Divine Solace: 8 (24 page)

At length, he laid his head there, his damp breath on her
tight nipple. She kept holding him, stroking his hair, loving the feel of her
arms around him, his around her.

She’d touched him how she’d desired, learning to trust
herself to command him. And he’d provided her the guidance to do it.

“So…” She cleared the frogs out of her throat. “I realize
it’s a really convenient time to ask, but you did say Lyda was okay with this,
right?”

He smiled against her breast. “Yes. Lyda commands my
pleasure, Gen. She told me I was to provide you anything you desired. And
before you piss me off by asking, yes, it worked out pretty well for me as
well.”

Now he did do the fish thing, flopping back with drama, as
if she’d completely drained him. “I guess capsizing
will
have to wait
for another day,” she chuckled.

“Nope. Just give me a minute to recharge. A couple more of
those cookies would help, if we still have any.”

“I could learn to hate you,” she said, eying the hard body
beneath her.

He grinned. “Does that mean we still have cookies?”

With a sigh, she began to slide off him. When her muscles
contracted on him, a reluctant farewell, he caught her hips. Bringing his mouth
to hers, hand cradling her face, he captured her lips in one more kiss, this
one deep and long, a promise of the same passion, but something more tender
too.

When he drew back, she had her hand around his wrist. “What
was that?”

“I just felt like you needed it. Or maybe I did. I wanted
it.”

With a pensive look that puzzled her, he let her slide away.
He discouraged further discussion of it, helping her to her feet and then
pulling on his swimsuit while she did the same with her suit and shorts. The
silence was weighted, but comfortable, so she left it undisturbed as she
brought the extra cookies back to the towel. They shared one and then he ate
another as they passed a water bottle back and forth. A line of pelicans passed
over and she closed her eyes, enjoying the sun on her still tingling skin. When
Noah brushed a finger along her cheek, taking some cookie crumbs or a few
grains of sand away—she wasn’t sure which—she opened her eyes.

“The cage at Lyda’s, there’s a freedom to it,” he said. “You
understand?”

Her brow knit at the unexpected topic. “I didn’t feel comfortable
with that. For me.”

“I know. But a part of you knows why it works, right? The
real cage for most people is the one memories put around us.” A lot of things
moved behind those dark eyes. “If you were in a car crash tomorrow, every
reservation or doubt you felt with me today, it would have been a waste, right?
You look down the road to the future, and it paralyzes you, because you think
you’ll find you’re still in that prison of memories, that you never left, and
this is just more of the same. If there’s no future for the past to mess up,
there’s just this moment, right?”

Whether or not it was his intention, the simple logic helped
with her own doubts. But applying the words to that shadow in his makeup she
kept detecting, it reminded her of a bird who’d finally escaped a cage. The
bird soared, feeding on the pleasures of the air, but he refused to touch the
earth for fear of that prison closing around him again. Living in the moment
could also be an act of desperation.

She slid her knuckles along his sculpted cheekbone, the firm
jaw, feathered a fingertip over the lashes a woman would kill to have. “I think
we are who we are because of those memories. They can help us make good
decisions, better decisions, for ourselves.”

“It pulls you down, though,” he said. “It makes you sad.
Hurts you.”

So he was talking about her, the near miss on the climax
because she’d gotten mired in old pain. She shook her head, laying her hand on
him in reassurance. “What you and Lyda unlock inside of me, I don’t yet know
how to reconcile that with old wounds, but so far, I’m willing to keep going
down that road and figure it out. You made it easier to do that today. Let that
be enough.”

She thought he might say more, but she put her fingers on
his lips, a mute request not to do so. He kissed them. Reassured, she pushed
away to retrieve a hidden cache of cookies she’d prudently packed, anticipating
his male appetite and sweet tooth. Though she could feel him watching her
intently, he said nothing further about it.

That was good. It had been a wonderful day, one that made
her all for living in the moment. At least until tomorrow.

Gen had never been in a relationship that was like a force
of nature, so beyond her control, yet so irresistibly powerful she couldn’t
help but want to run wild in the storm. Interacting with these two complicated
people had so far been exciting, passionate, pleasurable, scary and thought
provoking. Disturbing. She was doing things she’d never contemplated doing.

