Divine Solace: 8 (35 page)

“I think I’m falling in love,” she said. “Lyda’s the one who
scares me the most, from the selfish, is-she-going-to-tear-my-heart-to-bits
perspective. But Noah…there’s something eluding me there. A different kind of
fear, like if I get it wrong, I’d be doing the hurting. I feel his heart, but I
think it’s an illusion… Can I try something, M?”

She sounded like a manic magpie, but Marguerite didn’t seem
perturbed. Rising, she came to stand in front of Gen, touching her face. It was
a measure of Gen’s obvious distress that Marguerite would make physical
contact. Or say the words she said now. “It depends on what it is. I won’t let
you do anything that will hurt yourself.”

“Is that what I’m doing with them?”

“Not up front. If it ends in pain, I can’t change that. But
I can be here, and so can Chloe, if you need us. What is it you want to try?”

“Never mind. God, I can’t believe I even started to ask.”

“So ask anyway.” Marguerite’s thumb passed over Gen’s lips,
an intimate touch that drew her gaze back up to her face.

“Do you think I’m with you because I wanted…a Mistress? And
I didn’t really realize the sexual part of it, until now, with Lyda?”

Marguerite’s lips pursed. “It’s possible. There are people
who marry the opposite sex and embrace a desire for the same sex years later,
when other matters are resolved for them. Once they embrace it, they realize it
was who they were all along, but other forms of growth had to happen first. As
quickly as this has developed between the three of you, it’s a credible idea
for you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

It was rare she was able to startle Marguerite. Gen waved a
frantic hand. “No, I don’t mean it like…a pass. Oh, good grief. I’m just trying
to figure out…”

“It’s not transference, Gen.”

Gen let out a relieved breath, glad Marguerite understood so
quickly. “I know, but I don’t know. There’s no one else I can test it with
safely. Chloe’s right. She’s not like you and Lyda. I’m sorry, this is
so
beyond appropriate. I’ve lost my mind. Just forget it.”

“If you do need that from me, you misstated it, Gen.”
Marguerite studied her. “You don’t want to kiss me. You need me to kiss
you
.”

Her stomach coiled up like a puppy, not sure whether it
wanted to cower or wriggle in anticipation. Gen didn’t know what to say.
Fortunately, Marguerite did. “Let’s make it as representative as possible. Ask
me for what you need, Gen.”

Marguerite’s expression and tone changed, such that Gen was
looking at a formidable Mistress, one who compelled men to fall on their knees
and kiss the soles of her shoes, just like Lyda had described. She hadn’t
thought of Marguerite Domming another woman, but that talent for some Dominants
apparently had no gender restraint.

God…the idea of being on her knees, kissing Lyda’s ankles,
the arch of her foot, a delicate curve…

Not something she’d ever fantasized about. Yet Lyda had
mentioned it today, and there it was, planted it in her head. Maybe every step
along the way
was
a progression. What Gen had never considered before
now seemed possible, the rest of the journey needed first to understand its
appeal to this newly revealed part of herself.

“Please.” She looked at Marguerite as a Mistress, not as her
boss, her friend…or as an equal. “Will you kiss me?” She spoke over breath
suddenly in short supply. “Will you kiss me, ma’am?”

Marguerite considered her another long moment, then she
leaned down, sliding one knuckle beneath Gen’s chin to tilt her face up. She
held her there another breath, then brushed her mouth across Gen’s eyelid,
making both eyes close. Those cool, soft lips moved over the bridge of Gen’s
nose, her cheek, the line of her jaw. Gen trembled hard, her hands closing into
knots on her knees. Then Marguerite pressed her lips against Gen’s. A slow, wet
journey, her mouth moving over Gen’s as Gen focused all her senses on that one
point of contact and how it emanated to the rest of her.

She was the one who drew back, broke the embrace. She stared
up at Marguerite as the woman straightened, withdrawing her touch with
kindness, a caress of her cheek. “So…it is her. I definitely felt that
wow
,
zing
moment when I asked you for it, and waited on your decision, but
all I could think about while you were doing it was how this felt not quite
right. And not just because you and I don’t connect that way.”

“You want to belong to her.”

“Yeah.” Gen rubbed her stomach. “This is so confusing.”

