by Joey W. Hill
Needing a break, she lifted her gaze, deciding she'd watch the people on the facing mezzanine level, see how they were reacting to the performances. She found herself looking directly across the open area at Lyda.
Noah's Mistress was standing at the rail, close enough Gen saw the frosted gloss on her lips, the dusting of glitter across the top of her high bosom. She wore a silver gray corset and tight gray leggings tucked into black boots. A jet pendant nestled in her deep cleavage. She'd done something to her red-gold hair that turned it into crimson flame, the waving locks forming a lush swirl around her face.
The woman was overwhelming in jeans and T-shirt, wearing sweat and a bill cap. Seeing her like this set off electric impulses in every part of Gen's body and got her heart jumping like a frog on a hot plate.
When her silver gaze met Gen's, it held. With Noah holding her from behind, and Lyda's attention pinned upon her, Gen felt as surrounded as if Lyda was right up against her front. Noah's hands had shifted to her upper arms and Gen imagined he was holding her still for the Mistress's touch, her mouth...whatever she willed.
Yikes. This environment and these clothes could be more than a little dangerous. She reminded herself she'd never felt an attraction this overt to a woman, let alone to a man and woman at the same time. Hell, even though she'd nursed a curiosity about the world Marguerite and now Chloe inhabited, it hadn't motivated her to join the world of whips and chains. Not until she'd been exposed to it by these two people. They made her consider things she'd never considered before. The startling thing was realizing they hadn't planted the seeds. It was more like they were the sunlight and rain that had finally made them grow.
Noah had implied everyone had Dominant and submissive cravings to a certain extent. Though Gen wasn't sure everyone wanted to carry them out to the degree she saw in this club, she couldn't deny the things that surged up in her when she was around them felt...familiar.
Lyda tilted her head, and Noah lifted a hand in acknowledgment. "She wants us to meet her downstairs. It'll be quieter there and we can talk."
In her current state, Gen didn't think she was going to be capable of much coherent conversation, but she let him lead her back out of the crowd. As they followed the perimeter of the dance floor, which was quite impressive, Noah made her smile when he took advantage of an open space to propel her into a turn, waltzing her along the edge of the wooden floor with smooth grace. "It's all right," he said into her ear. "You're just here to watch. Remember? Nothing you don't want to do."
Her body language had communicated her tension. Lyda introduced a more demanding dynamic, and she'd reacted to it. Noah, bless his intuition, was reminding her it was no different with either of them. It was all her choice.
Their destination was a sitting area buffered from sound by glass walls, such that the groupings of chairs and couches encouraged intimate conversations. An efficient staff and well-stocked bar provided refreshments. Gen noted the furniture was a mix of antique and retro furniture, including the swan fainting couch on which Lyda waited. She was sitting with her back against the cushioned side, her hand resting on the carved swan's neck, which emphasized the grace of her arm stretched along the slope of the wood. One knee was bent to rest on the seat.
Up close, Lyda was even more captivating, her hair soft and touchable, eyes vivid. The wetness of her lips made Gen moisten her own. Lyda's attention slid over Gen, marking her appearance in much the same way Noah had. Only this time, there was an undeniable predatory intent in the scrutiny. It didn't make Lyda less tempting at all. More like the opposite.
She'd stopped a few feet from Lyda. Glancing between them, Noah released her to step aside, leaving the view clear for his Mistress. Gen flushed as Lyda continued to study her from head to toe. Would she realize Gen had bought pretty new underwear for this, fixed up her hair? Misted body spray on her throat and inner thighs, just in case?
When Lyda lifted a hand, Gen saw she'd polished her short nails tonight. One of those fingers made a rotating movement. She wanted Gen to turn, to see her from all angles. She did it, strangling back another nervy chuckle. She could have been a puppet, Lyda's finger executing an idle spin of the string. She felt the woman's eyes on her bare back, her legs exposed by the short hem of the dress. Her ankles trembled.
When she finished the full turn, Lyda crooked that finger at her. Aware of Noah's regard as she stepped past him, Gen wanted to reach out, graze his bare abdomen with her fingers, but she didn't. She closed the distance between her and Lyda until she was inches away from her bent knee.
