Divine Solace: 8 (12 page)

Noah’s Mistress was standing at the rail, close enough Gen
saw the frosted gloss on her lips, the dusting of glitter across the top of her
high bosom. She wore a silver gray corset and tight gray leggings tucked into
black boots. A jet pendant nestled in her deep cleavage. She’d done something
to her red-gold hair that turned it into crimson flame, the waving locks
forming a lush swirl around her face.

The woman was overwhelming in jeans and T-shirt, wearing
sweat and a bill cap. Seeing her like this set off electric impulses in every
part of Gen’s body and got her heart jumping like a frog on a hot plate.

When her silver gaze met Gen’s, it held. With Noah holding
her from behind, and Lyda’s attention pinned upon her, Gen felt as surrounded
as if Lyda was right up against her front. Noah’s hands had shifted to her
upper arms and Gen imagined he was holding her still for the Mistress’s touch,
her mouth…whatever she willed.

Yikes.
This environment and these clothes could be
more than a little dangerous. She reminded herself she’d never felt an
attraction this overt to a woman, let alone to a man and woman at the same
time. Hell, even though she’d nursed a curiosity about the world Marguerite and
now Chloe inhabited, it hadn’t motivated her to join the world of whips and
chains. Not until she’d been exposed to it by these two people. They made her
consider things she’d never considered before. The startling thing was
realizing they hadn’t planted the seeds. It was more like they were the
sunlight and rain that had finally made them grow.

Noah had implied everyone had Dominant and submissive
cravings to a certain extent. Though Gen wasn’t sure everyone wanted to carry
them out to the degree she saw in this club, she couldn’t deny the things that
surged up in her when she was around them felt…familiar.

Lyda tilted her head, and Noah lifted a hand in
acknowledgment. “She wants us to meet her downstairs. It’ll be quieter there
and we can talk.”

In her current state, Gen didn’t think she was going to be
capable of much coherent conversation, but she let him lead her back out of the
crowd. As they followed the perimeter of the dance floor, which was quite impressive,
Noah made her smile when he took advantage of an open space to propel her into
a turn, waltzing her along the edge of the wooden floor with smooth grace.
“It’s all right,” he said into her ear. “You’re just here to watch. Remember?
Nothing you don’t want to do.”

Her body language had communicated her tension. Lyda
introduced a more demanding dynamic, and she’d reacted to it. Noah, bless his
intuition, was reminding her it was no different with either of them. It was
all her choice.

Their destination was a sitting area buffered from sound by
glass walls, such that the groupings of chairs and couches encouraged intimate
conversations. An efficient staff and well-stocked bar provided refreshments.
Gen noted the furniture was a mix of antique and retro furniture, including the
swan fainting couch on which Lyda waited. She was sitting with her back against
the cushioned side, her hand resting on the carved swan’s neck, which
emphasized the grace of her arm stretched along the slope of the wood. One knee
was bent to rest on the seat.

Up close, Lyda was even more captivating, her hair soft and
touchable, eyes vivid. The wetness of her lips made Gen moisten her own. Lyda’s
attention slid over Gen, marking her appearance in much the same way Noah had.
Only this time, there was an undeniable predatory intent in the scrutiny. It
didn’t make Lyda less tempting at all. More like the opposite.

She’d stopped a few feet from Lyda. Glancing between them,
Noah released her to step aside, leaving the view clear for his Mistress. Gen
flushed as Lyda continued to study her from head to toe. Would she realize Gen
had bought pretty new underwear for this, fixed up her hair? Misted body spray
on her throat and inner thighs, just in case?

When Lyda lifted a hand, Gen saw she’d polished her short
nails tonight. One of those fingers made a rotating movement. She wanted Gen to
turn, to see her from all angles. She did it, strangling back another nervy
chuckle. She could have been a puppet, Lyda’s finger executing an idle spin of the
string. She felt the woman’s eyes on her bare back, her legs exposed by the
short hem of the dress. Her ankles trembled.

When she finished the full turn, Lyda crooked that finger at
her. Aware of Noah’s regard as she stepped past him, Gen wanted to reach out,
graze his bare abdomen with her fingers, but she didn’t. She closed the
distance between her and Lyda until she was inches away from her bent knee.

She should say something.
Hi, how’s it going? Great
turnout tonight. Love your outfit.
She didn’t.

