Divine Solace: 8 (25 page)

When she arrived at the club and locked her car, she
realized she wasn’t even sure if Noah would be there. Lyda hadn’t confirmed
that, had even implied Gen could look at a wider pool of candidates to try out
being a Domme. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but she’d cross that
bridge when she came to it.

Checking her appearance against that of other women entering
the club she thought might be Dominants, Gen saw everything from snug designer
jeans to short skirts or leather or latex. The diversity made her more
comfortable about her own appearance. Hell, Lyda was able to command her
wearing a sweaty T-shirt and dirty jeans. But she was just kidding herself if
she thought she possessed the aura Lyda did.

Her chin firmed. If she wanted to try to be a Domme tonight,
she would. It would tell her something about Lyda’s character if the woman
provided her real mentorship, or if she just gave it lip service, waiting for
Gen to crash and burn. Was that ultimately what this was about, testing Lyda?
The anxious coil tightened up, but she quelled it. She wasn’t going to bolt
now.

The club was quieter on a weeknight. She could hear the
faint sounds of punishment, cries of pleasure and pain, mixed with the distant
music beat. Her palms dampened. Her flesh was already feeling sensitive,
swollen in noticeable places. She handed over her guest membership, and the
hostess checked her log.

“You were here as an unclassified guest last time, Ms.
Wisner. Do you prefer a bracelet tonight?” The hostess gestured to a board,
which showed the different colors of bracelets that indicated Dom, sub, switch,
undecided. “You can have any of those four to let people know your preference,
but you can also have a second no-play bracelet, so they know if you’re here
merely to watch.”

She had to give Tyler and his partners kudos for their
employee training, because the woman had given her exactly the guidance she
needed without being asked.

“The Dom bracelet, please. And one of the no-plays.” She was
willing to take some chances, but at her own pace.

Suitably “classified”, she wandered in. She’d seek Lyda’s whereabouts
eventually, but Gen wanted to get her own impressions first. What would a Domme
be feeling as she entered this world? Closing her eyes, she imagined herself as
Lyda, then slowly opened her eyes, let her gaze trail over the scatterings of
people. The dance floor had a moderate but enthusiastic group. The bracelets
were done in glow-in-the-dark neon colors, and subs wore red. Her Domme
bracelet glowed green, a marriage of Christmas colors she wondered if was
intended for the whimsical irony. Every day is Christmas…

Speaking of which. Her gaze landed on a male leaning against
the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His face was in the shadows, but he
seemed familiar to her. Regardless, she saw enough of him to have her libido
sitting up to take notice. Since his arms were crossed, she couldn’t see his
bracelet color, but him in a submissive bracelet would be pure fantasy.

Built like a brick house, he had an alert body language that
said cop or military. He was more mature, somewhere in his late forties. A very
fit, mouth-watering late-forties. His jeans held what he had to offer in just
the right way and he was shirtless. A couple of wicked scars on his six-pack
abdomen, including a round one that looked as if it had been caused by a
bullet, added to the dangerous look of him. His hair was thick and curly, an
intriguing mix of black, silver and white.

Reluctantly, she shifted her gaze from the pleasure of
perusing him. Maybe she could bribe him to let her tie him up and spank him.
Yeah,
right.
She had about thirty dollars of her carefully hoarded entertainment
budget in her purse. In this place, that would buy her the two-drink minimum
and a snack.

Oh, hello.
The red bracelet was a distinctive glow on
the next male who caught her attention. Like the cop, he was sporting the
pleasing shirtless look. This one was younger, perhaps late twenties. Sprawled
out across a bench in a cozy alcove that invited trysts, he had one foot on the
floor, the other propped on the wall as he lay on his back. In Gen’s position
on the mezzanine, she was looking down at him. He was all smooth muscle, tribal
tattoos on the biceps, and…
oh my
.

He was wearing the tight shorts Olympic athletes wore, the
kind that stopped high on the thighs and displayed a cock ready to do whatever
a woman demanded. Even in a resting state, the whole package was quite
noticeable. Strands of black hair brushed carelessly across his forehead drew
her attention to devil-may-care blue-gray eyes. Ones that flickered up and
found hers.

Seeing her interest, his gaze went to her wrist. Though she
had the no-play bracelet with the Domme one, an anticipatory look spread across
his face, like a wolf seeing dinner. He had a whole Channing Tatum thing
happening, a dose of hundred percent trouble, the kind that scrambled a woman’s
mind. He wanted her to remove that no-play bracelet.