She should say something. Hi, how's it going? Great turnout tonight. Love your outfit. She didn't.
Lyda rose. In her boot heels, Lyda had about an inch on Gen. That meant on bare soles, Gen was slightly taller, but she didn't presume that gave her an advantage. What emanated from Lyda had nothing to do with size. It was all about confidence, a blood-deep understanding of what she was, and the many faces that identity took as she executed the day-to-day of her world. Like this moment. She slid a hand under Gen's hair, much as Noah had done, but she gripped it tight, just as she'd done at Tea Leaves. Gen wondered what would happen if her quivering knees buckled. Then she felt Noah shifting behind her and knew.
"Stay still," Lyda said, and moved close enough her lips were within touching distance of Gen's. Another inch and she'd be kissing her. A woman had never kissed her on the lips, not even the quick family brush thing. Gen couldn't hold her gaze. She had to look down, which meant she was looking at the way Lyda's corset displayed her breasts, the quiver of them as she breathed. The pendant looked like an oblong river stone, polished as if still wet from rushing water. What would Lyda do if she bent her head, brushed her lips over the top of one breast? It was so close, right there. She wanted to see what it felt like, a woman's breast against her mouth.
As if anticipating the move, Lyda's grip on her hair constricted, holding her still. Then she molded her other hand around Gen's right breast. It was a matter-of-fact, exploratory touch, as if she had every right to touch Gen so intimately. Lyda wrapped her fingers around the full curve, Gen's nipple stabbing into her palm through the satin of the bra. Lyda's thumb passed over it once, twice...three times. Slow, even strokes, as Gen's body hollowed, pressing into that touch, her breath uneven. Pleasure pumped through her as Noah's hands closed on her shoulders. His body was a column of support, a prop holding her in place for Lyda.
"You're beautiful, Gen," Lyda said, touching her chin to draw her gaze. "I'm glad you dressed up for us. And for yourself."
Marguerite had that kind of touch. Sparing, but something in it that made everything ache and need at once. Chloe called it the benevolent goddess touch, containing protection and kick-ass scariness together. Lyda's touch compelled that vital, indefinable want from Gen. As well as blatant, pulsing sexual desire.
Lyda nodded to Noah. "He sees the beauty, the sexiness you've let out of the box for the night. He senses this is exciting for you, different, and his energy will fuel yours. But a woman sees the deeper side. The fragility, the uncertainty beneath, especially when you've locked it down for so long. As you were getting ready tonight, it felt like the first time you ever dressed up, like for a high school dance. Right?"
"I'm not sure what you mean." Gen cleared a thick throat.
"Back then, you wondered if anyone would think you're pretty. It's even possible that giddiness in front of your mirror was swallowed as soon as you arrived at the school. But maybe it came back when your friends validated your appearance and boys were looking at you. You were still nervous, but you felt better. You were willing to explore the feeling. Time passes, and you lose that confidence. But you hoped for that feeling tonight, hoped enough to try. I'm very proud of you."
Gen had learned the dangers of seeking approval from the wrong places, had learned to stand on her own without any at all. Yet Lyda reached into her soul and plucked out feelings like flowers from a field. The bouquet she arranged confused Gen, but she couldn'
t deny Lyda's approval was like sunlight. It spread heat through her, while Noah's presence at her back was the vital force of a summer storm.
"You are very, very pretty, Gen." Lyda stroked her cheek, her lips. "And you're watching me like a forest animal. Wondering if I'll cause you harm."
"Will you?" Despite the desire of her lips to tremble under that touch, Gen firmed her chin, lifted it.
"If I do, it will be because you've begged me for the pain." Lyda's eyes glimmered like a frost queen's, hinting of magical, mysterious things.
Releasing Gen, she moved back to the fainting couch. "Come sit with me."
Chapter Five
Noah nudged her forward. Gen began to sink down on the sofa facing Lyda, two women prepared to have a chat, but Lyda extended her hand, clasped it around Gen's. "Come here."
Gen was reminded of how one walked a tightrope, keeping eyes on the end goal, not on the feet. Lyda's grip told Gen what she wanted. What Gen herself wanted.
