Divine Solace

by Joey W. Hill

  The woman was so self contained. How much could Gen invest in someone she knew so little about? How much of herself would she risk? She'd risked a lot last night.

  At this rate, she'd be confronting Lyda for her car keys three days from now. Bidding the cats a reluctant farewell, she followed the gravel drive around the back of the house, back to the nursery. Since it was Sunday, the business was closed, no chance of customers or employees providing a buffer. Gen looked into the open greenhouses. Automatic misters were watering an array of plants, washing humid greenhouse air over her skin. Maybe that was why Lyda's skin was so lovely.

  She located Lyda behind the third greenhouse, in front of a field of young saplings. She was wrapping the root balls of a dozen young crepe myrtle trees in burlap. They were probably being transported to new homes tomorrow.

  As Gen moved toward her, Lyda's head lifted. In that one sweeping glance, Gen felt everything that had happened last night anew, including those several screaming orgasms. Lyda's gaze covered the way her T-shirt clung to Gen's body, then rose to her face, as if evaluating everything about her state of mind before one word was spoken.

  When Gen's attention slid to the right, finding it hard to meet that stare, she discovered Noah taking a nap on a lush square of grass about thirty feet away. He wore jeans and a nursery T-shirt, stretched attractively over his shoulders and chest. He slept on his side, folded arm pillowing his head.

  "Midmorning break?" Gen asked low, nodding toward him.

  Lyda glanced his way. "He's already put in a good four hours this morning, digging up this stock. As well as making you breakfast and cleaning your clothes. He sleeps better in the daylight, so I make him take a nap midmorning. Else he gets cranky in the afternoon and I have to spank him."

  Despite the humor--she assumed it was humor--Gen felt a pang of horror. "He didn't need to do all that. I'm sorry. You should have woken me."

  "You're not my employee. Or my committed sub. He is. If I'd wanted you awake, Gen, I would have woken you."

  Gen had plenty of bland, polite things to say, but Lyda's directness drove everything away but the thing uppermost in her mind. "I have no clue how to process what happened last night."

  Lyda dropped to her haunches, wiped her brow. She had her hair pulled in a tail through the back of the bill cap. The brim shadowed her eyes, enhancing the dark lashes. "How do you want to process it, Gen? An adventure, a one-time event?"

  As Gen shifted, Lyda nodded. "It's fine to rationalize it that way, if that's all you want. It's more comfortable that way, to bring closure to it. Right?"

  "Yes. I guess. I mean, do you..." Gen trailed off. "It was an amazing night. Very different from what I'm used to. Thank you."

  Could she sound more stiff and stupid? Maybe if she broke into song and tried a cartwheel.

  "You were a pleasure to command. You should let that side of yourself rise to the top more often."

  "I don't know if I'm that way, really. Like you said, I guess all of us have some of it in us, and with the right triggers... Someone like you would bring it out of a person, no matter how dormant."

  As Gen spoke, Lyda pulled off a work glove. She gripped Gen's leg above the knee, beneath the hem of the short skirt. "Why are you standing above me, Gen?"

  Her hand was slightly damp from the perspiration of her efforts. Gen's knee trembled under that touch. But it wasn't like last night. There was too much reality around them. She backed away a couple steps. Lyda put the glove back on, but gave Gen a frank look.

  "Do you want more, Gen? Because you can have more. I'm willing to explore that."

  Explore her submission? A relationship? "I don't know. I need to go home and think about it."

  "A cautious approach isn't a bad idea. Just don't paralyze yourself with it. If this is something you want, you say how much or how little. You're in control of your own participation."

  Again that emphasis on choice. But Gen hadn't expected Lyda to be willing to choose more time with her. "What do you want...I mean, do you..."

  Do you really like me? It sounded so juvenile to ask it that way. But she hadn't anticipated falling short on a mature way to voice her innermost feelings about this. Maybe she could come at it from a new angle.

  "You said last night I could try it from different sides. How I was with Noah that weekend...what if I wanted to be more...assertive with that?"

  "Like try on the Domme hat? Where you exercise full control?" Lyda's expression was neutral, but Gen wondered if she was laughing at her. The rabbit wanting to be a wolf. She lifted her chin.

