Divine Solace: 8 (31 page)

He gave her that oddly distant look he sometimes had, as if
he were an otherworldly being, tapped into currents she couldn’t sense. “I’m
still figuring out if it’s been answered.”

“Do you think you belong to someone now?”

“I belong to Lyda. And to you, because she says I do.” He
gave the strings a light strum. The music vibrated through her skin.

“What do you think you deserve, Noah?”

“Whatever my Master or Mistress tells me I deserve.”

As if he detected the way his answer discomfited her, he
lifted a shoulder. “I don’t ask too many questions of the universe, Gen. I’m a
speck of dust on the eye of an atom in all of it. Whatever happens, happens.
Most of the time, what happens are good things.” Sliding a knuckle along her
cheek, he gave her a look that made her flesh tingle beneath his touch.

“I can’t figure out how you do that.” She shook her head.
“You fluster me, just like Lyda, but in a different way. It’s like she comes at
me from above, you come from below, and between the two of you, I turn into
goo.”

“Good thing?”

“Most of the time,” she allowed. She wanted to pursue the
other topic, but she’d had enough of serious and intense tonight. She wanted to
leave that first dream behind. Way behind. “Chloe said she’s seen you in full
Goth gear. Still have some of the clothes?”

“Like tight shirt and pants, buckled boots, long coat and
the eye liner?”

“Dog collar, spiky bracelets?”

“And pewter rings with skulls and bats.” He nodded. “Nope,
don’t have any of that.”

She elbowed him. “Dress up for me sometime?”

“Whenever you want. Anything you want.” He ran a thumb along
her lip.

“I woke up…aroused,” she whispered.

“Wet?” he murmured. His thumb passed over the flush in her
cheek. “Want me to do anything about that for you?”

“Yeah. But Lyda said no.” She caught a strand of his hair,
the movement causing others to spill forward over her knuckles. She twisted
them around her fingers. “Remind me what happens if we do something she says
not to do?”

“It depends. Being disrespectful, a brat topping from the
bottom, trying to force a Dom’s hand, isn’t good for anyone. It’s sketchier
when your Mistress has set you up, knowing you won’t be able to resist getting
in trouble. If she thinks we did it to incur punishment in a good way like
that, then she’d do something like what she did tonight.”

She sighed. “Under the word irresistible in the dictionary,
there’s a picture of you. She knows it. Sadistic bitch.”

His expression reflected fondness, as if Gen had used an
endearment. In his world, it probably was. “Maybe she intended for me to get
into the ‘good’ kind of trouble when she offered to let me take you home
tonight. But now I feel like I owe her something. I need to clear the air with
her.”

He nudged her with his elbow. “At least tell me why you woke
up hot and bothered.”

“Not a chance. You’re as bad as she is.”

He chuckled again. She was gratified to see regret at her
refusal, though, his sexual frustration banked with visible effort. His fingers
lingered on her mouth, daring a brief brush on the top of her breast before he
brought his hands back to himself. “Well, then. How about I play this phallic
symbol for you instead?”

She’d much rather play with his actual phallus. Yet even
when she tried to lay it out in her head, she couldn’t go there. She’d stepped
over some line with Lyda and she felt it, like a knife edge.

So she made him play her some Air Supply instead. The
haunting strains of “Sweet Dreams”, Noah’s pleasant tenor murmuring the words,
were just the thing to put her back to sleep.

Yeah, right.

* * * * *

Noah told her Lyda’s “Extreme Fit” class was held early in
the morning, well before Gen was due for her ten a.m. shift at Tea Leaves.
Accordingly, Gen was dressed and ready to go in time to give Noah a cup of
coffee when he came into the kitchen with damp hair and a towel wrapped around
his waist. He slid an arm around her and pressed a teasing kiss at the corner
of her lips. When she gave him the cup, she let her hands wander unimpeded over
his back and cup the curves of his terrycloth-covered ass. Giving her a wicked
grin, he took his time sliding away. At the doorway, he removed the towel with
a flourish and draped it over his shoulder, making her laugh outright as he
worked a casual saunter back to the bathroom. When she fired a throw pillow at
him, she wished her hallway was an endless treadmill.

