“That’s it. Thrust those lovely tits up at me.” Lyda tugged harder on her nipples, as if she was pulling Gen up by that hold. Gen gasped, her head pressing against the firm pillow of Lyda’s breasts, Lyda’s shoulder. Which also pushed her pussy against Noah’s face, increasing the sensation there. Noah shifted his position. It was as if he was teasing her with light fingers, only this was his tongue against flesh, wet heat.
She moaned. “That first sweet taste,” he murmured. He slid his hands under her buttocks, digging into the satin of the panties as he pressed his thumbs on either side of the labia, a compression she felt in her clit. When he spoke again, she strained to hear him, even as everything he did made it more difficult to focus her senses.
“This is called…bee on a flower. Following the stem, every petal, to the center, where your honey is sweetest…” The tongue stud pressed one single point, and sensation exploded in her core, bucking her up against him in an unexpected flow of motion he nevertheless anticipated, his sure hands holding her. The stud began making a light buzz, and that sensation skyrocketed. A desperate sound broke from her lips. Now she found just how strong Noah was, because his hands held her fast, didn’t let her move more than an inch as he played with her.
“Hold there. Ssshh. Just ride it.” Lyda’s hair brushed her face again, and Gen’s wild gaze flicked up to her. Lyda looked as caught up in Gen’s pleasure as she herself was, in a different way. Gen panted, attention latched onto Lyda’s mouth, the moist lips, the gloss there.
“Do you need a kiss, Gen?”
Gen nodded and then her body twisted hard as Noah’s tongue slid right up beneath the clit. He swirled a tight circle there, then pushed deep into her cunt. The rate of vibration had become more intense. She felt it everywhere, through all the delicate tissues and veins, those layers of flesh like the juicy inside of a ripe fruit when like this. That was probably what he called this maneuver…ripe fruit…
“Ask me nicely.” Lyda’s intent face was over her, eyes demanding.
“Please…” She couldn’t call her Mistress. Could she? She wasn’t sure. Fortunately the please was enough.
Lyda bent, and Gen kept her eyes open, wanting to see this time. Lyda’s lips pressed against hers, an exploratory caress, soft but not too soft. A woman’s kiss wasn’t as girly as Gen had expected. Maybe because Lyda didn’t kiss the way Gen did, a yielding of her lips to the pressure of the lover’s. Lyda held her mouth firm, so it was Gen’s mouth that became more pliant, gave way, trembled, as Lyda’s tongue slid along her lips, entered her mouth, and then her lips sealed over Gen’s, making the kiss strong and sure, sweeping her away. Seeking an anchor, Gen tangled her fingers in Lyda’s silky red locks. Lyda’s hand locked over her wrist, holding her there.
It was an amazing mix, Lyda’s female beauty so close, her hair brushing Gen’s cheeks and temples, her lips on her own, while Noah’s five o’clock shadow rasped against Gen’s inner thighs. Male and female, integrated. Noah wasn’t the type of male Gen knew, the kind she treated with wariness. Even so, she didn’t think Noah alone could have coaxed her into this position, for the simple reason that Gen’s vulnerabilities had been past prey for male attentions, not female. Noah was under Lyda’s command. Somewhat. Was that why it was easier for her to let go like this?
Any intelligent thoughts were driven away as Noah shifted once more, flattening his upper body on the loveseat. His chin scraped her perineum as he flicked and worried her clit, making her hips gyrate like a carnival ride, her hand clamped on Lyda’s thigh. Lyda curved her fingers into the spaces between, unlatching Gen from her leg to form a hard knot. She did it with the other hand as well. But as Noah continued his torturous magic, Lyda shifted her grip to Gen’s wrists. She drew her arms back past Lyda’s hips until her knuckles were pressed against the couch arm, as if Gen’s hands were being restrained behind Lyda’s back. Lyda’s upper body pressed more firmly into her shoulder blades, arching Gen further.
She was soaked, Noah likely getting a wealth of the honey he’d described on his tongue and lips as he drove her higher. How wet was Lyda? What would happen if Gen turned over, pressed Lyda back on the sofa, buried her face in Lyda’s pussy the way Noah was buried in hers?