  "Maybe."

  "Hmm." Lyda pursed her lips. "We'll be back at The Zone Wednesday night. Can you join us? If you want to use me as a mentor, I'll walk you through some of the basics. Or I can introduce you to a club Domme, if you want a more neutral party."

  Just like that. As if it wasn't a momentous decision, an explorer declaring her brave intent to seek new lands. "Would I be practicing on him?" Gen glanced at Noah.

  "I'm sure he'd be happy to help you in that regard, with my permission, which I would certainly grant. But we'll see what you think once you're there. There are always more subs than Doms. You needn't limit your experience."

  Gen pressed her lips together. "Are you hoping I'll fall on my face and prove that I'm really a submissive, because that's what you want me to be?"

  Lyda's eyes frosted. "That's rude, Gen."

  "Is it true, though?" She wasn't overwhelmed by her hormones now. She wasn't begging for punishment with her ass in the air or writhing in ecstasy beneath Lyda. What had happened last night, that didn't completely define her, as it seemed to define Noah. She needed to make that clear. Lyda wasn't Gen's Mistress. She had the right to be rude if she thought she was being patronized.

  When Lyda said nothing, just continued to regard her, Gen thanked God for her interactions with Marguerite. As intimidating as Lyda's gaze was, a damn Supreme Court judge couldn't top Marguerite's pale-blue stare. Lyda's intimidation factor was close, though, especially since Gen had never made herself vulnerable to Marguerite as a lover. She literally dug the heels of the sneakers into the earth to hold fast.

  "What is it you're really seeking here, Gen?" Lyda asked. "I don't think you're trying to pick a fight, but you want something that's causing you to provoke one."

  "I know nothing about you," Gen pointed out. "If last night was just a carnival ride, then that's fine. I don't need to know anything more about you than the guy who pushes the lever of the Ferris wheel. And if that's it, then that's it. I go home, and I see you and Noah now and then when your paths cross Marguerite's, and I remember last night with this fond sort of disbelief. Maybe it was how little I knew about you that made last night possible, the intimacy-of-strangers kind of thing."

  As Lyda remained silent, bottled emotions surged forth, surprising Gen with their strength. "I don't know what I want, Lyda," she blurted. "Any relationship scares me, because the plain truth is I make bad choices when it comes to all that. Maybe you'll think I'm silly and unsophisticated, but it's also all too intense, too emotional, for me to treat it like a carnival ride. If you tell me you want it to be more than that, maybe I'll find the courage to come back for another ride. But if the ride is all you're going to give me of yourself, I probably can't do it. There's a way about you...I could turn into some kind of puppy, craving every scrap you throw my way. I have enough self-respect to make the choice to stay away. I can sew up any holes you put in me last night and pretend they never happened."

  She hadn't meant to go off like that. But every word was the God's honest truth. It had been a really long time since she'd made herself as vulnerable as she'd made herself last night. Lyda's charisma and personality tempted Gen to crack herself open like an egg and let it all spill out before her. She couldn't risk a deeper relationship on such unequal footing.

  Lyda still hadn't said anything. Gen swallowed. Okay, ask for the car key, call it done. God, she was one of those crazy people who changed thei
r social media status after one date. Lyda would be glad to be rid of her. She'd order Noah to avoid Gen like a plague.

  "I'm not a soft woman, Gen. I don't do nurturing, unless ordering a man to take a nap counts."

  Lyda's expression softened then, enough to ease the fist around Gen's chest a little. She even gave her a smile, helping Gen manage a tentative one in return. "I don't really know why. Over the years, I've found out why isn't always that important. But I'll give you the answer you're seeking. Yes. I'm interested in exploring more with you."

  "All right." Gen tried to steady her heart rate. She wanted to match Lyda's apparent calm now. "Can I ask you a couple questions about yourself? Is that okay?"

  "We'll see." Lyda shifted her squatting position so she had one knee bent and her denim-clad butt braced on the heel of her work shoe, her forearm propped on the bent knee. Gen's thigh muscles would have been screaming by now. "Go for it."