“New blend?” Marguerite inquired, pausing at her elbow.

Gen was preparing the order for a couple at Table Two. The
man wanted coffee, the woman, the chai tea special of the day. With a start,
Gen realized she’d poured them into the same cup. “Oh good grief.”

Giving her an amused look, Marguerite lifted it to her lips,
took an experimental sip. Grimaced. “We won’t be starting a chai-coffee
offering with that blend anytime soon.” Dumping it down the sink, she set out a
clean mug next to the one that was intended to take the tea. “I’ll handle this
order. Why don’t you make it an early day?”

“I’m fine, M. I’m not sick, just distracted. I’ll do
better.”

“You’re doing fine, Gen. I thought you might like extra time
to prepare for your evening plans.”

She’d mentioned it to Chloe, so of course M knew about it.
Before Gen could think of a response, Marguerite nodded toward the door.
“Speaking of which.”

Gen glanced over her shoulder to see Lyda coming in. Her
jeans were stained with dirt, showing she’d already had a busy day. Because the
heat index was in the hundreds today, her T-shirt was dark with sweat, her pale
face flushed.

“Iced tea,” Marguerite said, unnecessarily. Gen was already
reaching for it. “Unsweetened. Lyda doesn’t do sugar. Put some of that herbal
energy blend in it I’ve been using in the sweet tea order for Todd’s group,”
she added, referring to the construction foreman who came in regularly to get
sweetened tea for his crew. “Add some raspberry to cut the bitter.”

“Christ, why do I live in Florida?” Lyda grimaced, sliding
onto a stool at the counter. She stripped off her gloves, tucked them into her
belt.

“Because there isn’t a huge demand for nursery stock and
perennials in Alaska,” Marguerite offered.

“I’d go up there and change that, except Noah hates the
cold. That skinny boy would freeze to death the first day.”

“Why isn’t he or one of the others with you, helping with
the deliveries?” Gen now knew Lyda had four employees other than Noah. Lyda’s
neck and arms were dry. Though she could have mopped them off with a towel in
her truck, a lack of perspiration was precursor to heat stroke.

When Lyda raised a brow, Gen realized how sharp she’d
sounded. Gen put the tea in front of her, hoping it distracted from the color
now in her own cheeks. “Here, drink this. You’ll dehydrate fast in this heat.”

“I didn’t realize,” Lyda said dryly. But she laid her hand
on Gen’s forearm, keeping it there to run a caressing finger over her skin,
oddly playful. “I’m fine, rabbit. You need to come to my fitness class to see a
real workout.”

“Do I have to participate?”

Lyda gave her a feral smile. “Not the first time. As I told
you, I like your soft places, Gen. Keep them soft.” Her gaze swept over Gen’s
upper body, pointedly lingering on her breasts and the nip of her waist. Unlike
the first time Lyda had visited, today Gen was wearing a fitted shirt that
hugged her curves over a nice pair of stressed jeans that had a white stencil
of a faded rose down one thigh. She’d always dressed appropriately for work,
but her choices were now being driven by new feelings.
Cue the Jon Berry
song about Rosie.

“Nice look,” Lyda murmured. “I hope that’s for me.”

Since Marguerite was within hearing distance, Gen felt her
cheeks heat anew. “You never said where all your employees are,” she said
hastily.

Lyda waited a beat. “They’re out on deliveries as well. We
have more business than we can handle lately. I’m going to have to hire more
temporary help.”

Marguerite drew Gen’s attention. She had the coffee and chai
tea ready. “Table Two.”

“Oh, right. Okay.” Picking up the tray, Gen maneuvered
around the counter. She was not going to stumble and scald a customer. She
wasn’t going to act like a teenager whose boyfriend had just stopped in. Or
girlfriend. No matter how true that might be.

If it had been Noah, she’d probably still be distracted, but
the high, fluttery pulse beating in her throat would have a different cadence.
Noah was like wading out into a gentle surf, coaxing her out further and
further, because she felt safe in that tide line. Lyda made Gen feel like she
was watching an approaching high wave, with only a moment to decide whether to
duck beneath it, be swallowed, or take the churning, exhilarating ride to
shore. Either way, the wave was going to have her.