“Ahhh…” Gen let out another cry as Noah did a new amazing thing between her legs. Lyda remained bent attentively over Gen’s face. Her lips were moist from kissing Gen.
She was so close…or not. Her body thrashed on the couch as Noah teased her. Her hips lifted again, pussy wet and begging. The arch of her body displayed her naked breasts, the stiff tips, for Lyda, Noah, anyone watching. It didn’t matter. Seeing Lyda study them with proprietary detachment was a hungry thrill she couldn’t explain.
I’ll keep you safe…
Everything Noah was doing to her, Lyda saw as something she had the right to command, Gen’s body her possession. Gen could see it in her intent look, feel it in Lyda’s touch. Maybe it was just a feeling-of-the-moment, but it had an overwhelming effect on Gen’s senses.
The climax coiled like an unhappy, frantic snake, thwarted in its strike. She tried to follow Noah’s mouth, to force the issue. He held her down, teasing her labia with dragging strokes of his tongue, creating patterns with the tongue stud, here, there. When he lifted her up enough to trace a firm line up her perineum, such that she felt the vibration of the tongue stud in her rim, a scream tore from her throat.
“Please…”
“Please, what, Gen? Beg me for what I want, or you won’t come.”
“Please…” She tossed her head back and forth. Noah’s fingers bit into her thighs, his hair brushing them as he nipped them then went back to her pussy, tonguing her deep once more, a thrusting penetration, a swirling lick inside. He made a slow excavation, sliding up toward her clit, under the hood, putting pressure there. Oh God, she was going to die from all the sensation. That tongue stud vibrated, lashed over her clit, making her crazy. Spots came into her vision, but he had the skill to hold everything else out of reach. Until Lyda got what she wanted.
What Gen wanted.
“Please…I want to come home with you. You and Noah. Please.”
“That’s your pussy talking. You just want to come.”
Noah did something then that took her so close to orgasm tears threatened. Her throat worked, fingers clawing at the side of the couch. Christ, the woman was strong. Gen was straining against her grip on her wrists with all her might, not to get away, but just in reaction to what Noah was doing, and making no headway at all. Her agitated gaze rolled over Lyda’s smooth biceps. They were firm, unyielding, like the woman herself. Gen wanted to put her mouth on them, on Lyda’s neck, on the rise of those beautiful breasts above the corset. She was so beautiful. To feel like this all night, to be beyond thought, lost in whatever Lyda demanded, in Noah’s touch…
“No…please. I want to be with you…both.”
“What will you call me when you’re in my home?” Lyda’s grip constricted enough to leave bruises. Gen felt a thrill shoot through her with the pain. When her lips parted in aroused response, Lyda’s eyes flashed triumph. “Tell me, right now.”
“Mistress. Oh God. Please.”
It came out a wail. Lyda gave the barest of nods, and Noah changed rhythms once more. Not a frantic devouring that matched the chaos of Gen’s mind. Instead, he began a slow stroke around her clit, a circling motion combined with the press of his tongue, the sucking of his lips she could hear. It only took three such rotations and she was like a stone fired out over Niagara Falls. Experiencing a crazy, stomach-rolling rush, tumbling over and over, buffeted by sheets of water, blinded by the glittering diamond flow, the mist and foam.
He maintained that deliberate rhythm as her climax pulsed through her tissues, as her pussy gushed its release. He made a surprised, pleased noise, suckling the flood of juices. She was making a thin sound, strangled from a deep part of her that wanted release on so much more than a physical level. Something just out of reach, but oh so close.
So much closer than she’d been in a really long time. It was terrifying.
When she was gasping, limp in their hold, she trembled under Noah’s kisses along her thighs, the brush of Lyda’s knuckles along her damp face, against her breasts as she readjusted Gen’s bra, the neckline of the dress. Gen kept her eyes shut, face pressed against Lyda’s upper arm. Not thinking was a conscious choice, because to think would be to evaluate what she’d done and reach a serious WTF.
But it was inevitable. The bitch of such an incredible experience was how it resurrected lost dreams and hopes, unleashed a soul-deep yearning. She was clinging to the bittersweet moment as long as she could, a slippery rock face in whitewater.
“She’s going to crash,” Lyda said. “It’s where she is right now, who she is. Bring her, Noah. We’ll see what we can do about that. We’re going home.”
