When he lifted his head, she gave him an amused look, despite the rapid trip of her pulse. “Was that a marking thing? Making sure Gen’s kiss isn’t the one I carry around for the rest of the day?”
“My wife knows me well.” His hand dropped to curve around her buttock, stroke with unapologetic proprietary intent. “Just like she knows tonight I’ll tie her to the bed and make her tell me every single thing she felt while she was kissing Gen, until I make her come with my mouth between her legs.”
“Sorry. I have to wash my hair tonight. I’m busy.”
“I’ll wash your hair. Right after I make sure you need a thorough shower.” Stepping back down, he pressed his lips to her palm. As he held it there, a silent communication, she touched his hair with her free hand and wondered at the miracle of this never-ending combination of peace and yearning he kept alive in her heart.
“See you soon, angel.”
“I love you.”
She didn’t say it outright too often, infrequently enough his gaze lifted to hers now, his scrutiny telling her he was ensuring she was okay. Then his eyes glowed with pleasure. That made her want to say it over and over again, but she didn’t have to. He knew that too.
* * * * *
When Gen arrived at Lyda’s house, she didn’t see her Escalade, but a quick glance at her phone explained it. She’d missed a follow up text while weaving through traffic.
Running late. Make yourself at home. Wine and beer in fridge. Noah in guesthouse in back.
She had to grin at Lyda, giving her the whereabouts of alcohol and Noah. But with her new resolve about things, Gen found she wasn’t in the mood to do any sampling of the latter unless both courses were present, so to speak.
Still, she did want company, and she enjoyed being around Noah, not just for his admirable physical attributes. Instead of going into the house, she circled around it on foot. At last, she would get to see Noah’s personal space. As she approached the guest cottage, she noticed the touches that said Noah was in residence. A small wooden boat was propped facedown on a sawhorse, being cleaned, painted or whatever one did to maintain it. A couple buckets and brushes were stacked neatly next to it. Even here, he respected the space Lyda had given him by keeping it clean and orderly.
If she’d gotten in touch with her inner Domme earlier in life, and if her husbands had had a shred of service-orientation to them, Gen reflected she might have obtained a more worthwhile investment out of those relationships.
She scoffed at the likelihood. Noah took genuine pleasure in service, and though she could understand the argument that it benefitted his need to serve and submit, she thought about what Lyda had said, that there was a difference between a bottom, who took pleasure merely from being topped, and a submissive, who had a much more complex give and take. Noah had a lovely form of selflessness. Neither of her husbands had had a shred of that quality.
She must be getting better at reasoning this out. It wasn’t making her temples pound anymore.
The screen door was in place, the main door open. However, when she pulled back the screen door, she froze.
The door was splintered around the lock. It had been forced open.
She’d been in Miami when Chloe was attacked at Tea Leaves a couple years before. Everything had been over by the time Gen found out what had happened and returned to town. Marguerite had been in a bad way, convalescing at Tyler’s. Chloe was still in the hospital. Tyler was of course absorbed in Marguerite, so by unfortunate chance, Gen had been the first one, after the police, to come back to the tea room.
The first thing she’d seen had been the splintered side door, a temporary latch and broken crime tape on it. When she came inside, she didn’t know how long she stood there frozen, staring at broken tea pots, shattered tables and chairs. Blood on the floor where Chloe had been beaten nearly to death after she’d gone toe-to-toe with the man who’d been after Marguerite. The twenty-something who’d always been mistaken for much younger because of her pixie face and joyous outlook on life had fought him with no defensive skills, just courage and determination to protect those she fiercely loved.
Gen could only stand in that aftermath, feeling helpless that she hadn’t been there to protect Chloe, no matter how futile they’d all assured her that would have been. The intruder would have likely killed her or hurt her just as badly.
It didn’t matter, didn’t assuage the guilt at all. She’d thrown herself into cleaning everything up, arranging for the repairs, making sure that when Chloe and Marguerite came back, it would be as close to the way it had been as it could be. She’d cried every moment she’d scrubbed that blood off the floor. Regardless of the number of pieces, she’d glued every broken cup and tea pot back together. It didn’t matter that they couldn’t be used anymore. She knew what they meant to Marguerite.
All that passed through her mind in a flash and then she didn’t think. She shoved open the door, calling out his name, hearing the terror in her voice. “Noah.”
“Here. I’m back here. Wait there, don’t come—”
But she was already hurrying down the short hallway. The guesthouse was basically an open kitchen and living area, with a walled off bedroom and bath, so it was only a few steps. However, as she arrived in the bedroom door, she understood why he’d tried to keep her from coming to him.
His bed was soiled. It looked and smelled like someone had urinated on it. Profusely. She pressed her hand against the framework, the world spinning. She’d also cleaned human urine and feces off the floor of Marguerite’s office, left by someone so malevolent he’d marked like a beast the place M loved.