Gen delivered the order and did a round of the other
occupied tables. When she was done with that, she tidied up one of the
workstations. Fortunately, M and Lyda weren’t lowering their voices beyond her
eavesdropping radar. She sidled closer, anticipating casual conversation, a way
for her to enjoy the rise and fall of Lyda’s voice, the flow of her moods.

She should have remembered Marguerite didn’t do casual
conversation.

“You’ve been stopping by a little more often lately, Lyda,”
her boss said. “I don’t stock your usual preference.”

Startled by Marguerite’s cool tone, Gen turned her head from
what she was doing. Lyda’s silver-gray irises were comparable to a knife blade.
“Do I need your blessing, Marguerite? I wasn’t aware she was yours.”

“You’re quite aware there’s an ownership question here.
Which is why you’re here today. You intended to broach it in exactly this
fashion.”

Lyda set down the tea. “What do you need to hear?”

“Nothing. Words don’t impress me overly much. It’s what you
need to recognize that’s relevant.” Marguerite held her gaze.

When the women said nothing else for a weighted moment, Gen
wondered if she was witnessing a Vulcan mind meld. Should she get involved?
Only an idiot tried to step between two crossed swords.

Lyda nodded at last. “Understood.”

Marguerite’s teeth flashed. “Be mindful of it.” Without
turning, she spoke. “Gen, go ahead and take off. Chloe’s coming in at one.”

“If you’re sure.” She waffled, not sure how to take her
leave with Lyda here, and so much in the air. “Um…Lyda, if you need an extra
pair of hands, I can help.”

Lyda was still holding Marguerite’s gaze, but Gen’s offer
changed something. She projected a sense of satisfaction, as if Gen’s offer had
tilted the scale of whatever they were resolving toward Lyda. Marguerite’s flat
expression didn’t change, however, which made Lyda clear her throat, then
finally look Gen’s way. “No. You’ll need your energy for tonight. Put the tea
in a to-go cup, and top it off.”

Marguerite shifted, turning away. It was a deliberate
gesture, transferring the responsibility to Gen. Gen wasn’t clued into
everything happening, but that one was clear. Lyda’s order was directed to her.

She hoped her fingers didn’t tremble when she closed them
around the glass to take it away, but if they did, the motion was arrested when
Lyda laid a single fingertip on her wrist. Gen stilled. She stared at the cup,
kept holding it, didn’t raise her gaze. Didn’t move. She couldn’t. Aroused need
spread out inside her, and the reaction in her fingers manifested in her
forearm, giving it a quiver beneath Lyda’s finger. The woman tapped her once.
Gen realized she expected an acknowledgement.

“Yes ma’am,” she murmured. She’d respond that way to a
customer on a normal day, but it meant something entirely different with Lyda.
When Gen dared a quick look at her, Lyda’s countenance reminded Gen of how the
woman had looked when she demanded that “uncertain girl kiss”.

Lyda drew her touch away and Gen pivoted to dump the glass
contents into a to-go cup, top it off. It was probably good she hadn’t
requested sugar, because Gen’s unsteady hand might have tipped in enough to put
the woman in diabetic shock. She did add more of M’s rehydration blend. That
truck was way too full, and it was obvious this wasn’t Lyda’s first delivery of
the day. Who would plant in the heat of summer? People with enough money for a
huge water bill, apparently.

When she brought the cup back to Lyda, she was on her feet.
Marguerite was checking on the current brew. Lyda took the cup from Gen’s hand.
“See you tonight.”

“All right. Thanks.” Gen felt awkward again. Lyda gave her a
level look.

“You really should come to my class. You might enjoy it more
than you think. It’s the Blood, Sweat and Tears fitness center, about a mile
from the nursery.”

“Blood, Sweat and Tears. Seriously?”

“Planet Fitness felt I was too extreme.” Lyda gave her an
arch look. When Gen watched her move toward the door, she wasn’t alone. Other
customers watched her, that purposeful way she had of moving, the sexual energy
pulsing off her. Gen wanted to lift her hair off her neck, press her lips to
the perspiration that would be there. Push her T-shirt up so she could slide
her lips along the valley of her spine, her buttocks.