“It’s not confusing at all. Not if you stop thinking about
it so much.” Marguerite bent again, this time to drop a kiss on the crown of
Gen’s head with surprising tenderness. “Go back to work. I have a shipment to
sort, and employees wanting me to kiss them are not productive.”

“Oh, Tyler’s here. Tyler’s
here
.” Gen blanched. “M,
I’m so sorry. Should I have done this? Do I need to apologize to him? I mean he
is your Mas…”

She broke it off right there. While Tyler being Marguerite’s
Master had brought emotional stability to her life, saying it straight out felt
like a definite no-go zone.

Marguerite relieved Gen’s worries on that score by tilting
her head, a pointed gesture. Gen twisted around. Now she really did wish a hole
would swallow her up. Tyler was outside the shed. He was sitting on a bench
about twenty feet away, checking something on his phone. But his legs were
stretched out, his ankles crossed, as if he’d been there awhile. Long enough.
Marguerite would have been facing him when she leaned down to kiss Gen. That
meant Marguerite could have looked for a permission of her own, if it had been
needed.

“He’s an irrevocably straight male,” Marguerite said dryly.
“Giving him the opportunity to watch two women kiss is nothing that requires an
apology.”

Gen choked on a chuckle. Even so, she wasn’t up to exiting
the shed where she’d have to pass him, meet that piercing gaze. With a sheepish
look at Marguerite, she escaped out the back exit and took a circuitous route
back to the main building.

It also gave her some time to think. One thing had become
clear. If she wanted to pursue things more deeply with Lyda and Noah, it was
time to stop waffling over it. Yes, she’d played it safe to keep her world in
balance, but one thing she’d learned over the years. When she did move into new
territory, there was no sense in being tentative about it once she was
committed. There was control in choosing a course of action, as well as a
message she could send to Lyda and Noah.

Up until now, she really had been letting Lyda take all the
initiative, but Chloe had given Gen a key. Pursuing a relationship, even if the
Dom/sub aspect was a strong element of it, was still a two-way street. Well,
three-way, in this case. Lyda’s reaction to Gen’s withdrawal last night at the
club had underscored it. Lyda was a human being with needs and feelings. It
wasn’t fair for Gen to hang back and make her drag everything out of her.

She would invite Lyda
and
Noah for dinner, have them
as her guests. She wanted Lyda to see her home. Since Lyda had expressed
reservations about a move as telling as meeting Noah’s grandmother, Gen wasn’t
sure how she’d feel about the idea, but she wasn’t going to be a chicken,
fearing rejection. Whether or not Lyda accepted the invitation, it would tell
her Mistress how Gen felt about their relationship.

Plus, Lyda hadn’t said when the Gatlinburg thing was, and
Gen didn’t want to wait until then to see her and Noah. Actually, she didn’t
want to wait more than a few hours. Thinking of how fast she could put together
a decent dinner, she pulled out her phone and found she already had a text, one
that worked her up in all sorts of ways.

Pack an overnight bag and come to my place tonight. I
want you and Noah here. Yes or no?

Yes.
Though she had a feeling her decision wouldn’t improve
her focus in the least, she was in better spirits, almost ebullient. She might
even be up to giving Chloe’s teasing a spirited challenge. She was certain the
imp had a naked picture or two of Brendan on her phone…

* * * * *

Marguerite watched Gen hurry away, then stepped to the
doorway where she could see her husband. Tyler had lifted his attention from
the phone the moment Gen had disappeared, proving it had been a ruse to avoid
embarrassing Gen further. Her Southern gentleman.

He met her gaze. “That was interesting.”

“I’ll bet.” She allowed her lips to curve. “How
interesting?”

“Interesting enough I wish I didn’t have that meeting with
Michael in about thirty minutes. But anticipation is everything.”

“Yes, it is.”

Rising, he came to her, bracing one foot in its polished
loafer on the step into the shed. Sliding an arm around her hips, he brought
her close enough to place a kiss in the pocket of her throat. The strength of
his arm, the firm press of his lips, conveyed exactly how interesting he had
found that kiss. However, the gaze he lifted to her own saw her mixed feelings
on the matter. “Still worried about Lyda?”

“This is moving fast beyond infatuation.”

“You have to let them figure it out, angel.”

