Divine Solace: 8 (32 page)

“What do you
want
, Lyda?” Gen struggled to keep it
even, rational. “I feel like you want something from me and I can’t figure it
out…”

“Nothing to figure out, Gen,” Lyda said shortly. “When I
want something from you, I tell you. You don’t have to read my mind. I’m not
some Oprah-watching, whiny excuse for a female beating myself up for my past
mistakes and looking to blame them on someone else. I own what I have or
haven’t done with my life.”

Anger surged at the direct hit. Gen took a step forward.
“You don’t treat me like I’m your equal. I don’t like it.”

“Every choice is yours, Gen.” Lyda shrugged. “You don’t like
being around me, take your ass elsewhere.”

“Would you care either way?” Like last night, the moment
Lyda had called subdrop, Gen was flooded with too many things defying
definition. Her usual penchant for safety, for simplicity, reasserted itself in
her consciousness.
Hey, remember me? I keep you from fucking up
. But
Lyda overrode that voice.

“Did hearing your husband declare undying love for you
change the fact he wiped his shit on you like you were a doormat?” Lyda asked,
eyes hard. “I can spout words for you, Gen, but if you can’t
feel
the
difference between us and that, then walk away. You’re too damaged for this.”

Just like that. Categorized, boxed and shipped. A red haze
clouded her vision, burned her throat, choked her.

She’d slapped Amos once. The derision on his face had
paralyzed her, concrete proof that whatever she’d imagined was love had never
been that. It had spawned a rage so fierce, she’d picked an iron skillet off
the stove and swung. She’d missed his head by a hairsbreadth. The derision had
vanished and he’d scampered away like a guinea pig. If she’d connected, she
could have killed him. The rage had scared her, but from then onward, she’d
understood the term “crime of passion”.

The thought flashed through her mind now, because she
realized she’d closed the distance between them and actually lifted her hand.
The hard quiver that went through her stirred emotions she was afraid to incite
with further motion.
Speak, scream. Say something before you do something
horrible.

“It’s not damaged. I’m
confused
,” Gen snarled. “Give
me room to breathe, to figure it out. Or give me something straight out without
making it a game, damn you.”

Lyda straightened off the sink. The graceful movement
brought her toe-to-toe with Gen. Lyda lifted her own hand, manacled Gen’s wrist
with it. Holding Gen’s gaze, she turned her face into Gen’s palm, rubbed her
temple to it, then pressed her lips to Gen’s lifeline. All without breaking eye
contact. Something trembled deep inside Gen, something even more wrenching.
“Lyda…”

The woman shook her head. She lowered Gen’s hand. As she
did, she closed the space between their bodies. She bent Gen’s arm behind her
back so she was fully against Lyda’s body, her breasts against hers, Lyda’s
foot between hers, her thigh insinuating itself between Gen’s legs.

Lyda brushed her mouth with her own, a teasing stroke, then another.
Gen channeled tension into hunger. She clashed against Lyda’s mouth, kissing
her hard, her tongue finding the other woman’s, dancing with it, tasting,
stroking. She bit Lyda’s lip and held on, not breaking skin, but trying to
convey…something. Lyda let go of her wrist and circled her waist instead,
pressing her leg up fully between Gen’s legs, cradling one buttock in her hand,
digging her nails into Gen’s ass as Gen rubbed her pussy against the toned
muscle there. With Lyda’s arm around her waist, the only place Gen had to put
her own was around Lyda’s shoulders. She curled her fingers against bare skin,
the pulse in her neck, her collarbone.

Lyda took over the kiss, demanding even more from Gen. When
the Mistress finally broke it, seizing Gen’s hair to pull her back, Gen had her
full weight against her leg and Lyda was leaning back against the sink, holding
them both there.

“How do you feel, right now, Gen?” It was a harsh demand,
Lyda’s eyes like flint.

“I’m… I can’t think.”

“I didn’t fucking ask for your head. How do you feel?”

“Right. Exactly right.” Gen stared into the woman’s face,
shocked by the truth of it.

“Yes. This isn’t about equality, Gen. It’s about what each
of us needs, and whether we can provide that for one another. I’m not taking over
your checkbook, making you clean my house or ordering you to kiss the bottom of
my foot, but there is a vital part of you that needs my control.”

