Divine Solace: 8 (46 page)

Lyda made a noise of approval and swayed. Noah’s hands went
to her hips, steadying her, and Gen placed hers on Lyda’s thighs, closing her
eyes in sheer bliss as Lyda’s fingers tightened in her hair, her other arm
reaching back to do the same to Noah, directing the two of them to nibble, nip
and tongue-fuck her, alternatively, until she was making lovely, long moans,
her body writhing between them.

“Stop,” she commanded breathlessly, tightening her fingers
to draw them back. She gave them a slumberous, sexy look, then stepped into the
shower. Turning, she moved to the back wall. Then she beckoned to them to join
her.

The next twenty minutes were playful, joyous fun. Lyda
soaped Gen’s breasts, running her fingers in all crevices, doing the same to
Noah, then letting them do it to her, so that they were all exploring, kissing,
fondling. Then Lyda changed back to a demanding Mistress, shoving Gen against
the tile and plunging her fingers into her, worrying her clit with her thumb.
At her command, Noah pressed up behind Lyda, slid an arm around her waist, bent
his knees and impaled his Mistress on his cock.

“Cup your breasts for us, Gen,” Lyda said with hoarse
demand. “Play with your nipples while I enjoy your cunt.”

Gen did, until she was crying out for mercy, to be allowed
to come. Lyda let her go only after she did. Noah fell shortly thereafter,
their cries and moans echoing through the shower and making Gen want to start
all over.

* * * * *

Such over-the-top sexual intensity could easily bespell a
person, make her believe she was feeling deeper emotions. So over the next
several days, Gen tested the theory, and was happy to find she enjoyed the
nonsexual things the three of them did together as much. She savored every new
thing she learned about them. Yes, the Dom/sub thing was always a pleasant
undercurrent, but it was part of who Lyda and Noah were. A part she realized
she liked very much, in or out of bed.

That second day, they did a lot of shopping and sightseeing.
She and Noah bought Lyda a T-shirt that said Badass Bitch. She retaliated by
buying them bright red Dr. Seuss shirts that said
Thing 1
and
Thing 2
and making them wear them. They sampled fudge, wandered wide-eyed through
Ripley’s Believe It or Not, and went hiking in the National Park. Noah coaxed
Gen into letting him piggyback her for short stints to give her tired feet a
rest. It was charming and sweet, and not at all a hardship to rest against his
back, her cheek against his shoulder. Lyda’s hand occasionally brushed her back
or hip. Then there was dinner and the nightly walk with Dot, followed by more
bedtime pleasures.

The next day, they went driving around outside of Gatlinburg
to explore antique shops, dusty stores piled to the ceiling with paperbacks,
and places run by local artisans. When they found a craft supply store, they
had to drag Gen out of there at closing time. Lyda promised she could return
later…if she was good. The sensual threat set off all sorts of fantasies in
Gen’s head, while probably scandalizing the shopkeeper.

When they returned to the cabin, Lyda left Noah and Gen to
their own devices for dinner, opting for an energy bar and a run. She told Noah
she’d catch up to them on the walk with Dot.

“How far does she run?” Gen asked Noah as they went across
the bridge to retrieve Dorothy. He grinned.

“Do you really want an answer to that?”

“Let me guess. She found out how far Army Rangers can run,
called them a bunch of pussies and doubled it.”

“Tripled it, more likely.” He had his arm around her, hand
tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ve told her if she wasn’t so
beautiful she’d be totally butch. She told me she has no problem being both.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Gen sighed.

Dorothy met them at the door on her walker. She spent a
certain amount of time each day using it so her muscles wouldn’t atrophy. Gen
watched, quietly charmed by Noah’s gentleness as he helped Dot into her
scooter, then held open the screen door so she could motor down the ramp.

Gen’s affection for Noah’s grandmother had strengthened into
adoration over the past few days. It was fueled by her merciless teasing of
Noah, always tempered with a tender love in her eyes and touch. Noah was
obviously nourished by the relationship, and that alone would have made Gen
love the old woman. Studying them together, Gen realized it was the most
relaxed she’d seen him, even when he was with her and Lyda.

“There she comes.” Noah nodded. At the base of the steep
hill they were going down, Lyda was coming up, moving at a steady pace. Sweat
dampened the T-shirt between her breasts, the running shorts clinging to her
hips and toned thighs, her thick tail of hair swinging over her shoulders. She
had on her earbuds, listening to the player she had strapped to her arm.

