Divine Solace

by Joey W. Hill

  "You," Gen managed, her throat thick. "Yours." Lyda's gaze softened, and then she slid her pussy against Gen's, a welcome, a renewal, a reacquaintance. Gen shuddered, and Lyda did it again. Gen tilted her hips up, bringing wetness against wetness. Lyda bent, put her mouth on Gen's breast. It pressed her knees into the bed between Gen's and likely tilted up Lyda's hips, if Noah's suppressed groan was any indication.

  "Noah, why is my pussy empty? Your cock is supposed to be in it."

  If he could have leaped on the bed, Gen thought he would have. As it was, he was behind Lyda in a blink. As he banded his arm firmly around her waist, his gaze met Gen's over Lyda's shoulder. That hold wasn't incommensurate with his desires, but he knew, as she did, Lyda's right arm wasn't going to bear her own weight for long. They could care for her as she cared for them. As they cared for each other.

  "Slow and easy. I want to feel every blissful inch. You move with me as I move with Gen. We'll see how good your coordination is." Lyda gave Gen a wink, though Gen saw the strain around her mouth, evidence of shuddering arousal. "Men tend to be hammer and nail, whereas we girls know the pleasure of taking the winding road." She demonstrated with another lazy rotation against Gen's pussy that had her gasping, lifting up to her Mistress.

  She knew when Noah pushed into Lyda that blissful inch at a time, because she saw the tightening of her facial features, the arch of her body, felt the quiver that went through her. Since Noah was standing on his knees behind Lyda, Gen also saw his muscle groups tighten, his absorption in the way being inside his Mistress felt.

  Gen dug into the headboard as Lyda kept up that friction between them, using the slickness to intensify it. And Noah, bless his ability to follow a meandering road, figured out the rhythm that brought them together, a mix of hammer and nail thrusting and spirals that built in speed and intent as the three of them created a symphony of shifting bodies, gasping breaths, soft pleas, harsh grunts, muttered oaths. It was the pleasure of making love and fucking at once, of being together and being alive.

  "I can't..." Gen had been so close before, and now, the two of them were a force she couldn't resist. "Mistress, please...may I come?"

  "What do you think, Noah?" Lyda let out a small moan Gen treasured as Noah punctuated her question with a powerful thrust. He set his teeth to Lyda's throat.

  "Yes. Fuck, God. Let her go, Mistress." He shook his head. "Let her go over."

  Lyda met Gen's gaze. "A fine distinction, Noah. Go over for us, Gen."

  With Lyda stimulating her with every intentional and indirect movement of her body, the latter thanks to Noah's efforts, Gen exploded into the climax. That delicious rush of fluid bathed her labia, spurted against Lyda's cunt. It would slide through those slick folds and pool against Noah's testicles. Gen let the thought add to the searing pleasure of everything that came crashing down on her then. She had only one thing she wanted more.

  "Please..." She wailed it as she fell over that cliff's edge. "You...two...come...too."

  There would be very few times she'd ever be able to order Lyda around. But this desperate demand was the one exception. Lyda's flesh convulsed against her, her face going rigid with pleasure. But Gen also saw and felt the strain that gripped their Mistress, as she tried so hard to fly...and came up short.

  "Noah," Gen gasped.

  Noah, as melded to them as if he stood inside both their souls, adjusted the band of his arm and his stance, so he supported even more of Lyda's weight. At the same moment, Gen disobeyed her Mistress. She put her hands against Lyda's shoulders, and lifted her hips, taking over that spiraling motion. It gave Lyda the support her still healing body needed to catch the wave of the climax, ride its power with them.

  Linked like that, they tumbled into bliss.

  *

  Gen laid a slice of the gourmet Colby cheese blend in the frying egg, checking on the toast in the warmer as she did so. Lyda was reading at the kitchen table and sipping her coffee as she was wont to do when she was first waking up. Even before the accident, Sunday morning was the one day she deviated from her regimented schedule. No exercise on that day, and she allowed herself one indulgence, toasted thick wheat bread she bought from a locally run bakery that made the stuff from scratch. She spread natural blackberry preserves on it. Since having it the first time, Gen wasn't sure why anyone would buy sliced, packaged bread again.