It was too soon. She couldn’t get up. Her legs were noodles. But Noah lifted her, taking her out of Lyda’s arms. Lyda stayed close, giving Gen’s hair another stroke. “Take her to my car. I’ll follow in a few moments.”
No one had ever carried her as an adult. Noah brushed a kiss over her temple. “Sshh,” he murmured. “I’ve got you, baby. It’s all right.”
No one except her first husband had called her baby, and that had only been when they were dating and he wanted to have sex. The first time she’d heard him say it, her heart made a tiny leap, like now. She hadn’t realized then the implied promises behind the endearment—care and protection—were empty.
Her head felt like a bowling ball, so she kept it on Noah’s shoulder. “I’m older than you, you know. Calling me baby seems…weird.”
“Does it really seem weird, or is the weirdness because it doesn’t?”
Yes. Because it felt exactly like what she wanted him to call her at this moment. It stroked her nerves, calmed her. And that agitated her. She couldn’t explain that, even to herself, so she said nothing.
He took her through the club, back to the crowded main foyer. She kept her eyes closed, even when the hostess stopped them. “Oh, it’s you, Noah. That’s fine. Go ahead. Have a good night.”
In the relative quiet of the parking lot, she wondered if she was getting heavy to him. Yes, he was strong, but he was lean. She didn’t consider herself overweight, but she wasn’t skinny. He didn’t seem to be tiring, though. He hadn’t even adjusted his grip. He still held her in a secure cradle.
“Why did they stop you?” Her speech was sluggish.
“Security stops anyone not leaving under their own steam. They don’t take chances on someone using a date rape drug or letting subspace disorientation cause a nonconsensual situation. But the owners here know I’d never endanger anyone else, no matter what a Master or Mistress ordered me to do.”
When he let her feet down, she was standing by a black Escalade with all the trappings. Apparently, Lyda working those two jobs in high school had paid off. The nursery must be a successful venture, and she obviously hadn’t made poor choices in men, like Gen had. Her corset was probably custom made, not underwear bought off the discount rack.
She realized abruptly she’d put her car key in her bra, and it wasn’t there. “My key…”
“Lyda has it. She put it into her bag so you wouldn’t lose it.”
It also made a cowardly escape impossible. Not that she would do that. Maybe. “What about yourself?”
“Hmm?” He had his arm around her waist, so she could lean against him, get her bearings. He was nuzzling her temple, long fingers stroking her hip. He was an irresistible blend of nurturer and utter temptation.
“You said you wouldn’t put anyone else in danger. It was a weird way to word it. What if they put you in danger? You said no murder, unless you deserved it, but there are a lot of awful things that don’t result in death.”
“She doesn’t miss much, does she? Even when she’s a little fuzzy.” Lyda strode toward them. She was wearing an embroidered silk tunic over her corset, belted with a silver and black sash. A tote bag was slung over one shoulder. The Escalade chirped as she unlocked it and opened the passenger door. “Put her in the front seat with me.”
Noah slid Gen onto the seat and leaned in to pull the belt across her. Gen laid her hand on his back, tracing the Yours Unconditionally tattoo, sliding up over the Celtic heart as he shifted to buckle the belt. Catching her hand, he kissed her knuckles before laying the hand in her lap.
“I could have done my own seat belt,” she informed him. “It was more fun to let you do it.”
Amusement captured his expression at her slurred tone. “I bet you’re a sexy, adorable drunk,” he said.
“Not drunk. Just lost. Confused.” She wanted to ask him if she should be doing this, and that disturbed her. She could ask herself. If she’d made a wrong choice, she could back away from it. Even now, her mind wasn’t that scrambled, even if her physical coordination was.
What had Lyda said? She’s going to crash. Was that what this sudden despairing feeling was?
“Hey.” Lyda slid in front of Noah, framing Gen’s face in her hands. Noah was right behind her, his hand resting on Gen’s leg. “You’re not going to be alone tonight, Gen. You’re with us. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Lyda slipped out from between them and Noah closed the door. Lyda tossed him the key to Gen’s car and a T-shirt from the bag slung on her shoulder. As he caught them, she pointed to Gen’s car, parked further down the same row. “Follow us home.”