Lyda rose. In her boot heels, Lyda had about an inch on Gen.
That meant on bare soles, Gen was slightly taller, but she didn’t presume that
gave her an advantage. What emanated from Lyda had nothing to do with size. It
was all about confidence, a blood-deep understanding of what she was, and the
many faces that identity took as she executed the day-to-day of her world. Like
this moment. She slid a hand under Gen’s hair, much as Noah had done, but she
gripped it tight, just as she’d done at Tea Leaves. Gen wondered what would
happen if her quivering knees buckled. Then she felt Noah shifting behind her
and knew.

“Stay still,” Lyda said, and moved close enough her lips
were within touching distance of Gen’s. Another inch and she’d be kissing her.
A woman had never kissed her on the lips, not even the quick family brush
thing. Gen couldn’t hold her gaze. She had to look down, which meant she was
looking at the way Lyda’s corset displayed her breasts, the quiver of them as
she breathed. The pendant looked like an oblong river stone, polished as if
still wet from rushing water. What would Lyda do if she bent her head, brushed
her lips over the top of one breast? It was so close, right there. She wanted
to see what it felt like, a woman’s breast against her mouth.

As if anticipating the move, Lyda’s grip on her hair
constricted, holding her still. Then she molded her other hand around Gen’s
right breast. It was a matter-of-fact, exploratory touch, as if she had every
right to touch Gen so intimately. Lyda wrapped her fingers around the full
curve, Gen’s nipple stabbing into her palm through the satin of the bra. Lyda’s
thumb passed over it once, twice…three times. Slow, even strokes, as Gen’s body
hollowed, pressing into that touch, her breath uneven. Pleasure pumped through
her as Noah’s hands closed on her shoulders. His body was a column of support,
a prop holding her in place for Lyda.

“You’re beautiful, Gen,” Lyda said, touching her chin to
draw her gaze. “I’m glad you dressed up for us. And for yourself.”

Marguerite had that kind of touch. Sparing, but something in
it that made everything ache and need at once. Chloe called it the benevolent
goddess touch, containing protection and kick-ass scariness together. Lyda’s
touch compelled that vital, indefinable want from Gen. As well as blatant,
pulsing sexual desire.

Lyda nodded to Noah. “He sees the beauty, the sexiness
you’ve let out of the box for the night. He senses this is exciting for you,
different, and his energy will fuel yours. But a woman sees the deeper side.
The fragility, the uncertainty beneath, especially when you’ve locked it down
for so long. As you were getting ready tonight, it felt like the first time you
ever dressed up, like for a high school dance. Right?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Gen cleared a thick throat.

“Back then, you wondered if anyone would think you’re
pretty. It’s even possible that giddiness in front of your mirror was swallowed
as soon as you arrived at the school. But maybe it came back when your friends
validated your appearance and boys were looking at you. You were still nervous,
but you felt better. You were willing to explore the feeling. Time passes, and
you lose that confidence. But you hoped for that feeling tonight, hoped enough
to try. I’m very proud of you.”

Gen had learned the dangers of seeking approval from the
wrong places, had learned to stand on her own without any at all. Yet Lyda
reached into her soul and plucked out feelings like flowers from a field. The
bouquet she arranged confused Gen, but she couldn’t deny Lyda’s approval was
like sunlight. It spread heat through her, while Noah’s presence at her back
was the vital force of a summer storm.

“You are very, very pretty, Gen.” Lyda stroked her cheek,
her lips. “And you’re watching me like a forest animal. Wondering if I’ll cause
you harm.”

“Will you?” Despite the desire of her lips to tremble under
that touch, Gen firmed her chin, lifted it.

“If I do, it will be because you’ve begged me for the pain.”
Lyda’s eyes glimmered like a frost queen’s, hinting of magical, mysterious
things.

Releasing Gen, she moved back to the fainting couch. “Come
sit with me.”

Noah nudged her forward. Gen began to sink down on the sofa
facing Lyda, two women prepared to have a chat, but Lyda extended her hand, clasped
it around Gen’s. “Come here.”

Gen was reminded of how one walked a tightrope, keeping eyes
on the end goal, not on the feet. Lyda’s grip told Gen what she wanted. What
Gen herself wanted.