  She glanced out the window, where she occasionally glimpsed Noah around the greenhouses. He was doing the minimum necessary daily check on the stock and irrigation. Lyda cared for her more delicate tropical plants like children, tending them so carefully they were delivered to customers without even a blemished leaf.

  "Come look at this."

  Turning the heat down on the omelet, Gen came to her side. Lyda was considering adding hardscape features to her landscape design offerings, so was perusing an array of images on her tablet. "I searched on erotic statuary."

  Gen chuckled. "You're going to start a trend of erotic lawn art in the Tampa area?"

  "No. Smartass." Lyda slid an arm around Gen's thighs, knuckles stroking her hip as Gen leaned against her. "This is for my own gardens. I liked some of the things I saw at Tyler's place last time I was there. I don't have his budget, of course."

  "There are Saudi princes who wish they had his budget." Gen bent closer to look at the picture on the tablet. "That's...oh. Well."

  The piece showed two very handsome, muscular nude males having sex, one pressed down on all fours while the other was buried inside him. A woman was stretched out on her hip on a low brick wall beside them, as if they were copulating in a garden setting. She was naked as well, but in a position and with an expression that said she was in charge of them both. Her foot, dangling off the wall, was brushing against the back and hip of the man on top. Her other hand was tangled in the bottom man's hair, fingers gripped tight.

  "It's a J. Martin," Lyda said. "Actually..." She enlarged the picture on the screen. "J. Martin and Thomas Wilder. A collaboration."

  "Oh. Wow. Well, it's gorgeous, but you can't afford a J. Martin. Not unless you sacrifice every penny of next year's profits."

  "Since when are you an art aficionado?" Lyda scoffed.

  Lyda had stumbled this morning getting out of bed and wrenched her still weak ankle, which probably explained why she sounded a little cranky. Or maybe she wasn't cranky. She was just teasing Gen in that edgy way of hers.

  That was what Gen told herself, even as that part of her that never reacted well to moments like this curled into a defensive ball.

  "Even us trailer park trash occasionally read an article," she said, retreating back to the stove. She was past this stuff. She should be past this stuff.

  "Hey."

  She lifted her head, found Lyda pinning her with a look. "Where did that come from?"

  "Sorry. Knee-jerk reaction. I know you didn't mean it that way. Forget it."

  "I won't. Come back here."

  "This will burn." She flipped the omelet, turned off the stove. Picking up the hand towel, she shook her head. "I mean it, can we just forget it? I don't know why I said something that dumb."

  "Neither do I. Which is why I want to know why." Lyda extended a hand. Still imperious, but something kinder in her expression that had Gen reluctantly coming to her, letting her hand be taken. Lyda reached up, touched her face. "What the hell, rabbit?"

  Gen sighed, wishing she could just throw the towel over her head. "It was your tone of voice. I know you were teasing or just irritable. I have this weird trigger about things like that. I know you didn't mean it. Old stuff, you know?"

  Lyda studied her, then pulled her down to eye level, pushing a lock of hair over Gen's ear, tugging it before she settled her hand on her shoulder, thumb sliding along the base of her throat. "Okay. But it's not the first time I've seen you do that. Despite how accomplished you are, you think because I'm better educated or grew up with more money, that I look down on you."

  That grip on her throat tightened. "A Domme c
herishes her subs, rabbit. Cherishes. They're not here for her to kick around to make her feel more superior. Except Noah, when I'm in a bad mood. Then I have you to kick my ass for that."

  Despite the grim humor, Lyda's gaze stayed piercing. "That was your last free pass. You put yourself down in front of me or where I hear about it again, I'll be kicking your ass. Got it?"

  Gen pressed her lips together, nodded.

  "Good girl." Lyda's touch eased to a distracting caress between Gen's breasts, with a quick tug on the connecting point between the cups of her bra, accessible from the vee neckline. "Now, truth. How did you know that about J. Martin? You cut your eyes away when you mentioned an article, and that's what you do when you're not telling the whole truth."

  She and Noah should take Lyda to Vegas. They could probably come home capable of affording ten J. Martins. "How about quid pro quo?" Gen rallied. "You tell me where you and Marguerite went the other day?"