Gen pushed away, trying to order her whirling thoughts. “How
do I know it’s not like the doormat thing? What’s the difference? And please
don’t say I should know.”

“But you do.” Lyda eyed her. “It’s something Marguerite has
always seen in you, and why the two of you get along so well, right? It’s a
different form of what you feel with me, only with her it’s more purely
service-oriented.”

It wasn’t the first time Lyda had implied it, but this time
Gen saw it clearly enough it came with another minor shock wave.

“Equality is a political idea, Gen,” Lyda said. “It has
nothing to do with how people care about one another, or what they each need.
There is no equality between parent and child, but when it’s what it should be,
there’s no stronger love in the world, right? In times when there was zero
equality between men and women, we still have love stories handed down that
have become the stuff of legend.”

“Where does Noah fit into that?”

“What you felt, when I kissed you? What did you call it?”

“Right,” Gen said. “Exactly right.”

Lyda’s lips curved in one of her knife-blade smiles. “Good
description, rabbit. I wanted to put you down right here. Slide my fingers
inside your cunt and ass and watch you come apart.”

Gen wished she was back within her armspan. If she was, Lyda
likely would have done just that. But then that direct gaze became far less
friendly. “Why do you turn to Noah when you feel uncertain with me? Do you
think he can protect you?”

Gen stepped back at the menace in Lyda’s tone. Lyda
advanced, taking that ground. “I will tear right through his ass to get to you.
It’s obvious you had a husband you expected to have enough balls to be in
control, and enough of a heart and soul to care about you. But he was weak,
selfish, and let you down. I may be selfish at times, but I’m not weak, Gen.
Whatever I promise you, I’ll deliver. You have to give up control to get where
you want to go with this, even though it terrifies you, what I’ll do with it.”

It did. “Husbands. Two of them.”

Lyda blinked, her mouth softening perceptibly. “Oh, Gen.”

Gen shook her head. “I don’t know if this is a relationship.”

“Pull your head out of your ass and figure it out,” Lyda
said shortly, that lenient moment gone as fast as it had appeared. “Because I’m
not going to waste my time telling you things you’re not going to believe.”

“There are no pictures at your house, not family or friends.
But the way you looked at Noah when he was sleeping… I know he matters to you.
I think maybe I matter too.” Gen took a breath. “I see things in the way you
act toward me, different from what I’ve ever known. And I want even more of
whatever it is. It scares me.”

Maybe it seemed ridiculous, given how short a timeframe it
had been with Noah and Lyda, but with the Dom/sub stuff, things felt as intense
and deep as a six-month dating relationship, where these questions would start
to be asked.

“Are you getting something you want out of this
relationship?” Lyda asked, her face that cool mask.

“Yes.”

“Then what the hell does it matter, how I feel? You were
quick enough to turn to Noah the other night, rather than both of us. I touched
your back and you flinched. Shrank toward him. He was all you wanted.”

Gen stared at her as Lyda turned away, found a brush in her
bag and began to work on her hair.

She was right. At the time, Gen had focused only on visceral
reactions, but Noah had recognized it. He’d even tried to mitigate the damage,
but Lyda had shut him down so quickly, charging him to care for Gen.

She’d hurt Lyda’s feelings. Plain and simple. Gen had been
gripped by that odd sadness, assuming Lyda didn’t want to do aftercare, but she
hadn’t given her a chance to prove otherwise. Maybe the Dom needed the intimacy
that aftercare provided as much as the sub. But she’d only let Lyda in for the
sex part.

God, she was a self-absorbed idiot. Gen stayed so focused on
not taking advantage of Noah, because it seemed so easy to take advantage to
him. In reality, it might be more of a danger with Lyda, because she seemed so
invulnerable, so in control.

Drawing on her courage, she stepped forward. “I didn’t touch
Noah last night. Not that way. I felt like something was wrong between you and
me. That mattered. I couldn’t enjoy him if things weren’t right between all of
us. You’re one of the most self-confident, self-aware women I’ve ever met.”