Though none of it had happened to Gen directly, she got a hint now of what it was to experience a post-traumatic episode. Spots marked her vision and she was back in Tea Leaves, scrubbing the floor, sobbing her sorrow and rage.
“Gen, it’s all right. Come out here.” Noah blocked her view. Nudging her with grim determination back into the front room, he pulled the bedroom door closed behind him. But it wasn’t the only thing that had been vandalized. Looking around, she saw a small collection of books had been torn up. Dishes in the kitchen were on the floor, broken.
How was it that monsters like this could hate someone so much, they showed it by destroying everything that belonged to them? Had Noah been here when…
Her gaze snapped up to his face and then swept his body, her hands following, taking inventory. No blood, no torn clothing. He was whole. He was safe. She made herself take a shaky breath, realizing he’d closed his hands on hers, was making a soothing noise.
“Noah, what the hell…who did this?”
“He’s already gone.”
“He was here while you were here?”
“It’s someone I used to know. He came to talk to me, and he got angry. He has anger issues.”
“You think?” Gen realized he was shepherding her toward the door.
“I’m going to clean this up. Go on in the house. I’ll be there soon.”
“No.” She planted her feet. “You’re going to tell me right now what’s going on, who he is, and why I shouldn’t call the police. And don’t you dare tell me we’re not telling Lyda about this.”
“I wouldn’t do that. I’m going to tell her I need to live somewhere else. It’s time for me to move on. He wouldn’t hurt her, but this is just…this all belongs to her. He can’t destroy things that belong to her.”
It was the break in his voice that helped her look beyond her own fear and anger, focus on his misery. As well as the fact his hands were shaking. Not much, but enough to scare her, since he always seemed so placid. Taking a breath, she framed his face. Something in his wandering gaze had her worried he might slip from her fingers and disappear, even while he stood before her.
“Sshh,” she said quietly. Firmly. “Look at me, Noah. Look at me.”
He was looking at her now, but he wasn’t focused. She repeated it, sharp and steady. The relief that gripped her when she saw him tune back in to her
made her run her hands down over his shoulders, his arms. “Let’s sit down. Let’s take a breath.”
The house was too small to sit anywhere that wouldn’t be in view of the damage, so she drew him out to the front stoop, making him take a seat with her there. He was barefoot. He was lucky he hadn’t gotten glass in his heels. She should check that, because his expression told her he might be in a little bit of shock.
“First things first. Did he hurt you?” Gen dialed back the emotions the very thought boiled forth, but she wasn’t entirely successful, because Noah gave her a wary look.
“No.”
“Not this time.” She studied his face, read the truth there. She pushed back the long hair that fell over his shoulder as he leaned forward. “But it’s happened before.”
“I was his for a while. Then he moved on. And came back. And moved on.” Noah shook his head. “It’s complicated, Gen.”
She could well imagine someone being obsessed with keeping Noah. Hell, she was already pretty tangled up over him. Even the hard-nosed Lyda was protective when it came to Noah. But Gen was putting together pieces. He’d come from New Orleans for the purported reason of taking care of his grandmother. He’d “belonged” to Tyler before Lyda. Lyda had goaded him with the comment about being his babysitter.
“Is he the one who collared you and then let you go?”
She wanted the answer to be no, but when he gave a bare nod, she linked hands with him, let them rest on his knee as she reached up with the other hand, stroked his hair back again. “And you’d let him do it again, because you think once you belong to someone, you’ve made an unconditional oath. What happens when they conflict, Noah? When Lyda’s ownership conflicts with his ownership?”
Noah managed a wry look back toward the open door.
“So you told him no.” Gen felt a small spurt of relief.
“I told him I owed Lyda my loyalty until she lets me go. He said he respected that, but he had to punish me for refusing him. That I’m his property.”
“So if she let you go, you’d go back to him?”
Noah didn’t answer her, just looked at his bare feet. She caught his chin, jerked his face up. A flicker of mutiny went through his gaze, but he held still, let her make him meet her eyes.
“You answer me.”
She might not be Lyda or Marguerite, but she’d had years of making hard decisions to regain control of her life, not waiting for it to be handed to her. As a result, she now owned a cherished old beater car, had her carefully tended mortgage and viable dreams of pursuing a full accounting degree, once she paid off the last of the debts her marriages had left her. She’d evolved from being Marguerite’s waitress to doing Tea Leaves’ books and handling opening and closings. While that might not seem like much to most, it meant something to Gen. She owned her life, and no one would ever take it from her again.
All of that fueled her resolve now, reflected in the hard note in her voice. That flicker in his expression acknowledged it, even though he put his hand up, closed it around her wrist. “I have to, Gen. It’s the promise I made.”