  On Wednesday, Lyda had told Gen and Noah to watch over the nursery business while she ran an errand. She was driving again, but only short trips. One, because she still tired easily and two, despite her great annoyance with herself about it, she was still skittish behind the wheel in heavy traffic. Noah offered to take her, but Lyda declined the offer. "I have a ride."

  A half hour later, Marguerite drove into the nursery. While Noah went into the house to let Lyda know she was here, Gen had approached the open window of Marguerite's BMW. The 320i was past its prime, but Marguerite refused to get rid of it, citing the fact she wasn't going to buy a modern BMW that had the same body as any other car on the road. When the engine had reached three hundred thousand miles, Tyler had given her a brand new engine for a Christmas present.

  "Hey," Gen said, glad to see her former boss. She stopped by Tea Leaves at least once a week, and she and Chloe met for lunch frequently, but she was still getting used to the idea that Marguerite had already predicted. She was likely not coming back to Tea Leaves. Last week, Lyda had offered her a job officially--assistant manager, underscoring how quickly Gen was learning the business and earning her Mistress's trust in her.

  "Congratulations on the promotion," Marguerite said. Gen had of course called Marguerite and Chloe after it happened, so they knew, but it was the first time one of them had seen her in her new capacity.

  "Thanks," Gen said. "I haven't screwed up badly enough to be fired, yet."

  "You won't. But my offer still stands, Gen. No matter what happens, you will always have a job with me if you want or need it."

  Unspoken--If this relationship doesn't work out. Fortunately Gen saw nothing but sincere hope for her in Marguerite's gaze. With her power of prediction, if Gen had read a warning, she would have been terrified. More terrified than she was already, taking such a large leap into so many unknowns. But her usual caution about such things was something she'd left behind. As nervous as she might be about unknowns, she felt more strongly about backtracking.

  Lyda came out of the house, Noah helping her down the stairs before she took over for herself with the cane. Gen spoke to Marguerite, low. "She's leaning on that less all the time, but she still tries to overdo, M. You can tell when she does, because the ankle gets shaky."

  Marguerite arched a brow. "I'll take care of her. But I'd advise you not to try to handle a Mistress too much. It tends to piss us off."

  Gen grinned. "Like I didn't already know that, working for you as long as I have?"

  The flash of surprise in Marguerite's gaze--Gen hadn't been the type to joke about the Dom/sub dynamics before--was replaced by an amused look. "Careful. I might tell her what you said. And ask to bear witness to the consequences."

  Gen flushed, though the idea of M being at the club when she, Noah and Lyda were there didn't discomfit her as much as it might have at one time. Inside the Dom/sub world, things tended to get tangled and intertwined, an arousing playground.

  Noah helped Lyda into the car. As the two Mistresses drove off, he glanced at her. "Do we know what that's about?"

  "Not a clue."

  A call to Chloe had revealed nothing further about their errand. When Lyda had returned home, she refused to discuss it further. However, whatever she'd been doing had fueled her in other ways, because that night she'd driven both Gen and Noah to sweaty, replete exhaustion. The next day, she took her first short walk without the cane.

  Coming back to the present, Gen suspected all these changes she was making to her life--new relationship, new job--were what had stirred that debris from her past. She'd made those insecurities work for her, driving her further education and attempts to improve herself, but whenever change happened, it made her vulnerable to that baggage. But no more. Lyda was right. She was past that.

  "I will not tell you what Marguerite and I were doing," Lyda said. "Fairness has no place in a Mistress-sub relationship. Spill about J. Martin, or I'll eat my breakfast on your stomach and stab you with my fork."

  When it came to a battle of wills, on most things, Lyda was going to be the victor, because that was the way it worked--the way Gen needed it to be, truth be told. As Noah had said, the why was better explained through emotion than thought.

  "I'll tell you, but you have to swear to keep it to yourself, because it's a giant secret we're not supposed to talk about, since J. Martin doesn't do any public appearances. Tyler and he are good friends. Really good friends. And Tyler also knows Thomas."

  "No shit?" Lyda's brows rose. "Would J. Martin give me a discount if I met him at Tyler's?"

  Gen gave Lyda a light thwap with the towel. "Geez. You have a one-track mind."

