Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace

by Hill, Joey W.

  Chloe’s eyes widened, then she snorted with laughter. Yanking Gen’s ponytail, she escaped from behind the counter to greet and seat some incoming customers.

  As Gen started preparing the order she heard Chloe taking, she pushed away guilt. She rarely lied to Chloe, but she wasn’t prepared to share that yes, she had fantasized about Marguerite.

  It wasn’t a sweaty sex fantasy, and she didn’t fantasize about her boss regularly. Just when random things hit her a certain way. Like the time Marguerite had been sitting at her desk, dressed for a meeting with the bank. She’d been wearing a snug blue skirt with a sheer blouse tucked into it. Her lace-clad breasts had been outlined through the fabric. She’d worn a pair of slender heels. Simple accessories that enhanced the beautiful woman’s odd mix of fragility and strength.

  Gen had been preparing her morning cup of tea like she always did, but when she moved to bring it to her boss, an erotic vision had taken hold of her imagination. She saw herself in an ancient Far East setting where Marguerite was the lady of the house and Gen the servant. Marguerite sat on folded knees on a cushion, painting graceful black slashes on a curl of parchment. She wore a silk kimono in peacock colors, her hair in a thick bundle on her neck. Gen knelt at Marguerite’s side and held the teacup out before her bowed head, holding it steady as if her hands were the table.

  Marguerite lifted the cup, sipped, set it back down, paying no attention to her. Until she finished her task. Then she turned, removed the tea from Gen’s hands and framed her face in her cool, long-fingered hands. She pressed her lips to Gen’s mouth, giving her a teasing touch of tongue before she dismissed her, leaving her aching.

  “Gen?”

  Gen saw Chloe standing on the other side of the counter, waiting for the order. “You really are in the falling-in-love-zone today,” her friend said, low, though her eyes danced with mischief. “Bad as me when I was falling for Brendan. Almost as bad as M falling for Tyler. Though in all fairness, he jerked the rug out from under her and then claimed she was falling for him.”

  “While that may be accurate, it still had the same results.”

  The screen door creaked as Tyler entered from the side hallway. Through the open door, Gen saw his black Ferrari, one of several vehicles he drove. From the look on Chloe’s face, Gen knew the girl had heard the car purr up the driveway and intended to tease him. Gen was the only one taken unawares.

  Neither of them had been exaggerating about Tyler Winterman. It wasn’t just his amber tiger eyes and dark, salt-and pepper hair, nor even the powerful, well-dressed body that emanated power and wealth. The man had an authoritative, sexy vibe that said he was an alpha’s alpha, which wasn’t a bad way to describe his and Marguerite’s relationship. His unquestioning love and devotion to their reserved boss only enhanced his appeal. Gen was never surprised to see female customers pause with cups halfway to their mouths or completely forget what they were talking about when he came into the tea room. She’d known he was a Dom for a while, but the way Lyda was grooming her Dom/sub radar, it hit Gen’s senses particularly hard today.

  “I’m thinking the mega-rich thing saved your ass,” Chloe said. He aimed a swat at her backside as she danced out of range. “Hey, that’s sexual harassment.”

  “That only applies if I work here, which I don’t. What are you two talking about today?”

  Please, dear God, Chloe, don’t…

  “If Gen fantasizes about kissing Marguerite. I think she does, as red as she blushes when I ask her about it.”

  Gen groped for casual amusement. “Since I’m seeing Lyda, Chloe is trying to determine if I’ve had the hots for her and Marguerite all this time.”

  “Not me.” Chloe shook her head. “I think you only go for the true Domme thing. You have a vibe like Brendan on that, but it’s a different note. It was really low key until Lyda came around, and now it’s a full piano chord.”

  Please shut up, Chloe. Talking about it in front of Tyler, with customers nearby, was stepping way outside Gen’s comfort zone. Gen wondered if there was a hole in the back garden big enough to swallow her up.

  “Chloe,” Tyler said mildly. “That’s enough.”

  Proving just how good a Master he was, Tyler did the impossible, focusing Chloe with merely a look. Her attention went to Gen’s still face, and chagrin captured her pretty features. “I didn’t know I was getting on your nerves, honey. I’m sorry.”