* * * * *
Lyda had the radio on a satellite station that played oldies. The late hour and her post-climactic lassitude should have made Gen as mellow as the music. But those weird feelings kept cycling in her mind. Past baggage, disappointments and worries, twining with current concerns. What would she be doing with Noah and Lyda the rest of the night? What would Lyda demand of her? Gen had called her Mistress. Only once, but had that set up certain expectations? Things she should rectify?
“I’m not sure if I want to do anything else tonight. Maybe we should pull over and I can head for home. I had a really good time, though…” God, she sounded stupid. “I’m not sure if what I did was just the situation, hormones, whatever. You and Noah…you two could convince Mother Teresa to go home with you. I don’t want to be a disappointment.”
“Or get too deep. Take too many risks?”
Lyda’s tone was even, neutral, making it impossible for Gen to bristle. Much. “I’m not good at this kind of stuff.”
“One-night stands? Relationships? Sex?” Lyda glanced at her. The sudden trace of warmth in her eyes made her seem more approachable.
“Yes,” Gen said bluntly. “I suck at it. All of it. You seem like a decent person, and I have no idea of your expectations in this situation. I don’t want to be rude to a friend of Marguerite’s.”
Lyda’s visage sharpened. “Did you do what you did tonight because you think you owe sexual favors to Marguerite’s friends?”
“No.” Gen blanched. “God, no. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“So why did you bring Marguerite’s name into it at all?” Lyda gave her a shrewd look. “Do you feel an obligation to her?”
“I…she’s been very good to me. She’s a friend. Family, really. I love her. I just…I don’t know. You have a connection to her, and I didn’t want to screw with that. Screw it up. That’s all. Give me a break. You fried my brain.”
It was a relief to see amusement return to Lyda’s face, but she didn’t say anything for the next few intersections. She was an aggressive driver, one who drove with the speed of traffic rather than the speed limit, and maneuvered through congestion like a Tijuana taxi driver. It didn’t unsettle Gen, though, because Lyda projected the same poise she seemed to bring to every situation.
In the heat of a sexual moment, it was clear how liberating that confidence could be to whoever was under Lyda’s command. Outside that moment, it left Gen feeling uncertain, on quicksand. Not worthy. She didn’t care for the feeling, especially since she
knew it was self imposed. She straightened in the seat. When she did, Lyda was slowing down for a traffic light. After a glance at Gen, she slid a finger beneath the neckline of Gen’s dress, straightening the curled fabric. Her knuckle brushed Gen’s breast, leaving a tingling wake as she withdrew.
“You’re not going to screw anything up, Gen. I have no expectations of you except what you’ve promised. To come spend the night in my home. I’ll let you know what I want when we’re there, but the choices you make are yours, and none are wrong.”
“I need to get up early. Go home and do some things.”
“I had some things left over today from the nursery I need to do tomorrow as well. Of course, if I don’t lock him up, Noah will probably handle them by dawn.”
“I noticed he’s a night owl.” Despite him saying he’d slept well at her house, Gen had woken a couple times that night and the subsequent one to find Noah reading by a book light. Yet he’d been up well before her both days.
“He doesn’t sleep well at night, unless he’s completely wrung out.” Lyda shifted lanes. “What did you think about being in charge of him for the weekend?”
“I didn’t really think of it that way. He was a guest.”
“I mean when you told him to come for you. You gave me somewhat of an answer in the club, but I want to hear more.”
“Oh.” Gen focused on passing Tampa traffic. At just after ten o’clock, the town was still wide awake. She took a steadying breath. “I liked how he was willing to let me take the lead on certain things, but that’s not really the same thing as what you do. The way he took care of things, took care of me…that’s more about what he is than me acting like a Domme, right?”
“Much of it is instinct, and you seem to have good instincts.” Lyda glanced at her. “Fierce rabbit. Soft fur. Haven’t seen much of your teeth and claws yet, but they’re there, once you’re less worried about being careful.”
“I’ve been less careful. It doesn’t work out.” Gen brushed her hair back, glancing down to confirm that seam was still straight. She could still feel the lingering effect of Lyda’s touch. She wanted to stroke her fingers over it, reignite those nerve endings. She should be done with sex for the night, but her simmering body told her otherwise.
Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace Page 12