She could imagine it, but would Lyda ever permit it? Had
Lyda ever had a lover, someone not locked into a rigid submissive structure she
defined? Was the answer to that question staring at Gen from her own mirror?

Lyda got into her truck, twisted to put on her seat belt,
picked up her phone. She tilted her head to study the screen, probably reading
a text from one of the other employees. Then she’d turned over the ignition and
was gone. Gen realized then that she’d watched her until she drove out of
sight.

She pivoted toward the other enigmatic female force in her
life, who was working on a call-in order. “Can I ask you what that was about?”

Marguerite glanced her way. When she didn’t say anything,
Gen figured she might be waiting for clarification. She checked to be sure no
customers were in earshot. “The ownership thing?”

“You already know the answer to that, Gen.” Marguerite’s
tone wasn’t unkind, but it was firm.

“I meant…” She struggled for the right words. “Your part of
it. What were you telling her? It was like…”

Marguerite didn’t often make prolonged eye contact. As a
result, when she did, it was like having a railroad spike driven into both
feet, keeping a person in place. “I was telling her, in a way she understood,
that whether or not you are starting to think of yourself as hers, until she
reciprocates the feeling sufficiently, you’re mine. Which means if she fucks
with your head, I will take her apart.”

Her office phone started ringing. Marguerite passed Gen,
touching her back.

Gen drew an unsteady breath. Was she starting to think of
herself as Lyda’s?
You already know the answer to that
.

Yeah, she did. It was funny how one intense club session
with Lyda, and an even more intense night at her home, as well as the separate
times with Noah, were starting to sharpen nebulous feelings. A few days ago, if
someone had asked her if she wanted to be a part of something like this, she
would have politely declined. Now she was seeking answers, wanting a deeper
understanding.

She studied Marguerite. Gen hadn’t ever settled into a job
the way she’d settled into working at Tea Leaves. From the beginning, she’d
loved working with the reserved woman, proving she could perform to her
exacting standards. When she met them, gained Marguerite’s confidence, trust,
it had meant everything. At first she’d thought it was a weird kind of maternal
transference, because her own mother had never really expected too much out of
her, but she’d never thought of Marguerite as a mother figure. Yet she
responded to her as an authority figure.

It wasn’t like she’d needed Marguerite’s approval to be
whole, but it made things better, to see that look in Marguerite’s eye when Gen
met or—even better—exceeded her expectations. That light touch she’d just given
Gen was something Gen considered a gift, whenever it happened.

Lyda had drawn that connection, pointing out how comfortable
Gen was under the shelter of Marguerite’s protection. Yet Gen wouldn’t call the
feelings she had about Lyda comfortable. She craved more from the Mistress,
with an all-encompassing yearning that startled her.

Yes, she was getting involved with two complex people, but
perhaps the most complicated and hard-to-decipher member of their triad was Gen
herself.

* * * * *

Back to the club again. From her existing wardrobe, she
assembled a short skirt and sheer black top with some sparkles across it,
coordinating a lacy bra and panty set beneath. She took extra time with her
hair, knowing how Lyda and Noah liked it, and slid into a pair of heels.
Digging through her jewelry, she found a beaten silver anklet and put that
together with a pair of silver wire earrings. She left her neck bare, thinking
of Noah’s mouth there, Lyda’s sharp nails grazing her pulse. That thought set
things pounding like she was already on a dance floor. She considered putting a
liner inside the scrap of panties she was wearing, but Lyda might want to stroke
between her legs. Gen knew without asking that Lyda would rather have arousal
dampening Gen’s flesh, soaking the crotch of the panties.

You’re already learning to dress for a Mistress…

As she leaned against the bathroom counter, it put pressure
against her pubic mound, sending a little zing through her nether regions. She
rubbed against the edge, eyes half closing. The sensation intensified as she
imagined them touching her. When she was with Noah, she was consumed by him,
yet when she anticipated being with Lyda and Noah together, she always saw Lyda
in the primary position. She wondered if that was how it was for Noah, when he
was with other women versus his Mistress.

How long had they been together? Did they consider
themselves permanent, like a boyfriend-girlfriend thing? Maybe she’d keep her
head together enough tonight to ask some intelligent questions, get some real
answers. Or maybe she’d figure out more by simply riding the ride.