Lyda was against the arm rest of the couch again, and this time she had one leg up on the seat, knee bent and propped against the couch's back. Her other booted foot was braced on the floor. It made an open triangle between her legs, and that was where she brought Gen, pulling her down to sit face forward so her back rested against Lyda's bent knee and supple boot, her hip inches from the juncture between Lyda's thighs. Lifting her other leg onto the sofa, Lyda stretched it across Gen's lap. She kept her knee bent enough the weight of her leg wasn't resting on Gen's thighs.
Gen noted that the antique furniture had either been reupholstered or it was a modernized replica, because instead of the plush velvet or brocade expected on such a piece, it was covered in a nonporous but butter-soft vinyl, comfortable but resilient to puncture and easy to clean. It gave her vivid ideas of what happened on it to justify that practical design. Lyda shifted her grip to Gen's other hand, holding it loosely between them as she reached out with her free hand, played with a curl at Gen's temple.
"Beautiful color. Much better." Her fingertips slid along Gen's throat. "Fast pulse. Am I making you nervous, Gen?"
"I think that's your plan."
Lyda flashed a smile. "Does that upset you?"
Gen shook her head. She was out of her element, but she didn't want to move. She was hyperaware of Lyda's leg stretched over her thighs, her bent one against Gen's back. She wanted to touch Lyda and be touched by her, and the woman had delivered on that wish.
"Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"Do it and find out. Don't be a chicken."
Gen hedged. "Were you a cheerleader? A popular girl who got whatever you wanted?"
"No." Lyda traced Gen's cheek bone and the soft skin beneath her eye with a fingernail, her thumb following behind to caress the track of the sharp edge. "I was working two jobs to earn money for college. I did think once or twice about bringing a machine gun to the pep rallies, but the narrow-minded college I wanted to attend didn't consider shooting fish in a barrel a commendable school activity, even if it did show individual initiative. Do you think I expect you to obey me without earning your trust?"
"I don't know why you expect me to obey you at all. Do you act like that toward anyone who isn't...like you?"
"Who isn't a Domme, you mean?"
When Gen made a noise of agreement, Lyda stroked her temple, working her way down. Gen lifted her chin, an instinctive desire for Lyda's hand to follow the line of her jaw, down to her throat, tease her collarbone. Lyda did it, bringing the other hand up to cup Gen's face on the opposite side, holding her there as she stroked her windpipe, all the sensitive pulse points around it.
"I expect you to obey me because you want to do it," the woman said. "You want to see where I'm going to take you, Gen. You want someone you can trust to take you nice places. Close your eyes, and I'll do that."
It plucked a heartstring, disturbing layers of emotional sediment. Since Gen wanted to keep the focus on waking her body, not her past, she let her eyes fall shut. Her body was even more attuned to Lyda's touch without the distraction of sight. Gen wanted Lyda to keep touching her this way, all night. But she wanted to do the same, find out what it was like to touch this fascinating woman. Her hands had initially been on her lap, but part defense mechanism, part following her own wants, they'd drifted to the leg in her lap, one resting on Lyda's shin, the other on her thigh. Gen's fingers curled into the thin, stretched fabric of the tight leggings as she closed her eyes and Lyda made an approving murmur at her compliance.
"What did you want me to do when you saw me, Gen? What did you want to do? First thing that comes to mind."
"I wanted to kiss you. Be kissed by you."
"Two different things, aren't they? Which one did you want more?"
"Too hard to choose. Do I have to?"
Lyda chuckled, an erogenous sound. "Keep very, very still. Eyes stay closed. Face turned toward me. If you move, or open your eyes, I'll draw back."
She held her breath as Lyda shifted. The woman's palm slid across her abdomen, curving around her waist, just above her hip. She adjusted the leg behind Gen so it was bowed around her buttocks and hip, and moved the other one off her lap to the floor so Lyda's foot was braced between Gen's, her calf pressed against her shin. It left Gen's hands empty and on her lap again.
Gen held her breath as Lyda's mint-tinged breath teased her lips, her mouth brushing over hers. Her lips were already parted. She felt a touch of Lyda's tongue, tracing her lips, darting inside to caress Gen's tongue. That held breath caught in her throat. Lyda's fingers dug into her hip, and her other hand locked against Gen's jaw, holding her still as she played with her.