“Heavy metal,” Noah said. “She runs to old school stuff.
AC/DC, Aerosmith. If you ever want to really piss her off, slide some Guns and
Roses or Poison into the mix. She considers them rock wannabes.” Since he was
behind Dot, he rubbed his backside with a grimace, pantomiming an awkward gait,
as if he’d had rebar shoved up his ass. Gen hid a smile.

“I never swung that way,” Dorothy remarked, “but she is a
cool drink of water, isn’t she? Makes you feel all fluttery. She’s sort of
beyond your reach, like bumping into Grace Kelly or Greta Garbo.” She lifted a
hand to draw Noah parallel to her. “Stop walking behind me making faces, boy.
I’ll box your ears.”

“Yes ma’am.” He squeezed her hand. Dorothy looked back at
Lyda. “But she makes me think about what Rita Hayworth said. ‘They go to sleep
with Gilda, but they wake up with me.’ She needs things, just like we all do.”

“Sometimes I’m not so sure,” Gen said. “She’s as self-contained
as an island. If you erode one shore, she’ll just add on to the back side.”

“So take a boat out to her. Kings or garbage men, we all
need love. To be needed and accepted for who we are, deep inside. That’s the
way you solve every problem, and find out what’s important, and what’s not.”

She held Gen’s gaze long enough for Gen to realize the woman
was trying to say something that covered more than just Lyda. Noah touched
Dot’s shoulder. “Don’t be a busybody,” he said mildly.

His grandmother looked up at him. “Just saying the truth, my
boy,” she said. “The truth your heart knows.”

Lyda reached them then. As she ran in place, she removed the
earbuds, tucking them into the armband. “I love running here,” she told Dot.

“Of course you do,” Gen said. “There are ninety degree
inclines everywhere.”

“Maybe it’s what I have waiting at the top of the hill.”
Lyda crooked an arm around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss, surrounding Gen
with the scent of sweaty woman. Thinking of how hard Lyda pushed her body and Dot’s
warning about arthritis, Gen decided she’d learn how to give Lyda massages. Rub
lotion into every inch of her skin. Maybe she and Noah could take a class
together so they could do it at the same time. There was plenty of that lithe
body to share.

It was the thought a person had when she intended to be with
someone for a long time. This weekend had made it easier to fall into that mode
of thinking, the three of them working so well together, but vacations could be
like that. The quick shadow in Noah’s gaze at his grandmother’s pointed comment
warned against that. As did the other things Gen knew about Lyda—or didn’t
know, as the case might be.
Take a boat out to her…

She realized then she hadn’t been self-conscious about Lyda
kissing her. True, it was just a press of lips to lips, not a knee-weakening
tongue invasion, but it had been a lovers’ kiss. Dorothy was pointing something
out to Noah. She’d seen it, Gen was sure, but it didn’t seem to offend her.
Lyda’s expression told Gen she’d noticed her lack of self-consciousness. And
liked it.

Gen slid a finger along Lyda’s collarbone, collecting
perspiration. “I’m going to learn how to give massages,” she said. “Then I can
make your muscles feel better after your hard workouts. I’ll also feed you ice
cream.”

Lyda gave her one of her sultry looks. She did a few more
cool down circles around them at a trot, until Dorothy told her she was making
her dizzy and Lyda dropped to a walk next to them.

It was one of the nicest trips Gen could remember
having…ever.

* * * * *

Lyda took the wheel on the first leg of the return trip. Gen
was in the front with her, Noah in the back, stretched out on the seat,
sleeping. Gen turned on her hip to study him. He had his long legs bent, one
foot braced on the floorboards, the other knee leaning against the seatback.
His arm was over his eyes, the other loose across his chest. He hadn’t taken
many extra naps here, his sleep less disturbed. Except for last night.

About three a.m. she’d woken to find Lyda and her alone in
the bed. When she’d lifted her upper body to peer over Lyda, she’d seen him
through the window, sitting on the back porch swing in darkness. His head was
tilted, listening to the evening sounds. Making sure the covers were tucked
around the soundly sleeping Lyda, Gen picked up his pillow and the throw at the
end of the bed and took them out to the porch.