She arched a brow. “Because you never push your own agenda
on someone or interfere with the natural course of things.”

“Of course not. But when the natural course of things can be
helped along by my will…” He shrugged. “God does it all the time.”

“I’m sure Satan does the same thing.”

“Imitation is the best form of flattery.”

“I’d like to say I’m surprised you’d compare yourself to God
or Lucifer, but that would be a waste of breath.”

He brought both feet onto the step, giving him back his
height advantage, but she was okay with that, since he wrapped his arms around
her, twisting his fingers in the soft stuff of her shirt, teasing the bra strap
beneath. As he slid his lips past her ear, he nipped at her throat, making her
fingers grip his biceps under the dress shirt he wore. He’d probably left his
coat in the Ferrari, but he still bore that rich aftershave smell she loved,
that had clung to him when they’d shared a bathroom this morning.

“I have a far better use for your breath.”

She smiled against his mouth, let the kiss take her under,
relying on his strength to hold her up as her knees weakened, as they always
did when he kissed her. Not that she’d ever tell him that.

He already knew.

When he lifted his head, she gave him an amused look,
despite the rapid trip of her pulse. “Was that a marking thing? Making sure
Gen’s kiss isn’t the one I carry around for the rest of the day?”

“My wife knows me well.” His hand dropped to curve around
her buttock, stroke with unapologetic proprietary intent. “Just like she knows
tonight I’ll tie her to the bed and make her tell me every single thing she
felt while she was kissing Gen, until I make her come with my mouth between her
legs.”

“Sorry. I have to wash my hair tonight. I’m busy.”

“I’ll wash your hair. Right after I make sure you need a
thorough shower.” Stepping back down, he pressed his lips to her palm. As he
held it there, a silent communication, she touched his hair with her free hand
and wondered at the miracle of this never-ending combination of peace and
yearning he kept alive in her heart.

“See you soon, angel.”

“I love you.”

She didn’t say it outright too often, infrequently enough
his gaze lifted to hers now, his scrutiny telling her he was ensuring she was
okay. Then his eyes glowed with pleasure. That made her want to say it over and
over again, but she didn’t have to. He knew that too.

* * * * *

When Gen arrived at Lyda’s house, she didn’t see her
Escalade, but a quick glance at her phone explained it. She’d missed a follow
up text while weaving through traffic.

Running late. Make yourself at home. Wine and beer in
fridge. Noah in guesthouse in back.

She had to grin at Lyda, giving her the whereabouts of
alcohol and Noah. But with her new resolve about things, Gen found she wasn’t
in the mood to do any sampling of the latter unless both courses were present,
so to speak.

Still, she did want company, and she enjoyed being around
Noah, not just for his admirable physical attributes. Instead of going into the
house, she circled around it on foot. At last, she would get to see Noah’s
personal space. As she approached the guest cottage, she noticed the touches
that said Noah was in residence. A small wooden boat was propped facedown on a
sawhorse, being cleaned, painted or whatever one did to maintain it. A couple
buckets and brushes were stacked neatly next to it. Even here, he respected the
space Lyda had given him by keeping it clean and orderly.

If she’d gotten in touch with her inner Domme earlier in
life, and if her husbands had had a shred of service-orientation to them, Gen
reflected she might have obtained a more worthwhile investment out of those
relationships.

She scoffed at the likelihood. Noah took genuine pleasure in
service, and though she could understand the argument that it benefitted his
need to serve and submit, she thought about what Lyda had said, that there was
a difference between a bottom, who took pleasure merely from being topped, and
a submissive, who had a much more complex give and take. Noah had a lovely form
of selflessness. Neither of her husbands had had a shred of that quality.

She must be getting better at reasoning this out. It wasn’t
making her temples pound anymore.

The screen door was in place, the main door open. However,
when she pulled back the screen door, she froze.

The door was splintered around the lock. It had been forced
open.

She’d been in Miami when Chloe was attacked at Tea Leaves a
couple years before. Everything had been over by the time Gen found out what
had happened and returned to town. Marguerite had been in a bad way,
convalescing at Tyler’s. Chloe was still in the hospital. Tyler was of course
absorbed in Marguerite, so by unfortunate chance, Gen had been the first one,
after the police, to come back to the tea room.