Lyda was against the arm rest of the couch again, and this
time she had one leg up on the seat, knee bent and propped against the couch’s
back. Her other booted foot was braced on the floor. It made an open triangle
between her legs, and that was where she brought Gen, pulling her down to sit
face forward so her back rested against Lyda’s bent knee and supple boot, her
hip inches from the juncture between Lyda’s thighs. Lifting her other leg onto
the sofa, Lyda stretched it across Gen’s lap. She kept her knee bent enough the
weight of her leg wasn’t resting on Gen’s thighs.

Gen noted that the antique furniture had either been
reupholstered or it was a modernized replica, because instead of the plush
velvet or brocade expected on such a piece, it was covered in a nonporous but
butter-soft vinyl, comfortable but resilient to puncture and easy to clean. It
gave her vivid ideas of what happened on it to justify that practical design.
Lyda shifted her grip to Gen’s other hand, holding it loosely between them as
she reached out with her free hand, played with a curl at Gen’s temple.

“Beautiful color. Much better.” Her fingertips slid along
Gen’s throat. “Fast pulse. Am I making you nervous, Gen?”

“I think that’s your plan.”

Lyda flashed a smile. “Does that upset you?”

Gen shook her head. She was out of her element, but she didn’t
want to move. She was hyperaware of Lyda’s leg stretched over her thighs, her
bent one against Gen’s back. She wanted to touch Lyda and be touched by her,
and the woman had delivered on that wish.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Do it and find out. Don’t be a chicken.”

Gen hedged. “Were you a cheerleader? A popular girl who got
whatever you wanted?”

“No.” Lyda traced Gen’s cheek bone and the soft skin beneath
her eye with a fingernail, her thumb following behind to caress the track of
the sharp edge. “I was working two jobs to earn money for college. I did think
once or twice about bringing a machine gun to the pep rallies, but the
narrow-minded college I wanted to attend didn’t consider shooting fish in a
barrel a commendable school activity, even if it did show individual
initiative. Do you think I expect you to obey me without earning your trust?”

“I don’t know why you expect me to obey you at all. Do you
act like that toward anyone who isn’t…like you?”

“Who isn’t a Domme, you mean?”

When Gen made a noise of agreement, Lyda stroked her temple,
working her way down. Gen lifted her chin, an instinctive desire for Lyda’s
hand to follow the line of her jaw, down to her throat, tease her collarbone.
Lyda did it, bringing the other hand up to cup Gen’s face on the opposite side,
holding her there as she stroked her windpipe, all the sensitive pulse points
around it.

“I expect you to obey me because you want to do it,” the
woman said. “You want to see where I’m going to take you, Gen. You want someone
you can trust to take you nice places. Close your eyes, and I’ll do that.”

It plucked a heartstring, disturbing layers of emotional
sediment. Since Gen wanted to keep the focus on waking her body, not her past,
she let her eyes fall shut. Her body was even more attuned to Lyda’s touch
without the distraction of sight. Gen wanted Lyda to keep touching her this
way, all night. But she wanted to do the same, find out what it was like to
touch this fascinating woman. Her hands had initially been on her lap, but part
defense mechanism, part following her own wants, they’d drifted to the leg in
her lap, one resting on Lyda’s shin, the other on her thigh. Gen’s fingers
curled into the thin, stretched fabric of the tight leggings as she closed her
eyes and Lyda made an approving murmur at her compliance.

“What did you want me to do when you saw me, Gen? What did
you want to do? First thing that comes to mind.”

“I wanted to kiss you. Be kissed by you.”

“Two different things, aren’t they? Which one did you want
more?”

“Too hard to choose. Do I have to?”

Lyda chuckled, an erogenous sound. “Keep very, very still.
Eyes stay closed. Face turned toward me. If you move, or open your eyes, I’ll
draw back.”

She held her breath as Lyda shifted. The woman’s palm slid
across her abdomen, curving around her waist, just above her hip. She adjusted
the leg behind Gen so it was bowed around her buttocks and hip, and moved the
other one off her lap to the floor so Lyda’s foot was braced between Gen’s, her
calf pressed against her shin. It left Gen’s hands empty and on her lap again.