Today Noah was headed out to do construction debris removal
for a guy who occasionally called him in for that kind of work. Once he was
dressed, Gen saw him to the door, watching him stride up to the car of the
friend picking him up. As he turned and gave her a nod, she imagined him in
that Goth outfit. It took an act of will not to indulge herself in a quick five
minute release with her vibrator. Instead she found her purse and keys and
headed out to Blood, Sweat and Tears.

Traffic caused her to run a few minutes late, so the class
had already started when she arrived. She told herself she didn’t have to be
nervous about that, since she wasn’t there to participate. Even so, she felt
like a kid sliding into class past the bell. She slipped into a corner in the
back, where a couple chairs had been left against the wall.

Despite her attempt to be unobtrusive, Lyda’s gaze flicked
to her the moment she hit the door. The woman gave her a spare nod, but didn’t
pause in barking orders.

“Work it. Even a warm-up requires a hundred percent effort.
I better not see anyone dragging their ass this morning, or this is going to be
a bitch for all of you. If it’s burning, embrace it. If it screams at you,
scream back.”

Gen had taken various fitness classes over the years, all of
which she considered demanding. Gen approached exercise like annual doctor
visits—a necessary evil to be dreaded, but she had enough discipline to keep
herself trim and healthy. Compared to this, those classes were toddler
aerobics. As they swung from the warm-up into high-cardio, Lyda was relentless.
No one was allowed to shirk. If a knee was supposed to be lifted, she damn well
expected it to bump against the person’s chest. She could gauge a ninety degree
angle on a squat with barely a glance. Arm movements were supposed to be one
hundred percent controlled, maximum resistance on the punches, stretches,
pulls.

As awe-inspiring as all that was, watching the instructor
was what held Gen’s attention. Lyda said she liked Gen’s soft places, but Gen
found she really liked all of Lyda’s not-so-soft places. She wore a tight black
tank and mid-thigh exercise shorts with her thick-soled exercise shoes. Her red
hair was pulled up in a tail. No makeup, her face all the more striking for the
lack of embellishment. The smooth muscles in her arms and legs rippled, her ass
absolutely erotic art in motion as she strode back and forth, alternating
between brusque direction and performing the same exercises as her students,
who were giving it one hundred twenty percent. Maybe because they were exercise
fanatics like the woman leading them, but maybe just as much because she scared
the shit out of them.

Everything about Lyda should have fed into the “butch”
stereotype. She was assertive, bisexual, extremely physical. As commanding as a
general. But what struck Gen was how incredibly female Lyda always seemed to
her. Maybe part of it was the amazing softness Gen had had the privilege of
glimpsing during their intimate encounters. A way she turned her head, a flash
in her eye, the curve to her lips. Lyda had no desire to be or act like a man.
She was a strong, dominant woman, and Gen realized there was nothing more
female than that. Every quality to her, even those usually attributed to men,
fit who Lyda was as a woman.

She expected her attention to wander during the
forty-five-minute class. Instead, every movement of Lyda’s body, every word
from that distracting mouth, the delicate lines of her throat as she turned her
head, the clench of her fists as she took them into mixed martial arts and
boxing moves as part of the routine, just pulled Gen in deeper. It was like
being caught in a dream, like last night, only this wasn’t a nightmare.

Every once in a while Lyda’s gaze would touch upon her, but
only enough to feed Gen’s hunger. Gen had placed her tote next to her and sat
in the chair with her hands in her lap, her legs crossed. She couldn’t help
wondering what would happen if…

Knowing she was risking deep embarrassment, she adjusted so
she was sitting up straight, her back against the chair’s straight back. Her
feet were now flat on the floor. The lavender T-shirt she wore for Tea Leaves
today molded to her curves, a V-neck showing cleavage. Her knit skirt stretched
over her hips and stopped at mid-thigh, a comfortable style for casual wear
that went well with her rhinestone sandals and showed off her legs. Lyda liked
her legs.

This classroom didn’t have mirrors. The only one facing her
was Lyda, unless she had them do an unexpected spin. But right now they were on
the floor doing pushups, as if genuflecting while she stalked through their
ranks. Working up her courage, Gen adjusted so her thighs were parted. Not
porno style, but a few significant inches. With her back straight and hands
resting on the sides of the chair seat, her breasts were lifted. She was
putting herself on display for her Mistress, showing deference.