  "Do you have family in the area?"

  "No. I pushed them away in college, and never really found my way back. I have four siblings who've provided grandchildren. I'm not missed."

  She didn't see any regrets in Lyda's face, but the woman could compete with a sphinx. "You don't have any pictures of them."

  "I do. In photo albums, and on my computer. I entertain in my home. I don't care to share parts of myself I don't wish to discuss."

  "Entertain...as in like last night?"

  Lyda's expression flickered. "It's a little early for you to become possessive, Gen. Though I think I like that you're feeling it."

  Gen flushed. The interested glitter in Lyda's eyes only deepened it. She shifted to the sleeping Noah, a safer topic. "You called him a lost soul. Can you explain?"

  "Noah is too difficult to explain with words. You'll understand if you spend more time with him."

  Similar to what Chloe and M had implied. Interesting. "Will he break my heart if I care too much about him?"

  The woman gave her a sharp glance. It was a pretty deep question, but it seemed the best way to target the sadness she'd seen in Lyda's gaze last night.

  "The heart always gets broken when it cares. That's part of caring. And he breaks the heart of anyone who does. It doesn't make him any less appealing. In some ways, it's part of what makes him so irresistible." Lyda took both her gloves off, reached out a hand. "Come down here."

  It was an unmistakable order, made even clearer when Gen hesitated. "Now, Gen."

  She closed those few steps between them, sank down in the cushion of dirt Lyda's efforts with the trees had wrought. Lyda took her hand, her fingers wrapping around Gen's as she knelt. Gen laid a tentative hand on Lyda's bent knee and wasn't discouraged from keeping it there. She smelled coconut and almond butter sunblock. "Do you want a kiss, Gen?" Lyda asked.

  "Yes." Gen cleared her throat. "Do you?"

  "Yes. A soft, pretty girl kiss, your mouth trembling because you're not certain where this is going or how much of yourself you'll risk."

  As Lyda regarded her steadily, Gen realized she was inviting her to initiate. She eased forward, those mesmerizing eyes and sensual lips beckoning. Putting a hand on Lyda's arm, she followed it up to her shoulder, to her neck, shyly teasing the ponytail over Lyda's shoulder. She caressed her face, neck. The line of shoulder again. Lyda stayed still, watching her, which increased the charge. At length, Gen leaned in, pressed her lips against Lyda's.

  The woman didn't respond immediately, allowing Gen to explore and coax, the tip of her tongue tracing the seam. She put her other hand on Lyda's opposite shoulder to steady herself. She played with Lyda's lips, seduced, sent yearning, unspoken messages she herself couldn't yet decipher.

  When Lyda at last cupped the back of her head and took over, Gen sighed into her mouth, her lips parting. Lyda's tongue tangled with hers, her arm circling Gen's waist, pulling her between her thighs. Gen caught the belt loops of her jeans, fingers sliding along the small of Lyda's back, the delicate bones of her spine. Lyda's thighs trapped her on either side as the woman delved deep in her mouth, her hand dropping to grip Gen's ass, the bare cheek exposed by the thong beneath the skirt. As Lyda tightened her fingers enough Gen felt those flogger marks, she let out another needy breath.

  Lyda raised her head. Gen was practically reclined in her arms, her knees folded beneath her. She hadn't appreciated a woman's strength before. It was different from Noah's, more sculpted and soft-skinned, but Lyda had it in good measure.

  "Drop your head back. We have an audience."

  Gen complied so she saw Noah from an upside-down position. He had his chin propped on a hand and was studying them with avid appreciation.

  "Men are so simple," Gen said, a little shakily.

  When he grinned, Lyda snorted. "Isn't that the truth?" She eased Gen back up to a sitting position. "Come to the club on Wednesday. We'll see how you do as a Domme. For now, go home. And don't think too much. It gets in the way."

  "Of what you want?" Gen said, feeling a little spirited. Lyda's eyes sparked, her lips tugging.

  "Of what we both want," she replied.

  Chapter Seven

  A straight dismissal. Lyda's brief answer to a couple questions hadn't given her much in terms of reassurance, but that kiss...well, that had given her something. Enough to keep her on this crazy course. And give her an overwhelming case of hormones.