  “You weren’t.” Gen took a breath. “It’s fine. It’s probably not going to work out, anyway. I’m not sure why I started down a road I don’t understand. When I hit a dead end, I’ll feel like I’ve painted myself into a corner with no way out. The two of them already feel like…I can’t breathe without them. And that sounds silly and cliché and young. So it’s better if you don’t get too into it. Maybe it’s best we don’t talk about it…so much.”

  Words were falling out of her mouth she didn’t mean to say. Crazy batshit was right, with a nice dose of bipolar thrown in. Grabbing several boxes from the hall that needed to be broken down and put in the storeroom, she fled, giving Tyler an apologetic look.

  As she hurried down the path, she tried to corral her emotions. She was a grown woman, but every thought, every beat of her pulse, was centered around Noah and Lyda, evidence of her desire to be with them. Her penchant for safety and clear lines kept her falling back, challenging Lyda, even as she surrendered when the woman looked at her a certain way. She was balanced on a knife edge, with an abyss on one side and a fiery pit on the other, yet she knew she was going to jump, let go of the safety bar. The matter wasn’t if, it was when.

  “Damn it.” She broke the boxes down with passion and shouldered into the storeroom, plopping down on a stool. “I’m so fucked.”

  “In its literal translation, a good thing. But I expect you meant the pejorative.”

  Gen started. Marguerite sat on her stool in the corner, separating out the latest India shipment. Her tiny silver spoons were arrayed before her to sample the inventory.

  Maybe because of what they’d just been discussing, when Gen looked at her boss, she couldn’t tuck it all back into her safe subconscious. It was probably the first time she’d stared at her openly like this, cataloging her effect on Gen’s senses. Her moonlight-colored hair was clipped over one shoulder, her lips frosted a pale pink. She wore very little makeup because she needed almost none. Her pale-blue eyes were like a mermaid’s eyes, mysterious and tragic, yet hypnotic.

  Since getting married, she’d finally gained some weight, because Tyler stayed after her about eating, but she still had an ascetic look that emphasized the fine bone structure in her face, her slender neck and those beautiful hands. Ironically, the starburst-shaped scar on the top of one of them only made them more fascinating.

  Gen knew the childhood horror that had created that scar, the past that Marguerite always carried in her eyes and aloof manner. But being with Tyler had made it better, had brought healing to wounds that had bled for years. The scars would always be there, the memories, but Marguerite carried them more easily now. Tyler bore part of the load, helped carry her when she needed it.

  Would Gen get to that point with Lyda or Noah? Had her feelings for them unlocked what Gen wanted so badly at this point in her life? Was that what was really scaring her so much? The contentment she’d created for herself had come at a cost. She’d lowered expectations and discovered the pleasure of accepting the little joys, rather than making leaps into the unknown. What she faced with Lyda and Noah was hell and gone from that. It was standing at a canyon edge and wondering, if she stepped out, would a bridge materialize out of thin air to connect her to the other side. And would what waited for her there be worth the risk?

  “I think I’m falling in love,” she said. “Lyda’s the one who scares me the most, from the selfish, is-she-going-to-tear-my-heart-to-bits perspective. But Noah…there’s something eluding me there. A different kind of fear, like if I get it wrong, I’d be doing the hurting. I feel his heart, but I
think it’s an illusion… Can I try something, M?”

  She sounded like a manic magpie, but Marguerite didn’t seem perturbed. Rising, she came to stand in front of Gen, touching her face. It was a measure of Gen’s obvious distress that Marguerite would make physical contact. Or say the words she said now. “It depends on what it is. I won’t let you do anything that will hurt yourself.”

  “Is that what I’m doing with them?”

  “Not up front. If it ends in pain, I can’t change that. But I can be here, and so can Chloe, if you need us. What is it you want to try?”

  “Never mind. God, I can’t believe I even started to ask.”

  “So ask anyway.” Marguerite’s thumb passed over Gen’s lips, an intimate touch that drew her gaze back up to her face.

