Divine Solace: 8 (7 page)

Chloe had told her that Brendan opened himself up to a wider
range of experiences because he didn’t try to control the path chosen for him.
He
doesn’t think in terms of “I’m not interested in that”, unless it’s something
he’s already experienced and really disliked. He’ll try anything once, as long
as he knows it’s something that interests me or the people we’re with.

Did Noah accommodate what she wanted for that reason? Though
she’d remained on high alert for any flicker of boredom from him, she’d come up
empty.

At length, it was getting close to her bedtime. Noah agreed
they needed to be up early tomorrow to get a good start on the floor, if she
was going to maximize the time she had his labor at her disposal.

“The good thing is we’re already going to save some time,”
he told her. “The floor beneath the linoleum is in good shape. I can lay the
plywood foundation right over it.”

She’d noted him checking the kitchen floor earlier, and now
she knew he’d been testing for rot. She made an agreeable noise as he rose to
help her clean up. In the small space, they brushed against one another quite
often, his bare skin and male scent so close.

When they were done, it seemed very natural for him to be
gazing down at her. Before she could think of what to do, he’d slid his arms
around her, drawing her against him for a light embrace. A hug. “Thanks for
dinner and the place to sleep.”

“I feel like I should be thanking you. You made dinner, and
tomorrow you’re helping me tile.” She gave a nervous laugh as her palms slid
over his shoulders, down his back. He was roped muscle, as firm and resilient
as he looked, and his hug was a far stronger, more reassuring feeling than
she’d expected, such that she held on for an extra moment or two. He didn’t
pull away, waiting until she did. Her thighs brushed against his. She felt like
a teenager, her eyes lowering because she was embarrassed by her bright cheeks.
His lips brushed her temple.

“Good night, Gen.”

* * * * *

She closed her door to change into her nightgown, but once
she turned off the light, she opened it again. She’d told him to do the same,
since the small house circulated air better with the doors open. When she slid
into bed, she was facing the hallway, and she saw he was lying in bed, under
the sheet. He was reading a book about landscaping. It looked like an older
book, the hardback cover worn, and she wondered if he’d borrowed it from Lyda.

She didn’t really care what he was reading, all in all. It
was nice just to lie in the anonymous dark, beyond the thrown light of his
lamp, watching him. He’d taken the tie off his hair, so it spilled over his
shoulders, enhancing the chiseled features. His attractive mouth had a firm set
to it when at rest, his eyes focused. His long fingers stroked the pages as
they turned them. Her gaze slid down the creases of the sheet, how it outlined
his legs. His groin area was hidden behind the prop of the book on his upper
thighs.

“Will the lamp bother you?” His voice was quiet, in case she
was already asleep. She could pretend she was.

“No.” She could hear the thickness in her voice. He was so
close, right across the hall. It wasn’t sex she wanted. God, no. Just the
thought of him touching her like that made her quake. But he wasn’t a stuffed
animal. She wasn’t going to humiliate him or herself by treating him like one.
Come
curl around me, make me feel like that hug did.

Plus that hug had produced far more than cuddly feelings.
She’d wanted to keep sliding her hands down his back until she tucked her
fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans. She wanted to touch without being
touched. She wanted to have all the control, none of the obligations. She was
sure that wasn’t what being a Domme was, but the control issue was part of it,
wasn’t it?

He spoke again. “May I ask…what you’re thinking?”

She could be completely honest, without repercussions. And
she was here in the dark, where he couldn’t see her face. “Earlier today…I
thought about you reading to Lyda.”

“One of those erotic novels she likes to torture me with?”

So maybe Lyda had actually done what she imagined, taunting
him at a distance. Things curled low in her belly. “Yes.”

He was staring into the darkness of her bedroom. Setting
aside his book, he turned on his hip, propping his head on his hand. When he did,
the sheet moved with him, getting trapped between his thighs, sliding down a
little lower. She gulped as it became apparent he wasn’t wearing anything
beneath it, the upper curve of one buttock haloed by the lamp behind him. If
she was standing behind him, she could let her fingers slide along that curve,
up over his tattoos.