She’d watched how all this worked the other night. If she
removed it, she could explain she was a newbie, and if he was okay with that,
they could set boundaries. She could tie him up, enjoy touching him the way
she’d enjoyed touching Noah. Right?

She thought of Noah’s hands on her, his body pressing hers
into the sand, those dark eyes so close. He wasn’t Noah. While her libido
wasn’t choosy, it was hardwired to her heart and mind, and they were far more
selective. She’d told Lyda she didn’t do casual. Was this really any different
from a bar pickup? Would it feel just as empty, or was it more like an evening
out at the movies, where you enjoyed the show and went home with a sense of
satisfaction? How did a woman program her emotions for this?

He’d lifted a brow, a question. Sitting up, he stretched an
arm out along the back of the bench and then, holding her widening gaze, he
slid his hand down those lovely abs, down, down, and into the shorts. Gripping
himself, he stroked, keeping that sinful gaze on her, even as she lowered her
eyes to what he was doing. His cock responded instantly, growing longer and
thicker under his stimulation, so that he stretched it out under the shorts,
cupped his balls, rolled them. As he adjusted his legs to give her a better
view, there was a challenge in those eyes, one that made her think of an
incubus luring a maiden into a dark, secret place.

“Not that one.”

Lyda’s sultry voice was against her ear. Gen let out a
startled breath as the woman’s arm slid around her waist. When Lyda pressed her
mouth against the tender skin beneath Gen’s ear, her pulse leaped at the first
contact. She caught that breath as Lyda cupped her breast, ran her fingers over
it in an unmistakably possessive act, plucking at the lace of the bra through
the shirt’s thin fabric. The male’s eyes sharpened, his own lips parting, but
in her peripheral vision, Gen saw Lyda lock gazes with him. Whatever message
she sent, he removed his hand from his shorts, lifting both palms in mock
apology, but the smile he sent their way was not the least bit repentant.

Lyda nudged Gen. “Trust me, Marius is the abyss end of the pool.
He’ll hold you under and drown you if you show weakness. But it’s a Lucifer
thing. Everything you fuck up with him is your own choice. He gives you just
enough rope to hang yourself. Only one Mistress has ever been able to get his
number. He treats her with what little respect for authority he has in him.” At
Gen’s look, Lyda’s lips twisted. “Marguerite.”

“Of course,” Gen murmured.

“He’s a top from the bottom
ass
, but he does it so
well too many Mistresses let him get away with it. He’s like overdoing the Jack
Daniel’s, where you have a huge good time that night, but you wake up with a what-the-fuck-did-I-do
hangover the next day. He part-times as a cooler here. Ironically, he has an
aptitude for defusing volatile situations. He also does wait staff, whatever
handy stuff they need, since he gets no regular play because of how challenging
he is. Come on. We’ll find you someone fun in the Domme 101 category.”

Lacing fingers with her, Lyda drew Gen toward another public
gathering space, one with tables and chairs like a restaurant, rather than a
living room furniture arrangement. Gen saw some submissives on their knees
beside Dominants, but most of those here were informal socializing groups,
regardless of the bracelets they wore. Yet there were a good number of
submissive males, and she felt their eyes on her, causing her to draw closer to
Lyda. They were probably looking more hopefully at her anyway. She couldn’t
help doing that herself.

Lyda wore a pair of ivory-colored riding breeches that
zipped up the side, forming a tight, second skin fit over her ass and thighs.
The pants tucked into polished riding boots. A translucent linen shirt limned
her upper body, highlighting the lace bra beneath. The curves of her breasts
were revealed by the open three buttons of the neckline. Lyda’s flame-gold hair
was pulled back in a french braid, and she wore a cameo pendant that
highlighted the delicate lines of her throat. It was impossible for the woman
to look anything but mesmerizing. Daunting, yes, but people would draw as close
as they dared. And that daunting person was holding her hand, pulling her
through the crowd as if she was hers alone.

Don’t be stupid, Gen.

I’m not. It’s okay to fantasize.

Lyda wasn’t wearing a bracelet, but she didn’t really need
it. Why on earth did you have to put a “hot” sign over coffee? People that
clueless wouldn’t get it anyway.