Gen held her breath as Lyda’s mint-tinged breath teased her
lips, her mouth brushing over hers. Her lips were already parted. She felt a
touch of Lyda’s tongue, tracing her lips, darting inside to caress Gen’s
tongue. That held breath caught in her throat. Lyda’s fingers dug into her hip,
and her other hand locked against Gen’s jaw, holding her still as she played
with her.

A tiny, needy noise came from Gen’s lips, spoken into the
other woman’s mouth. Lyda answered with an incoherent reassurance, one that had
a firm note to it, reinforcing the order to stay still. Then she eased back,
though she stayed close enough her arm was still around Gen’s waist, hand
kneading her nape beneath her hair line.

“Let’s talk about your weekend with Noah,” Lyda said. “I
understand you let him give you pleasure this weekend.”

She couldn’t claim that wasn’t Lyda’s business, right? In
the context of this world, Noah was “hers”. Gen nodded.

“Did you like having him come for you? You can open your
eyes.”

Gen felt Noah’s attention in her peripheral vision, even
though she couldn’t pull away from Lyda’s irresistible stare. “I liked
everything about him. He’s a pleasure to have around.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Lyda allowed her to look toward the
subject of their conversation. Noah shifted into view from behind the couch,
where he’d been standing in quiet attendance. He had that absorbed look men
always seemed to have when two women were touching one another. Seeing him
after having her eyes closed, all of her now quivering from Lyda’s attention
and kiss, was like the well-timed stroke of a vibrator against her pussy.

Gen bit back a murmur of want as her gaze slid over all the
bare skin, the way he looked in the laced pants. She wanted to tug on those
wrapped bracelets, let her hands glide up his forearms, spread her palms out
over his chest, tangle her fingers in the choker at his throat.

Lyda twisted one of Gen’s curls around her fingers and
leaned forward. Gen saw the delicate flare of Lyda’s nostrils as she inhaled,
rubbed her lips over the thick lock.

“I wondered if he smells like you.”

Lyda drew back enough to arch a brow. “Pardon?”

Gen swallowed. “Everyone carries a certain combination of
scents, natural as well as soap or perfume, that kind of thing. I wondered if
your scent is on him.”

Lyda’s eyes glowed like burnished metal, her glossy lips
pursing. “I might just let you get close enough to both of us tonight to find
out.”

Gen couldn’t help taking another look at the distracting
size of Noah’s genitals beneath the hold of the pants. It hadn’t abated since
he’d met her at the door.

“On your knees, Noah,” Lyda purred. “Keep your eyes on the
floor until I say otherwise. Put your hand inside those pants that have all the
women creaming themselves and stroke yourself.”

Gen’s heart fluttered up, not just at the direct order, but
at Noah’s instant compliance. He dropped with lithe masculine grace. No
hesitation. The pants had the provocative flexibility of a condom as he slid
beneath the waistband, found himself. She could see the outline of his
knuckles, the thickness of his cock as he gripped himself.

“Her pulse just rabbited.” Lyda had her thumb alongside
Gen’s neck as she fondled her hair. “Her pussy’s getting wet, the more she
thinks about your cock ramming into her.”

“No, I…” She didn’t think of it that blatantly. Couldn’t.
Too fraught with potential disappointment. Lyda pushed her hair aside, put her
mouth to Gen’s ear. Gen let out an unsteady breath as Lyda nibbled and teased
the shell, nipped the tender skin beneath.

“What are you thinking then, fierce rabbit?”

“I think about…touching myself while he does that. The
other’s…too much. Too soon.”

“Like this weekend.” Lyda lifted her head. Gen kept her eyes
on Noah, not sure she could face Lyda’s intense scrutiny, but Lyda delved into
her guarded consciousness anyway. “Someone’s made you gun shy. You have trouble
getting out of the way of your own head, don’t you?”

Gen guessed that was part of it. She wanted to look at Noah.
Doing that, not thinking, was so much easier. He was stroking himself nice and
slow, that gorgeous upper body rolling with the movement. Though it captivated
anyone looking their way, he didn’t seem aware of any other audience. When he
dared to flick his gaze up, she saw a male desiring only to pleasure the two of
them. The jolt that came from such concentrated attention beat the hell out of
a hundred female self-empowerment books.

“You can tell he’s stripped for a living once or twice,
can’t you? He’s done a little of everything. But that’s not where he belongs.
Is it, Noah?”