A tiny, needy noise came from Gen's lips, spoken into the other woman's mouth. Lyda answered with an incoherent reassurance, one that had a firm note to it, reinforcing the order to stay still. Then she eased back, though she stayed close enough her arm was still around Gen's waist, hand kneading her nape beneath her hair line.
"Let's talk about your weekend with Noah," Lyda said. "I understand you let him give you pleasure this weekend."
She couldn't claim that wasn't Lyda's business, right? In the context of this world, Noah was "hers". Gen nodded.
"Did you like having him come for you? You can open your eyes."
Gen felt Noah's attention in her peripheral vision, even though she couldn't pull away from Lyda's irresistible stare. "I liked everything about him. He's a pleasure to have around."
"He is, isn't he?" Lyda allowed her to look toward the subject of their conversation. Noah shifted into view from behind the couch, where he'd been standing in quiet attendance. He had that absorbed look men always seemed to have when two women were touching one another. Seeing him after having her eyes closed, all of her now quivering from Lyda's attention and kiss, was like the well-timed stroke of a vibrator against her pussy.
Gen bit back a murmur of want as her gaze slid over all the bare skin, the way he looked in the laced pants. She wanted to tug on those wrapped bracelets, let her hands glide up his forearms, spread her palms out over his chest, tangle her fingers in the choker at his throat.
Lyda twisted one of Gen's curls around her fingers and leaned forward. Gen saw the delicate flare of Lyda's nostrils as she inhaled, rubbed her lips over the thick lock.
"I wondered if he smells like you."
Lyda drew back enough to arch a brow. "Pardon?"
Gen swallowed. "Everyone carries a certain combination of scents, natural as well as soap or perfume, that kind of thing. I wondered if your scent is on him."
Lyda's eyes glowed like burnished metal, her glossy lips pursing. "I might just let you get close enough to both of us tonight to find out."
Gen couldn't help taking another look at the distracting size of Noah's genitals beneath the hold of the pants. It hadn't abated since he'd met her at the door.
"On your knees, Noah," Lyda purred. "Keep your eyes on the floor until I say otherwise. Put your hand inside those pants that have all the women crea
ming themselves and stroke yourself."
Gen's heart fluttered up, not just at the direct order, but at Noah's instant compliance. He dropped with lithe masculine grace. No hesitation. The pants had the provocative flexibility of a condom as he slid beneath the waistband, found himself. She could see the outline of his knuckles, the thickness of his cock as he gripped himself.
"Her pulse just rabbited." Lyda had her thumb alongside Gen's neck as she fondled her hair. "Her pussy's getting wet, the more she thinks about your cock ramming into her."
"No, I..." She didn't think of it that blatantly. Couldn't. Too fraught with potential disappointment. Lyda pushed her hair aside, put her mouth to Gen's ear. Gen let out an unsteady breath as Lyda nibbled and teased the shell, nipped the tender skin beneath.
"What are you thinking then, fierce rabbit?"
"I think about...touching myself while he does that. The other's...too much. Too soon."
"Like this weekend." Lyda lifted her head. Gen kept her eyes on Noah, not sure she could face Lyda's intense scrutiny, but Lyda delved into her guarded consciousness anyway. "Someone's made you gun shy. You have trouble getting out of the way of your own head, don't you?"
Gen guessed that was part of it. She wanted to look at Noah. Doing that, not thinking, was so much easier. He was stroking himself nice and slow, that gorgeous upper body rolling with the movement. Though it captivated anyone looking their way, he didn't seem aware of any other audience. When he dared to flick his gaze up, she saw a male desiring only to pleasure the two of them. The jolt that came from such concentrated attention beat the hell out of a hundred female self-empowerment books.
"You can tell he's stripped for a living once or twice, can't you? He's done a little of everything. But that's not where he belongs. Is it, Noah?"
The sharpness of Lyda's tone pulled Gen out of her head. This time as Noah's gaze rose, Gen saw more than just desire. When he shook his head, Lyda's muscles tensed against her.