M’s expression. Giving Gen a brief nod,
she went back to focusing on her computer.

“What should I wear?” She turned to a safer topic. Or so she
thought.

“You definitely need the proper gear,” Chloe said
immediately. “We’ll hit the Naughty Kitty on the main drag this week. Four inch
stilettos are SOP, and as much leather as you can slap onto yourself and still show
off your tits. A corset is perfect for that. Relax, I’m messing with you.”

Gen closed her dropped jaw, shoved Chloe as her friend burst
into laughter. “You should see how horrified you look. You can wear whatever
you want. People wear everything from street clothes to full bondage gear.
There are locker rooms so you can change inside the club too. For some people,
that helps them shift mindset. But if you’re going mainly to check things out,
I’d say go with clubwear. Jeans and a sparkly sexy top. Stay away from weekend
sweats and sneakers.”

“So my Eeyore slippers and flannel pajamas would be too
casual?” Gen eyed her.

“Big yes. It’s not a midnight Walmart ice cream run.”

The faint smile playing about Marguerite’s lips, a response
to their exchange, gave Gen the fortitude to clear her throat, draw those
pale-blue eyes back to her. “I’m getting a warning vibe off you, M, but I can’t
figure it out. Would you tell me what it is, so I don’t mess up?”

Marguerite could be cryptic, but she never dodged a straightforward
question. She stopped typing. “If you’re going to a new country,” she said, “go
with an open mind. Learn the culture and determine if you can appreciate it.
Don’t impose your own or be influenced in the wrong way by the experiences of
your own life. You understand?”

“I do,” Gen said slowly. “I just don’t know how to keep my
own baggage out of it.”

Marguerite knew her history, as did Chloe. Gen had never
dumped it on them, but both had ways of ferreting out information. Particularly
Marguerite. Gen was pretty sure their boss knew things about her and Chloe they
didn’t know about themselves.

“There’s a difference between withholding who you are,
keeping it separate, and letting who you are integrate with their world,
broadening both parties as a result. My point is, if you can’t accept the basic
foundation of what makes them who they are, then you have to accept you’re
taking a vacation there, not making a permanent move.”

“Are you telling me that more in relation to Lyda or Noah?”
With that question, Gen knew she’d essentially answered Chloe’s. Both Mistress
and sub interested her, even though she had no idea how to process the Lyda
side of that equation.

“Either,” Marguerite replied. “Also remember the difference
between trying to change someone to your way of thinking and renovating a few
rooms to make moving in together more comfortable. It’s always a two-way
street.” Her gaze flickered. “In every good relationship, everyone evolves.
Follow your intuition, Gen. It’s far better than you realize.”

* * * * *

Gen had grimaced at the thought of herself in ankle-breaking
stilettos and sweat-trapping leather. Even so, when she flipped through her
wardrobe, she’d been unsatisfied. She had a basic black cocktail dress and some
cute things she’d worn for dates or quick crushes that hadn’t turned into
anything. Nothing felt right for this.

She told herself buying something super special would doom
her expectations to disappointment because of the height to which a new outfit
could propel them. Despite that, she’d stopped at her favorite outlet store
Wednesday and visited the discount rack. She’d found a dress she liked, and the
price had talked her into it.

Thursday night, she made a late night run to Walmart—sans
Eeyore pajamas—and she had what she needed to touch up her color, giving her
brown hair shiny highlights and making the roots vanish.

So here she was on Saturday night, going overboard for her
unlikely adventure at a BDSM club. The dress was a pine-colored green like her
eyes, with cap sleeves and vee neckline. The fabric of the dress was gathered
in tiny folds at the waistline, an hourglass-shaping design that ran down to
the mid-thigh hem, scalloping away to reveal her thighs. That same tight fold
pattern was in back as well, flattering the shape of her ass.

Bringing out her airbrush kit, a keeper from her days as a
beautician, she did a nighttime makeup application so her green eyes glowed
from a frame of thick lashes, enhanced by the brown eye shadow she used. She
brushed and curled her hair, clipping it high in back, and pulled some of those
lighter-streaked pieces out from the brown, letting them curl around her face,
soften it.

It had been a long time since she’d dressed up. Had the last
time been Chloe’s wedding? Even then, she hadn’t really focused on being sexy.
Tonight, she felt sexy, female. Young. She wasn’t old, yet she’d gotten in the
habit of feeling that way. She tried to remember the last time she’d let
herself get infatuated with the possibilities of a date. She couldn’t. As each
candle had been snuffed out by incompatibility, her glow for it had dimmed
further, until a hot bath, book and hanging out with crafting friends had
sounded more appealing. Safer. What a depressing thought.

Despite her reservations about getting so dolled up, she couldn’t
deny it helped fuel her excitement about tonight. This wasn’t about romance,
not exactly, but it was sexual in an exciting way. Her escort was a male who
definitely fascinated her. And then there was the woman who “temporarily” owned
him. Thinking about a range of possible reactions from either one of them, Gen
thought she was like a Coca-Cola, a tingly, fizzy feeling coursing through her
blood. Executing a slow turn, she looked at herself from all angles in the
floor-length mirror. She’d worn two-inch black pumps on her feet. No stockings.
Her legs were good enough not to need them. She’d forgotten she had good legs.
And
really
nice breasts.

Her ass could use work, but most women thought that. She
blamed that on Chloe’s baked goods, but thinking of what Noah had said about
waking up against a soft ass drove any self-denigration away. All in all, she
thought she looked pretty damn good. At least here in her bedroom, where she
wouldn’t suffer in comparison to anyone else.

This was foolish. Too much. She needed to change into jeans
and a spangly top, just like Chloe had implied. But that would be wasted money
on the dress, and Gen felt strongly about wasting money.

Noah would be there, and so would Lyda. As much as she told
herself this wasn’t a typical date, and definitely not a three-way date, her
mind was churning over the possibilities. She was going to a BDSM club, where
sex would be up front and foremost in everyone’s mind.

“All right. Enough. This is what they’re getting. Tonight
will be whatever I want it to be. Nothing I don’t want. I’m in control.”

Flipping off the bathroom light, she went to hunt up her
purse and keys before she lost her nerve.

* * * * *

She’d never been to The Zone. Typical of many adult clubs,
it wasn’t in the best area of town, but she saw Tyler’s influence in the
ownership. Security personnel patrolled the parking lot, and a complimentary
shuttle circled through to offer rides to the door, a boon to women in icepick
heels. She saw plenty of those, and the women wore clothes to match the shoes,
which made her glad she’d worn what she’d worn. While she saw some casual
street garb, the place had that festive, dress-up feeling classy clubs emanated
after sunset.

She hadn’t expected to see anyone wearing scanty bondage
wear in the parking lot, but plenty of the members carried purses or totes
large enough to contain a change of clothes, or other things her wild
imagination couldn’t help but entertain. Whips, chains…

Some only carried a small handbag, however, reassuring her
that she wouldn’t be the only one here just to watch. For them, the BDSM might
be merely a titillating floor show. She expected that provided a good balance,
since some of those who actively participated might like having an audience.