  That day when Gen came home, she considered fishing the vibrator from her sock drawer to deal with it, but in the end she held off, though she wasn't sure why. She told herself she'd do it before Wednesday, indulge a few dozen outrageous extension fantasies about Lyda and Noah so she didn't go to the club a mass of nerves. Yeah, like that would help.

  Marguerite gave her a speculative look on Monday, but she didn't say anything. Fellow club members could have told M how things had gone, since it had all happened on the public floor, but the idea of M checking on Gen didn't bug her. She'd realized a long time ago Marguerite had a hawklike protectiveness of her two employees. M never pried or asked questions unless she had a specific concern, which made that trait unobtrusive most times.

  Chloe was a different matter, but she wasn't there Monday, and Gen was off on Tuesday. She had time to get in the right mindset to talk to the younger girl about her club experience in a casual, fun way, rather than as a potentially life-altering experience.

  She told herself she was being overly dramatic, but when she flipped through magazines in her craft room Monday night, looking for collage material, she realized she was seeking their features. Noah's mouth. Lyda's eyes. She wasn't trying to match the physical elements. It was the way Lyda looked at Gen, at Noah, that sense of expectation, control, confidence. The set of Noah's mouth, aroused, amused...or when he was in that quiet place in his head.

  Closing her eyes, Gen remembered Lyda's hand closing on her nape, bringing her between Lyda's legs to taste her flesh. Directing her how to pleasure her Mistress. There was no tentative wait-and-see to Lyda. Not like Gen had been with her husbands, following their lead so as not to undermine their traditional role in the bedroom.

  Now she wondered if it had really been that, something derived from the low expectations of her upbringing, or an innate personality trait. She liked the feeling of someone she could trust taking charge, though her husbands had fallen so short in the trust department, she'd turned her desire for that into a character flaw. Lyda made her look at it differently. The way she treated Noah and Gen suggested Lyda considered their submission a gift, one she took seriously. At no time during their extraordinary evening together had Lyda betrayed Gen's trust, manipulated her feelings or tried to make her feel inadequate. Anything like that had come from Gen's own insecurities--she knew enough about herself to be honest on that score.

  Then there was Noah. She'd been so wary of men for so long, expecting them to be disappointments. He'd come into her world sideways. She'd been told he was a submissive male, and then been thrilled by the mix of what that meant for Noah. His sudden passion when she'd desired it,
how strong he could be when she needed nurturing. His odd vulnerability, sleeping on the patch of grass near Lyda, or his chagrin for upsetting Gen, that first night in her kitchen.

  She could be romanticizing all of this, based on one single night, but there was no denying the truth. When Lyda had asked "Do you want more?" Gen knew the answer was a resounding yes.

  She moved to the computer. Searching for male erotic images, she weeded out the crass porn sites and focused on the more artistic venues. She studied long, lean male bodies with smooth muscles, but Noah's eyes were the challenge. She wasn't sure she'd ever met a male with eyes like his. So many different things lay in those eyes, a huge mystery waiting to be unlocked.

  In erotic female images, she discovered Lyda in the build of female athletes, though fortunately not one so absent of body fat she had the hard look of a man. Lyda was all female with her full breasts, the nipples high and tight, the nice curves at hip and ass.

  She imagined Lyda's lips, her cheekbones. The cascade of her hair framing her face and throat, the shining waves on her bare shoulders. Finally she found the right picture. It was a grayscale photo of a naked woman sitting in shadow, her back to the camera. Only the graceful lines of hip and back were visible, along with her vulnerable nape, because her hair was pulled forward. Gen printed the picture, cut around the outline with her razor and put it against a lavender paper.

  Using a fine marker, she wrote Lyda across the woman's back in calligraphy script, the tail curving beneath her buttocks. She wrote the name around the form as well in tiny script, moving outward from there in a spiral. Pulling from her magazines, she pasted other words into the open spaces, creating a garden of words. Lyda's name became the blooms and the words were the green background, or different, smaller blossoms, accentuating and defining the bigger flowers.