Noah studied her with his dark eyes, saying nothing, but he
made room for her. She propped the pillow against his thigh, lay down on her
hip. As he stroked her hair, she curled her hands around his thigh.

“You should be in bed,” he murmured. “It’s more
comfortable.”

“I want you to know I’m right here. We both are. Even if she
sleeps like the dead.”

“She always has,” Noah glanced through the window, into the
darkened room. “She says it’s why she’d be a terrible mother.”

“What do you think her mother was like?”

“I thought she might be like Lyda, terrifying, but I was
wrong. She doesn’t talk much about her family, but one time she said, ‘I make
them uncomfortable, because I’m so different.’ She says they have the
Christmas-card-once-a-year, contact-me-if-someone-dies kind of relationship.”

“That’s sad. But I get it.” Gen couldn’t say her
relationship with her own mother was much different. Their phone calls usually
petered out after ten minutes, and they’d started spending holidays separately
back in her twenties.

They were three people without close family ties, and
perhaps because all of them were aware of what they were missing, they sought
it elsewhere. She grazed his chin, stroking the sandpaper stubble. “Whether she
says it or not, or we mean it the same way, we love you, Noah.”

Their eyes held forever, it seemed. Rather than struggling
for the right thing to say, like she’d done the day at the guesthouse and
chosen so wrongly, she let her feelings be guided by that penetrating look.
Following the map it laid out inside her heart, she didn’t analyze the words
that came to her lips, just spoke them.

“You’re a treasure. You’re also a pain in the ass. You’re
beautiful, sexy, frustrating. You’re sad, broken. Strong, amazing. All those
things separated out might mean different things, but all together, woven into
one special soul? That’s a gift.”

She touched his mouth again. “I don’t want you to say
anything. The words are for you. You do with them what you will. We’ll simply
love you.”

Settling her head on his thigh again, she closed her eyes.
After a time, he stroked her once more, his feet keeping the porch swing moving
in a cradle rock. She fell asleep that way, vaguely aware of when he carried
her back to bed, tucked her in between him and Lyda and curled close behind
her.

Coming back to the present, Gen thought about how he was
with them, with his grandmother, and how he’d reacted to Elias. Last night, the
words she’d spoken had been pure feeling, but she knew they were right. What
purpose they’d serve, she didn’t know. But she hoped it was like looking at the
concept for a collage, sorting through paper choices, seeing the picture form
until that
click
moment when she knew how it was going to work.

The thought reminded her she had some magazines to flip
through, but she turned back to Lyda, intending to ask if she wanted her to
read an article, play some music or initiate conversation, doing her part as
the person riding shotgun.

Instead, in a blink of the universe, she saw Lyda’s
expression change, her lips draw back, her body going rigid. Then she wrenched
the wheel to the right.

The world exploded.

There was the impact, the flash of the car hitting them. The
Escalade was spinning out of control, hitting the guard rail—oh God—going
through the guard rail. The nose of the car dipped like at the top of a roller
coaster.

Screaming, air pushing through the lungs…pain, crashing
metal…Gen head hit something hard, blood in her eyes…

Please, no.

Silence.

Gen opened her eyes. Things were rocking, back, forth, back,
forth…a seesaw. It was like she was on a seesaw, vertical, facing down. She
needed to throw up, but she was wheezing, a hard pressure against her chest.
Her forehead was itching. What a crazy thing to annoy her right now.

“Gen.
Gen.
I need your help.” Noah’s voice. Urgent,
imperative. “Look at me. Look toward my voice.”

Her head turned before her eyes opened, and she fought the
desire to throw up. She was looking up at him. How was that possible?

“
Gen
.”

Noah had never snapped at her, as demanding as Lyda, his
eyes hard as stone. Why wasn’t Lyda saying anything? “I…I can’t seem to move.”

“Wiggle your fingers and toes.”

She did, relieved to feel those. A similar look crossed
Noah’s face, seeing her do it.

“You’re wearing your seat belt and the car’s on its side on
a slope. Keep looking at me. Don’t look away. I’m your focal point.”

Dazed, she tried to look away, get her bearings, but he made
that sharp noise. He even lifted an arm toward her, carefully. He had one hand
wrapped around the chicken strap, elbow hooked around the seat back, one foot
braced on the back of the driver’s seat. She could see sky through the back
window. Their various luggage items seemed to be clustered at odd places in the
oddly angled car, like one of those funny skewed perspective paintings.