“I imagined you—” She stopped, cleared her throat. “I
imagined her in a short negligee, nothing else. Lying on her bed, touching
herself while you read to her. She had you sitting in a chair across the room.
She wasn’t letting you touch her.”

“She’d tell me to keep my eyes on the page, and punish me
once a day for every time I stole a glance at her. Which means I’d probably be
punished for a month.” His lips curved, but his eyes remained serious.

“How does she punish you?”

“Various ways. What were you going to say, at the first?” He
prompted her. “‘I imagined you…’”

She didn’t say anything, and he shifted to his back. She bit
her lip as he stretched out an arm, his upper body arching as he turned off the
lamp, putting them both in darkness. She could see his silhouette from the
street lamps outside his window. He turned back on his hip toward her. “What do
you want, Gen? Anything.”

His voice was encouraging, but also male and intent. Lust
pulsed on the air currents between them.

“I want you to bring yourself to climax while I watch. I
don’t want you to look at me while you do it. Pretend I’m not here.”

“All right. Do you want the light on?”

“Yes. The lamp’s a three way. Could you turn it on to the
dimmest setting?” Things needed to stay hazy, dreamlike. Else she might chicken
out. “And…I want to see all of you.”

She bit her lip, almost saying he didn’t need to do that,
but he was complying. He switched the light on the dim setting, then pushed the
sheet to the side, adjusting his legs over it. Her gaze coursed over the arches
of his feet, over light sprinkles of brown hair on calves and the long lengths
of his thighs, then paused over his testicles and the cock rising above them, a
thick stalk curving over sectioned stomach muscles. He had his thighs spread so
she could see all of it. Propped up on the pillows, he rested one hand on his
thigh, the other curled over his head.

Liquid heat pooled in the folds of flesh between her thighs.
She wanted to tuck her fingers down there, give herself that pressure, but even
though she was in darkness, she was too self-conscious for that. Right now.

“I’ve been with a Dominant for so long, off and on, I don’t
really do this by myself without permission anymore. But I think I remember how
it’s done.” Another of his charming, self-deprecating looks. He grasped his
cock, gave himself a firm stroke. Her breath caught in her throat, a
contraction of hard need between her thighs.

“I wish I could see you,” he said. “Are you…will you tell me
if you’re wet?” His voice was husky, telling her—as if his cock didn’t—that he
wasn’t detached in the least.

“Yes. I am.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw and he stroked himself some more.
She wrapped her arms around her pillow, shifting so she was staring a straight
line to him, her breasts full and aching against the pressure of the cushion.

“Tell me what you’re imagining.” She whispered it, but he
heard her.

“You…naked. Sitting on my legs, just staring down at me
doing this. You’re breathing fast, shallow, so your breasts are quivering a
little…bit.” He gave a groan, tightening his hand on himself. “Your thighs are
spread so I can see your pussy all wet, and I want to taste it. Want to
just…fucking bury myself between your legs…”

She’d expected him to talk about Lyda. “Where is Lyda?”

“She’s watching. She’s always watching… And when I put my
face between your legs, she’s there, behind me…fuck…”

Would she be wearing one of those strap-ons that allowed a
woman to fuck a man? Gen imagined Noah between her legs while Lyda thrust into
him, her silver eyes holding Gen’s gaze, making her feel as if Lyda was
thrusting into her even as she had the dual pleasure of feeling Noah’s tongue
penetrating her own folds.

“Slow down,” she said unsteadily. He did, easing back the
speed at which they were approaching his climax. As he squeezed and stroked
himself with careful movements, his body was taut, quivering.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me about how she punished you?”

“Because I felt like you really wanted to talk about me
doing this for you.”

“Do you anticipate like that…a lot?”

“Yeah. Lyda says it’s part of what gets me in trouble half
the time. But only half.” He grunted then. “I wish my hand was your cunt, Gen.
I want to give you pleasure.”

“You are. Shut up.”