“It’s all right,” Lyda said, sliding her arm around Gen’s
waist again, her fingers curving over her hip to give her a reassuring pat.
“The Zone’s rules are very strict, Gen. Even Marius, flirting so outrageously,
wouldn’t have approached you until you clearly invited him to do so. Or took
off the no-play bracelet.”

“Can you help me understand some things…before I do
anything?”

“We can spend the whole night talking, if that’s what you
want to do.” Lyda gestured to a table, and Gen took the chair across from her.
Gen didn’t detect any hedging in Lyda’s tone, nothing but sincerity. To all
appearances, she was respecting Gen’s desire to be something different tonight.
Which was even more distracting, in a perverse way.

“What do male submissives want from a Domme? Do they just
want women to do everything, get them off?”

“There are some like that in both genders. A bottom might
require only the loss of control and sexual release. For the Domme who wants
the mirror of that, to take over and achieve sexual pleasure for both, that
works. I’ve taken on some bottoms for one-night stands, but I’ve always
preferred the nature of the true submissive. A true submissive, male or female,
is hungering to serve at some level, even if it’s just sexual.”

“Like Noah?”

“Like Noah.”

“Will he be here tonight?”

“Maybe. He’s doing a shift at a pizza delivery place, but he
gets off at nine.”

“I know you’ve both tried to explain it to me, and maybe I
should stop worrying about it, but I can’t figure out you two. He said, when we
went sailing…” She reddened, and Lyda’s lips curved.

“You and he had sex. It was allowed.”

“But don’t you consider him yours?”

“Absolutely. I haven’t put a collar on Noah, but we still
have rules.” The fiery glimmer in Lyda’s gaze gave Gen thrill and reassurance
both. “He has to get my permission for all of it, until I release him. Or he
asks to be let go, which Noah will never do.”

“Is that why you won’t collar him? Because he doesn’t
choose?”

Lyda’s expression closed down. “I’m sorry,” Gen interjected.
“I didn’t mean…”

Lyda shook her head, waving her hand. “Let’s leave that one
alone for now. What other questions do you have?”

Gen remarshaled her thoughts. “Before Brendan, I thought a
male sub would be…wimpy. Doormats. Not possessive at all.”

Lyda snorted. “If they were only that pliable. See him?”

Gen followed Lyda’s direction. The brickhouse male who’d
first caught her attention was sitting at one of the tables, straddling a
chair. Now that she could see his wrists, she saw he was wearing a pair of
silver cuff-style bracelets that looked like overlapped angel wings. Holy crap,
he
was
a submissive. And she realized why he looked familiar. “Mac.”

“You know him?”

“Yes. He and his wife were guests at Marguerite and Tyler’s
wedding. I would never have guessed…”

“That he’s a submissive? A lot of people react that way to
him, but you have to look beyond the surface, see the cues. As far as a
doormat…” Lyda looked amused. “If any man here put hands on Mac’s Mistress, Tyler
would have to install a floor drain to wash away all the blood. Mac belongs to
Violet, but she’s his as well. They’re married, but more than that, there’s a
mutual soul possession. That’s something different from just playing at Dom/sub
games.”

Gen’s gaze shifted to Violet, sitting on Mac’s right. Under
the table, her booted foot rested on the top of his, a casually intimate pose.
The woman was as petite as he was large, and even though they were talking to
another woman at the table, the bond between them was obvious.

“Taking care of a baby MIT tonight, Lyda?”

A black woman, nearly six feet tall, had arrived at their
table. Her long, dark-red braids were sprinkled with silver glitter. Her
crimson corset and black leggings with beautifully crafted red-and-black boots
made her formidable, as well as out-front sexy.

“Regina, this is Gen. Gen, Mistress Regina. Gen is still
learning her place in our world,” Lyda explained. “And deciding if it’s her
world at all.”

When Regina shifted her weight to one hip, Gen expected her
to pull a sword from a back harness and test the blade with a fingernail. The
woman projected off Amazon warrior queen without any problem at all. “Well,
child, you’ll either find it’s Disney World, a bunch of fun rides and then back
to normal life, or you’ll never want to leave. Course, Disney World can be like
that too.” Regina said it pleasantly enough, though her eyes were measuring.
Gen wondered if every Domme she met tonight was going to make her feel like she
was just pretending at what was so natural to them. Even petite Violet had that
measuring look when she gazed at her husband. The tilt of her head and her
posture broadcast what she was, again making the bracelet irrelevant.