The sharpness of Lyda’s tone pulled Gen out of her head.
This time as Noah’s gaze rose, Gen saw more than just desire. When he shook his
head, Lyda’s muscles tensed against her.

“You’ll answer me, Noah.”

“I only want to pleasure you both, Mistress. Please.” The
rough plea was a clear request to stay away from whatever gate Lyda was
crashing. Lyda considered, pressing her lips together.

“You get a pass for now. But we’ll come back to it.” Sliding
her hand down the side of Gen’s throat to her shoulder, Lyda hooked her bra
strap beneath the dress’s neckline. The pure sexual intent yanked Gen’s
attention away from the puzzle of that exchange. “Did you buy something nice to
wear beneath this dress?”

“Yes.” On a normal date, it would be an outrageous question.
In this environment, such questions seemed normal. Though Gen wasn’t sure what
she would do if Lyda told her to strip, right here, right now.

“Turn around. Lean against me and stretch out. Noah is going
to give you a foot massage.”

“Oh…well, he doesn’t need to do that.”

“Don’t deny him, or yourself, the pleasure.”

Noah removed his hand from its distracting task and rose to
help. Gen couldn’t resist them both. He lifted her legs, helped Lyda turn her
so her upper body was settled back against Lyda and she felt Lyda’s breasts,
molded and held up by the corset, press into her shoulder blades. Lyda’s thighs
spread to accommodate Gen’s hips.

Her arm slid around Gen’s waist, her jaw pressed against
Gen’s temple. Lyda feathered her fingers over Gen’s cheek. It started out as
gentle as before, but then the pressure on her jaw firmed, turning Gen’s cheek
toward Lyda’s shoulder. This time when Lyda’s lips touched Gen’s neck pulse,
she gave her the edge of her teeth.

Arousal surged within Gen, but panic as well, caused by her
lack of control over her own responses. “This feels strange to me.”

“This isn’t being done for you, but for me, Gen.” Lyda spoke
against her flesh. “It pleases me to hold you like this, to explore your body
while you’re stretched out in front of me.” She traced the neckline of Gen’s
dress and played in the valley between her breasts, causing ripples of
sensation that ran across them and made Gen shift restlessly.

“When it’s not about you, but what I want, what I demand, it
becomes easier. Does it feel good, pleasing me?”

It did. But Gen wasn’t sure what strings were attached to
such a question, so she didn’t know what to say.

“Simple truth, Gen. No analysis.” Lyda held her chin, her
mouth so close to Gen’s she couldn’t think beyond the thought of how Lyda had
kissed her. “Does pleasing me feel good?”

“Yes.”

A brush of Lyda’s mouth rewarded her, but since the woman
was holding her head, it was controlled, Lyda sipping from Gen’s mouth while
Gen became parched with the desire to return the favor.

In the meantime, Noah had been removing her shoes. He
dropped to one knee, his strong hands caressing her arches. When he closed his
palms over them and began to massage, it was instant Nirvana, a paradise mix of
intimacy, comfort and sensual pleasure.

“Oh…wow.”

“Exactly.” Lyda said, her tone full of feline satisfaction.
“Have you noticed Noah has a tongue stud?”

She began an idle tracing of Gen’s sternum, making wider
circles, finding the curves of her breasts beneath the neckline of the dress.
When Noah kneaded her arches, a thrum of reaction ran up Gen’s inner thighs
from the dual sensation.

“I asked you a question, Gen.”

“Yes. Yes, I noticed it.”

“He’s very skilled in its use. He said you didn’t avail
yourself of it very much this weekend. I like that you exercised restraint
because you weren’t sure of his relationship with me. I also think you held
yourself back because things like this aren’t casual for you. I particularly
like that. Noah, come up here.”

He knelt at Gen’s side, put his arm on the other side of her
hip, corralling her between him and Lyda. His hip pressed against Gen, and her
gaze strayed down to his cock, causing a mouthwatering stretch against the
pants. “You want to touch him somewhere, Gen? Touch him there, one fingertip
only.”

As tempting as his cock was, her attention had moved to the
lacings on the sides of the pants. She could see his bare skin beneath them,
all the way from waist to ankle. Thinking about the impressions that would be
on his skin when he finally took off the pants, she caught a fingertip
underneath the lacing on the nearer side, a tiny stroke of the visible inch of
skin.