Divine Solace (Nature of Desire 8)

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.

When she arrived at the club and locked her car, she realized she wasn't even sure if Noah would be there. Lyda hadn't confirmed that, had even implied Gen could look at a wider pool of candidates to try out being a Domme. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

Checking her appearance against that of other women entering the club she thought might be Dominants, Gen saw everything from snug designer jeans to short skirts or leather or latex. The diversity made her more comfortable about her own appearance. Hell, Lyda was able to command her wearing a sweaty T-shirt and dirty jeans. But she was just kidding herself if she thought she possessed the aura Lyda did.

Her chin firmed. If she wanted to try to be a Domme tonight, she would. It would tell her something about Lyda's character if the woman provided her real mentorship, or if she just gave it lip service, waiting for Gen to crash and burn. Was that ultimately what this was about, testing Lyda? The anxious coil tightened up, but she quelled it. She wasn't going to bolt now.

The club was quieter on a weeknight. She could hear the faint sounds of punishment, cries of pleasure and pain, mixed with the distant music beat. Her palms dampened. Her flesh was already feeling sensitive, swollen in noticeable places. She handed over her guest membership, and the hostess checked her log.

"You were here as an unclassified guest last time, Ms. Wisner. Do you prefer a bracelet tonight?" The hostess gestured to a board, which showed the different colors of bracelets that indicated Dom, sub, switch, undecided. "You can have any of those four to let people know your preference, but you can also have a second no-play bracelet, so they know if you're here merely to watch."

She had to give Tyler and his partners kudos for their employee training, because the woman had given her exactly the guidance she needed without being asked.

"The Dom bracelet, please. And one of the no-plays." She was willing to take some chances, but at her own pace.

Suitably "classified", she wandered in. She'd seek Lyda's whereabouts eventually, but Gen wanted to get her own impressions first. What would a Domme be feeling as she entered this world? Closing her eyes, she imagined herself as Lyda, then slowly opened her eyes, let her gaze trail over the scatterings of people. The dance floor had a moderate but enthusiastic group. The bracelets were done in glow-in-the-dark neon colors, and subs wore red. Her Domme bracelet glowed green, a marriage of Christmas colors she wondered if was intended for the whimsical irony. Every day is Christmas...

Speaking of which. Her gaze landed on a male leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His face was in the shadows, but he seemed familiar to her. Regardless, she saw enough of him to have her libido sitting up to take notice. Since his arms were crossed, she couldn't see his bracelet color, but him in a submissive bracelet would be pure fantasy.

Built like a brick house, he had an alert body language that said cop or military. He was more mature, somewhere in his late forties. A very fit, mouth-watering late-forties. His jeans held what he had to offer in just the right way and he was shirtless. A couple of wicked scars on his six-pack abdomen, including a round one that looked as if it had been caused by a bullet, added to the dangerous look of him. His hair was thick and curly, an intriguing mix of black, silver and white.

Reluctantly, she shifted her gaze from the pleasure of perusing him. Maybe she could bribe him to let her tie him up and spank him. Yeah, right. She had about thirty dollars of her carefully hoarded entertainment budget in her purse. In this place, that would buy her the two-drink minimum and a snack.

Oh, hello. The red bracelet was a distinctive glow on the next male who caught her attention. Like the cop, he was sporting the pleasing shirtless look. This one was younger, perhaps late twenties. Sprawled out across a bench in a cozy alcove that invited trysts, he had one foot on the floor, the other propped on the wall as he lay on his back. In Gen's position on the mezzanine, she was looking down at him. He was all smooth muscle, tribal tattoos on the biceps, and...oh my.

He was wearing the tight shorts Olympic athletes wore, the kind that stopped high on the thighs and displayed a cock ready to do whatever a woman demanded. Even in a resting state, the whole package was quite noticeable. Strands of black hair brushed carelessly across his forehead drew her attention to devil-may-care blue-gray eyes. Ones that flickered up and found hers.

Seeing her interest, his gaze went to her wrist. Though she had the no-play bracelet with the Domme one, an anticipatory look spread across his face, like a wolf seeing dinner. He had a whole Channing Tatum thing happening, a dose of hundred percent trouble, the kind that scrambled a woman's mind. He wanted her to remove that no-play bracelet.

She'd watched how all this worked the other night. If she removed it, she could explain she was a newbie, and if he was okay with that, they could set boundaries. She could tie him up, enjoy touching him the way she'd enjoyed touching Noah. Right?

She thought of Noah's hands on her, his body pressing hers into the sand, those dark eyes so close. He wasn't Noah. While her libido wasn't choosy, it was hardwired to her heart and mind, and they were far more selective. She'd told Lyda she didn't do casual. Was this really any different from a bar pickup? Would it feel just as empty, or was it more like an evening out at the movies, where you enjoyed the show and went home with a sense of satisfaction? How did a woman program her emotions for this?

He'd lifted a brow, a question. Sitting up, he stretched an arm out along the back of the bench and then, holding her widening gaze, he slid his hand down those lovely abs, down, down, and into the shorts. Gripping himself, he stroked, keeping that sinful gaze on her, even as she lowered her eyes to what he was doing. His cock responded instantly, growing longer and thicker under his stimulation, so that he stretched it out under the shorts, cupped his balls, rolled them. As he adjusted his legs to give her a better view, there was a challenge in those eyes, one that made her think of an incubus luring a maiden into a dark, secret place.

"Not that one."

Lyda's sultry voice was against her ear. Gen let out a startled breath as the woman's arm slid around her waist. When Lyda pressed her mouth against the tender skin beneath Gen's ear, her pulse leaped at the first contact. She caught that breath as Lyda cupped her breast, ran her fingers over it in an unmistakably possessive act, plucking at the lace of the bra through the shirt's thin fabric. The male's eyes sharpened, his own lips parting, but in her peripheral vision, Gen saw Lyda lock gazes with him. Whatever message she sent, he removed his hand from his shorts, lifting both palms in mock apology, but the smile he sent their way was not the least bit repentant.

Lyda nudged Gen. "Trust me, Marius is the abyss end of the pool. He'll hold you under and drown you if you show weakness. But it's a Lucifer thing. Everything you fuck up with him is your own choice. He gives you just enough rope to hang yourself. Only one Mistress has ever been able to get his number. He treats her with what little respect for authority he has in him." At Gen's look, Lyda's lips twisted. "Marguerite."

"Of course," Gen murmured.