Since they both knew Marguerite, that was saying a lot. “I
don’t know if that makes me hate you, want to be more like you or just flat out
makes me feel…less. I’m sorry, Lyda. You deserved better from me. Especially
after you…I’ve never felt anything like what you make me feel, you and Noah.
Separately, together.” She gave a desperate half-laugh. “Noah said you
understood how it was for someone figuring it all out. There are times I get
swept away in…submitting to you, but I’m not sure that makes me a submissive. I
don’t know how to make it all make sense, and I feel like I’m making a fool of
myself over you both. I’m not sure what to do with it. But I shouldn’t have
hurt you like that.”

Gen shook her head. “You always seem so in control. Even
when you’re scary, which is most of the time, it feels like you’re on top of
things. You’re right, I’ve felt safe with M, because of that. She gives me a
place to retreat when I need it, a place that’s steady, an anchor. But when I’m
in that same kind of place with you, it’s different. I never want to leave at
all. It’s home and the destination, all rolled up in one.”

Lyda had set aside the brush and turned back toward her. As
Gen’s words died away in the echo of the tiled room, Lyda studied her long
enough Gen wanted to squirm, to disappear. But then she extended a hand. “Come
here.”

Gen took the hand. When Lyda pulled Gen close, just like
that, things were better. As her arm wrapped over Gen’s shoulders, Gen pressed
her face against the side of Lyda’s, her nose against the moist hair line,
inhaling the clean smell of Lyda and soap. Gen let out a shuddering sigh and
slid both arms under Lyda’s, around her bare back. Her breasts pressed against
Gen’s, Lyda’s puckered nipples noticeable through Gen’s thin shirt. It was
still a new feeling for her, hugging a woman and getting aroused by that contact,
but with Lyda, it was a feeling easy to enjoy.

“I’m so sorry,” Gen said.

“Forgiven,” Lyda said quietly. She pressed a kiss to Gen’s
temple, spoke against it, no eye contact between them. “You affect me, Gen. And
you are
not
less.” She drew back to lock Gen in that penetrating gaze.
“You’re far more than you realize. You wouldn’t have captured my attention
otherwise.”

Before Gen could respond to that, Lyda tangled her hand in
her hair, holding her in place in that way that made things tight inside Gen’s
stomach. “Some of the strongest women I know enjoy submission during sex,
because through surrender, they find themselves again. The confidence, the
strength, the belief in their own beauty they lost during the day-to-day grind.
But I’m done talking about that right now. You’ve been staring at my tits like
a hungry baby, and you’re going to pay for that.”

Pushing Gen back, Lyda moved away. She locked both doors,
then went to the bench in front of the lockers. She took a seat and dropped a
folded towel she’d brought with her on the floor between her spread knees.
“Kneel here.”

In the right setting and circumstances, all Lyda had to do
was use that tone, and Gen responded. Accepting that amazing idea, Gen knelt on
the towel, a kindness to her knees against the concrete floor. Lyda’s cruelty
was planned, never neglectful. Something to think about, because it was
probably the reason Gen found her ruthlessness so addictive.

In this position, Lyda’s naked breasts were close to Gen’s
eye level. As she watched, Lyda cupped and fondled them. Gen moistened her
lips, her breath shortening.

“I can see this getting you hotter, Gen. Do you want to suck
on my nipples?”

Gen nodded. Then jumped as Lyda, quick as a striking snake,
slapped her face. A controlled strike, hard enough to snap Gen’s head to the
right and make her wide-eyed. Yet the woman remained as self-possessed as ever
as she returned that offending hand back to the enviable task of stroking her
own breasts.

“You don’t nod or shake your head to me, Gen, like I’m your
equal. Not right now. Now let me ask again. Do you want to suck on my nipples?”

She’d just told herself she found Lyda’s cruelty arousing,
but the direct evidence of it still startled her. The heat of her handprint
flowed straight down Gen’s body like a lava burn. Her Mistress had forgiven her
and administered a short, sharp punishment. Balance was a key that unlocked
desire.

“Yes Mistress.” Gen suppressed the desire to put her hand up
to her burning cheek. Lyda did it instead, running her fingers along the
reddened skin.

“Did Noah put anything on those stripes I left on your back
and ass last night?”

“No, ma’am. I did, though.”

“He was charged with your aftercare. You’ll permit him to do
whatever I tell him to do to you in the future, because my orders to him trump
yours. Your care, his care, are my responsibility. Always. Understand? You’re
not the alpha in this pack, Gen.”