  “Do you think I’m with you because I wanted…a Mistress? And I didn’t really realize the sexual part of it, until now, with Lyda?”

  Marguerite’s lips pursed. “It’s possible. There are people who marry the opposite sex and embrace a desire for the same sex years later, when other matters are resolved for them. Once they embrace it, they realize it was who they were all along, but other forms of growth had to happen first. As quickly as this has developed between the three of you, it’s a credible idea for you.”

  “Can I kiss you?”

  It was rare she was able to startle Marguerite. Gen waved a frantic hand. “No, I don’t mean it like…a pass. Oh, good grief. I’m just trying to figure out…”

  “It’s not transference, Gen.”

  Gen let out a relieved breath, glad Marguerite understood so quickly. “I know, but I don’t know. There’s no one else I can test it with safely. Chloe’s right. She’s not like you and Lyda. I’m sorry, this is so beyond appropriate. I’ve lost my mind. Just forget it.”

  “If you do need that from me, you misstated it, Gen.” Marguerite studied her. “You don’t want to kiss me. You need me to kiss you.”

  Her stomach coiled up like a puppy, not sure whether it wanted to cower or wriggle in anticipation. Gen didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Marguerite did. “Let’s make it as representative as possible. Ask me for what you need, Gen.”

  Marguerite’s expression and tone changed, such that Gen was looking at a formidable Mistress, one who compelled men to fall on their knees and kiss the soles of her shoes, just like Lyda had described. She hadn’t thought of Marguerite Domming another woman, but that talent for some Dominants apparently had no gender restraint.

  God…the idea of being on her knees, kissing Lyda’s ankles, the arch of her foot, a delicate curve…

  Not something she’d ever fantasized about. Yet Lyda had mentioned it today, and there it was, planted it in her head. Maybe every step along the way was a progression. What Gen had never considered before now seemed possible, the rest of the journey needed first to understand its appeal to this newly revealed part of herself.

  “Please.” She looked at Marguerite as a Mistress, not as her boss, her friend…or as an equal. “Will you kiss me?” She spoke over breath suddenly in short supply. “Will you kiss me, ma’am?”

  Marguerite considered her another long moment, then she leaned down, sliding one knuckle beneath Gen’s chin to tilt her face up. She held her there another breath, then brushed her mouth across Gen’s eyelid, making both eyes close. Those cool, soft lips moved over the bridge of Gen’s nose, her cheek, the line of her jaw. Gen trembled hard, her hands closing into knots on her knees. Then Marguerite pressed her lips against Gen’s. A slow, wet journey, her mouth moving over Gen’s as Gen focused all her senses on that one point of contact and how it emanated to the rest of her.

  She was the one who drew back, broke the embrace. She stared up at Marguerite as the woman straightened, withdrawing her touch with kindness, a caress of her cheek. “So…it is her. I definitely felt that wow, zing moment when I asked you for it, and waited on your decision, but all I could think about while you were doing it was how this felt not quite right. And not just because you and I don’t connect that way.”

  “You want to belong to her.”

  “Yeah.” Gen rubbed her stomach. “This is so confusing.”

  “It’s not confusing at all. Not if you stop thinking about it so much.” Marguerite bent again, this time to drop a kiss on the crown of Gen’s head with surprising tenderness. “Go back to work. I have a shipment to sort, and employees wanting me to kiss them are not productive.”

  “Oh, Tyler’s here. Tyler’s here.” Gen blanched. “M, I’m so sorry. Should I have done this? Do I need to apologize to him? I mean he is your Mas…”

  She broke it off right there. While Tyler being Marguerite’s Master had brought emotional stability to her life, saying it straight out felt like a definite no-go zone.

  Marguerite relieved Gen’s worries on that score by tilting her head, a pointed gesture. Gen twisted around. Now she really did wish a hole would swallow her up. Tyler was outside the shed. He was sitting on a bench about twenty feet away, checking something on his phone. But his legs were stretched out, his ankles crossed, as if he’d been there awhile. Long enough. Marguerite would have been facing him when she leaned down to kiss Gen. That meant Marguerite could have looked for a permission of her own, if it had been needed.