When Lyda noticed, there was no mistaking it. The woman’s
gaze stopped full on her for a bated breath. Those silver eyes slid over her
face, the cheeks Gen knew were flushed, down over her breasts, then to that
shadowy place between her knees. Lyda pivoted, barked out a new set of
combinations.

It thrilled her, Lyda’s cursory acknowledgment of what Gen
owed her as Mistress. But then Lyda aimed another look at Gen, lifted her hand,
and brought her index and forefingers together, a clear direction to Gen to
close her legs.

Swallowing, she did so. When the class launched into a
combination that had them turning toward the back, she tried to assume Lyda had
done it to protect Gen’s modesty, but Gen knew it was more than that. The
tightened jaw, the neutral flicker in the eyes, told her one gesture wasn’t
going to mend whatever she’d done last night. She wanted to fix it, to win back
Lyda’s approval…

The thought speared her with dismay, brought her up short.
She’d wanted her mother’s approval for so many things. Ironically, because her
mother’s expectations for Gen had been so low, she’d had no appreciation for
the things that Gen accomplished, the things that mattered to Gen. If she was
treating Lyda like some emotional maternal surrogate…

Sure, this had a sexual component to it, but the quagmire of
the past could have a lot of different lures. Watching Lyda’s unyielding
expression, an unwelcome twinge of resentment disrupted Gen’s arousal. As the
class progressed, uncertainty jumped in as well. She wasn’t going to do this to
herself. She should leave.

When you most want to avoid her, that’s when going to see
her helps.

“That’s it. Walk it off and get your butts to work. The
lazy-assed rest of the population needs your hard-earned tax dollars.”

At the good-natured retorts, Lyda grinned, the first time
she’d showed warmth. She high-fived several fellow exercise nazis. As they
dispersed, her gaze shifted to Gen. The smile disappeared. Tilting her head
toward the door on the opposite side of the room, she moved toward it,
disappearing from sight without waiting on her.

When Gen trailed after her, she found the door led into a
private changing area for the instructors. Locker doors slammed on the other
side of the wall, voices murmuring. The connecting door probably led to the
public locker room.

“You look like you didn’t sleep well,” Lyda said. She’d
stripped off the T-shirt and sports bra and was bending over a sink as she
soaked a washcloth, applied soap to it to wash her upper body. Gen stared at the
curve of her back, the bumps of her spine. She knew what women looked like
under their clothes. It shouldn’t be this fascinating. But this woman…it was.
And Lyda wasn’t even trying to be provocative.

“I’m sorry about last night. At the end. I’m not sure what I
did wrong, but I know I did something. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

When Lyda didn’t immediately respond, uneasiness filled Gen.
Straightening, Lyda met her gaze in the mirror over the sink. As she toweled
herself off, her breasts moved with the vigorous motion. Lyda cleaned herself
efficiently, every gesture packed with dense energy. Her nipples were dark and
tight, the pale curves of her breasts probably damp and cool from the water.

“If you want to be Noah’s Domme on a regular basis, he would
be open to that transition. Especially if I order it.”

She snapped her attention back to Lyda’s face. “What?”

Lyda gave her a patient look. “All you have to do is ask,
Gen. It’s not in his best interest, long term, because you’re not a Mistress.
You’re mostly a soft core sub, one who enjoys being an occasional top under
supervision. We could plan some club sessions to keep it interesting for you
both. You could send him back to me when you’re done with it.”

“‘It’ meaning him, or…?”

“Playing Domme.” Lyda sounded so damn matter-of-fact about
it.

“Do you categorize everyone, like one of your plants? Figure
out the soil, fertilizer and sunlight I need, plant me where you know I’ll
flourish? Is that what you’re doing with him? Finding the place to plant him?”

Setting the towel aside, Lyda turned and propped her hips on
the sink. As she unclipped her hair and ran her fingers through it, she
demonstrated no self-consciousness about her partial nudity. “Did you come to
apologize or start a fight?” She lifted a brow. “Nice submissive posture out
there, by the way.”