She slipped out of bed, padded across the hallway. When she
emerged from the shadows, his dark, burning eyes were fixed on her, the
sensuous mouth tight. She circled around the bed, her gaze sliding down his
body. His cock had leaked semen onto his belly. She marked it in her mind as
she reached for the lamp. He reached for her with the hand above his head,
circling her wrist gently.

“Just one more moment, like that,” he said. “You brushed
your hair, and it’s all curled around your face. And I can see your body
through your nightgown.”

It was a thin cotton one with a little embroidery at the
V-neck. Not outrageously sexy, but pretty. She hadn’t worn anything beneath it
tonight, more of that same compulsion to be daring. As his gaze coursed down,
the light was showing him the shape of hip and breast, the juncture between her
legs.

“That’s enough,” she whispered, disengaging her hand. She
turned off the light and caught her hair back, bending down to put her mouth on
those few drops on his stomach. “Don’t touch me,” she added, another quiet
instruction. A thrill of power went through her as he became incredibly still,
his hand motionless on his cock. As she licked the drops off the muscled
terrain, he quivered harder, but he obeyed her. She reveled in the freedom of
it, of touching him how she wished without the worry of him trying to take the
reins from her, moving too fast or in a direction she didn’t want. He tasted
slick and salty. Male.

The wrist of the hand holding her hair back brushed the head
of his cock, an incidental contact, one she didn’t expand further. She finished
suckling those drops, then backed off, standing by the dresser. The street
lights outside illuminated him enough she could see the pale line of his body.
In contrast, she was mostly in shadow again. The fierce desire in his gaze
speared her.

“I want to fuck you.”

She shuddered at the animal demand. “No. Keep going.”

He began to stroke himself, more functional and down to
business, the way a man did it to bring himself to the desired goal, just as
she’d requested. Though she was mostly in darkness, his gaze stayed on her,
stripping her bare, making her quiver and arousal trickle down her leg. He’d
said it had been a long time since he’d masturbated solely for his own pleasure.
That made two of them. For a lonely woman, sometimes the empty aftermath was
too painful to bear.

He was working himself harder, faster. Her gaze clung to the
way he held himself, that loose curl, the push-pull of the velvet skin up and
down the steel shaft, the thrust of his hips. His throat arched, the loose mane
of dark hair spread over her guestroom pillow, where his scent would linger.
His muscles were drawn tight, a powerful male animal bringing himself to
climax.

“I don’t…do this…without permission.”

“You can this time. Please.” Her voice was quiet, hoarse.

A quick jerk of his head, an acknowledgment, and then his
balls drew up, his cock jumping in his hand as ropes of come started to spill
forth, painting his abdomen, his chest. His face reflected that rictus that
happened during such a moment, and she drank it all in, her palms damp, body
locked by the dresser, every nerve ending aware of the touch of the air, his
harsh grunts, his musky odor filling the room.

Finally, all that was left were her shallow breaths, his
deep ones. As he settled down, she pushed herself into motion. Going into the
hallway bathroom, she dampened a washcloth and brought it and a dry hand towel
to the corner of the bed. She put them there, neatly folded, within his reach.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Gen…” He was trying to see her in the dark. He started to
lift his upper body. Fearing he was going to reach for her hand, she backed
toward the door. She couldn’t bear to be touched. Not right now.

“Thank you,” she said again. “Good night.”

She fled back to her room, closing the door behind her. If
she left it open, he might come to her. He wouldn’t initiate sex, not unless
she’d given a clear invitation, but in this instance, him curling around her to
give her comfort or just hold her would be even worse. Far, far worse.

She crawled back into her bed, holding the pillow hard to
her chest with both arms, willing the throbbing between her legs to subside,
hoping the ache in her throat and heart could do the same.

She
was
happy with her life. But deep in her heart,
in the place she’d allowed Noah to be tonight, she had an unbearable longing to
share it with someone.

* * * * *

Because it had taken her so long to fall asleep, it took
longer to rise. What woke her was the smell of breakfast tea and frying eggs,
potatoes and onions. He must have brought some coffee with him, because she
smelled that as well.