  “He’s an irrevocably straight male,” Marguerite said dryly. “Giving him the opportunity to watch two women kiss is nothing that requires an apology.”

  Gen choked on a chuckle. Even so, she wasn’t up to exiting the shed where she’d have to pass him, meet that piercing gaze. With a sheepish look at Marguerite, she escaped out the back exit and took a circuitous route back to the main building.

  It also gave her some time to think. One thing had become clear. If she wanted to pursue things more deeply with Lyda and Noah, it was time to stop waffling over it. Yes, she’d played it safe to keep her world in balance, but one thing she’d learned over the years. When she did move into new territory, there was no sense in being tentative about it once she was committed. There was control in choosing a course of action, as well as a message she could send to Lyda and Noah.

  Up until now, she really had been letting Lyda take all the initiative, but Chloe had given Gen a key. Pursuing a relationship, even if the Dom/sub aspect was a strong element of it, was still a two-way street. Well, three-way, in this case. Lyda’s reaction to Gen’s withdrawal last night at the club had underscored it. Lyda was a human being with needs and feelings. It wasn’t fair for Gen to hang back and make her drag everything out of her.

  She would invite Lyda and Noah for dinner, have them as her guests. She wanted Lyda to see her home. Since Lyda had expressed reservations about a move as telling as meeting Noah’s grandmother, Gen wasn’t sure how she’d feel about the idea, but she wasn’t going to be a chicken, fearing rejection. Whether or not Lyda accepted the invitation, it would tell her Mistress how Gen felt about their relationship.

  Plus, Lyda hadn’t said when the Gatlinburg thing was, and Gen didn’t want to wait until then to see her and Noah. Actually, she didn’t want to wait more than a few hours. Thinking of how fast she could put together a decent dinner, she pulled out her phone and found she already had a text, one that worked her up in all sorts of ways.

  Pack an overnight bag and come to my place tonight. I want you and Noah here. Yes or no?

  Yes. Though she had a feeling her decision wouldn’t improve her focus in the least, she was in better spirits, almost ebullient. She might even be up to giving Chloe’s teasing a spirited challenge. She was certain the imp had a naked picture or two of Brendan on her phone…

  * * * * *

  Marguerite watched Gen hurry away, then stepped to the doorway where she could see her husband. Tyler had lifted his attention from the phone the moment Gen had disappeared, proving it had been a ruse to avoid embarrassing Gen further. Her Southern gentleman.

  He met her gaze. “That was interesting.”

  “I’ll bet.” She allowed her lips to curve. “How interes
ting?”

  “Interesting enough I wish I didn’t have that meeting with Michael in about thirty minutes. But anticipation is everything.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Rising, he came to her, bracing one foot in its polished loafer on the step into the shed. Sliding an arm around her hips, he brought her close enough to place a kiss in the pocket of her throat. The strength of his arm, the firm press of his lips, conveyed exactly how interesting he had found that kiss. However, the gaze he lifted to her own saw her mixed feelings on the matter. “Still worried about Lyda?”

  “This is moving fast beyond infatuation.”

  “You have to let them figure it out, angel.”

  She arched a brow. “Because you never push your own agenda on someone or interfere with the natural course of things.”

  “Of course not. But when the natural course of things can be helped along by my will…” He shrugged. “God does it all the time.”

  “I’m sure Satan does the same thing.”

  “Imitation is the best form of flattery.”

  “I’d like to say I’m surprised you’d compare yourself to God or Lucifer, but that would be a waste of breath.”

  He brought both feet onto the step, giving him back his height advantage, but she was okay with that, since he wrapped his arms around her, twisting his fingers in the soft stuff of her shirt, teasing the bra strap beneath. As he slid his lips past her ear, he nipped at her throat, making her fingers grip his biceps under the dress shirt he wore. He’d probably left his coat in the Ferrari, but he still bore that rich aftershave smell she loved, that had clung to him when they’d shared a bathroom this morning.

  “I have a far better use for your breath.”

  She smiled against his mouth, let the kiss take her under, relying on his strength to hold her up as her knees weakened, as they always did when he kissed her. Not that she’d ever tell him that.

  He already knew.