  "Which is why I'm a successful businesswoman," Lyda said, unperturbed. "You didn't answer the question."

  "If you can get him off by himself, maybe." Pretty certain. The other thing Gen knew, because she'd met Josh at Marguerite's wedding, was that he was a submissive. A hot, distracted, entirely appealing submissive, totally in love with and faithful to his Mistress and wife, Lauren. However, if a Mistress like Lyda got him off by himself, the miniscule business acumen he had about the price of his art would be obliterated under the spell of those riveting eyes. "But while his art broker's around, not a chance. Marcus is more ruthless than even you. And he's Thomas' husband." He was also a Master as formidable as Tyler and beautiful as Lucifer. Even though Marcus was irrevocably gay, he could still make a woman shiver when his gaze turned upon her.

  She'd probably share any and all of that with Lyda at some point. Despite her mercenary nature, Lyda could be trusted with a secret. But now Gen's attention was distracted by something different, out the kitchen window.

  A man was walking up to the front of the nursery. The gate was locked at the end of the drive, as it always was on their closed days, so he must have left his car there. Lyda had a separate drive to the house for her personal guests. As Noah came out of the greenhouse, apparently seeing the man's approach, it was clear he knew who it was. From the rigidity of his stance, the look in his eyes, and the resulting cold spike through Gen's chest, she guessed pretty quickly herself. Lyda confirmed it, following Gen's gaze out the window.

  "Elias."

  Gen thought the only reason she beat Lyda to the door was her Mistress's residual limp. She heard Lyda call out to her to wait. She might have listened, but once she came out on the porch, there was no chance of that. As she stepped out, Elias had reached Noah. No words were spoken that she saw. The man punched Noah in the face, hard enough Noah stumbled, went to one knee.

  Gen didn't remember leaving the porch, didn't remember closing the ground between them. She was just suddenly in between them, with the shovel she'd retrieved on the way clenched in both hands. Noah hadn't even raised his hands, hadn't even closed them into fists to defend himself.

  Gen didn't know enough about fighting to use fists, but she knew enough about dirty self-defense tactics from Marguerite to know how useful a heavy blunt object was. She was vaguely aware of a shout as she swung the shovel toward Elias' head, rage driving every action,
muting every rational thought.

  She was brought up short, the handle of the shovel caught in a strong, capable hand, another arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her back. Noah. Noah had stopped her swing, was pulling her back. Strong enough to stop her, but unwilling to use any of that strength to protect himself.

  "Don't you touch him," she snarled. Elias had taken a self-preserving step back, had gone white enough to give her a spurt of satisfaction. She had a further impression of streaked brown hair, blue eyes. Elias was handsome, strong-looking, possessing the build of a man who'd probably played sports in high school or college. Ten years older than Noah, maybe. He wore slacks and dress shirt, a tie, as if he was on the way to a business meeting. Or, being Sunday, maybe coming from church, an odd thought for the moment. Hey, I'll stop by after the service on love-my-neighbor and beat up the submissive kid who pissed me off.

  "Gen." Noah said it urgently enough she hesitated. "No. He has the right."

  "No, he doesn't," she snapped at him.

  "He's a grown man who knows what he's doing," Elias said. He had a voice like a DJ's, smooth and deep. She hated it. Hated him. "Move out of the way."

  "Not in this lifetime, you piece of shit."

  But Noah put her on her feet, still holding her firmly, and moved her out from between them. "No," Gen resisted him. "Noah."

  "This is my choice, Gen."

  The words tore through the rage, ripped into her heart. No. They were past this, weren't they? She couldn't accept this, couldn't allow it to destroy every hopeful thought she'd had about their progress together, the three of them, since Gatlinburg. Lyda wouldn't take less than all of him. She couldn't. It didn't matter what she said about Noah and crossed wires. Gen knew her enough now, knew it would eventually break the link that held Noah to them. And that link was vital to all of them.

  "It's a stupid choice." She put her hands on his face. "Why can't you see this isn't love? I love you. Lyda loves you. Yeah, she might not have said it, but in the way she acts toward you, treats you... Goddamn it, she loves you. And so do I. I won't stand by and let someone take advantage of you, hurt you like this. Don't you understand that?"