“To whoever picks you up off the street? Lyda doesn’t rate better than a guy who pisses on your sheets to tell you how worthless you are?”
His expression became hunted. “It’s not my choice.”
“That’s total bullshit. You won’t make the choice.”
“I can’t.” He pushed himself off the stairs so abruptly it startled her, but not as much as the fevered look in his eyes when he rounded on her. She’d seen Noah’s brown eyes reflect deep lake calmness, brief flashes of sexy rebellion, and sometimes a disturbing flow of shadows, here then gone, like clouds passing over the sun. But now those shadows had gathered in full force, threatening a gale.
“I can’t,” he repeated fiercely. “One person says that makes me a gift, another says I’m damaged and I’m banned from their club.” His hands closed into fists. “Someone else tells me I need to be this or that, and none of it is supposed to be about me. I’m everything someone needs me to be, until I’m not, and then I can’t stop it or change it. I can’t think about it. I just can’t.”
The stress of whatever he’d just faced with that invisible Dom had taken him over. He was shouting, though not at her. With his expression so raw and open, she saw something else in his gaze. It wasn’t shielding. It was like…
Tea Leaves was in a poor neighborhood, and sometimes Marguerite gave tea and food to the homeless in the area. She had a knack for drawing the ones with mental illnesses that put them out of sync with normal society. When Gen helped her hand out the sandwiches, she saw it in their eyes, a kind of impenetrable block between them and full comprehension of the track from which they’d derailed. They ate what was offered, gave thanks and went on their lost way, sometimes muttering to the voices in their head, sometimes with quiet dignity.
She was stunned to the bone to see such a wall in Noah’s eyes, too much like that disconnect to deny it. Gen struggled for something to say, unable to reconcile this with what she knew about him. Yet Lyda had hinted at it, Chloe had puzzled over how to explain it… Everyone seemed to hesitate over explaining him.
“Noah, your value has nothing to do with Lyda, or this asshole, or me or…anything else other than you.”
Of all the things she could have said, she’d apparently chosen the wrong one.
Shaking his head, he turned away. His body was rigid, still as a statue, but vibrating like a ticking bomb. She’d risen from the steps, had started to reach for him, when he jerked into motion. He strode toward the upside-down boat. She wondered at his intent, but then cried out as he ripped a concrete rabbit out of the landscaping, descended on the boat and put the statue through the hull with one powerful swing.
“No, no, no, no.” He snarled, pounding the boat with every syllable. Gen stood frozen, no idea what to do. Self-preservation told her to stay back. Noah in a fury was far more intimidating. Instead of the gentle man she knew, suddenly he was like any other male who could attack and overpower. Cause harm.
Guy had broken her nose with one punch, proven the strength an angry man could unleash. But she hadn’t been afraid. She’d run out the back door, into the street, where their neighbors were out walking dogs, mowing. She’d gone to the nearest one, asked to use the phone and called the police. Divorce papers had been filed within the week. She’d felt rage, betrayal, but she’d refused to feel fear.
She felt fear now, but not on her behalf. This was Noah. Dear, beautiful, sexy Noah, at war with inner demons she’d sensed but now saw in full force, whipping around him in a dervish of uncontrolled and escalating emotion. The boat toppled off the sawhorse and he fell onto his knees, continuing to hammer it with the concrete. When the rabbit broke into several pieces, he reached for the torn planks, regardless of the jutting nails.
“Noah—” She started toward him, her personal safety secondary. Another voice cut across hers like the strike of a lash.
“Noah.”
Lyda was coming up the walkway, grim determination in her stride. She wore her usual garb of jeans and nursery T-shirt, but as always, it made her no less intimidating, enough that Noah paused, blinking in confusion. But he was too far into his own head. His lip curled back and eyes refired, a precursor to renewing his attack.
“Noah.”
Gen had heard husbands teasingly refer to their wives as “She Who Must Be Obeyed”. With Lyda, it wasn’t a joke at all. That voice could cut through diamond, let alone the demons clinging to Noah’s back.
He jerked, head whipping around, body following. Lyda was reaching out to put a hand on his knotted shoulder. When he seized her arm, Gen bit back alarm, but Lyda didn’t move. Her glittering silver eyes stayed on his face.
“Stop it. Now.”
Noah stared at her, panting. His body was rigid again, eyes unfocused. Lyda looked toward his grip, her expression cool. “Why are you touching me without permission?”
One at a time, his fingers loosened.
Like a tree left broken by a storm, he dropped back onto his heels, back slumped, head down. Lyda studied him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders, his hands curl and uncurl on his thighs. Only when his breathing had evened out did she touch his head. He flinched, but when he spoke, Gen realized he hadn’t anticipated a blow.
“I don’t deserve it, Mistress,” he mumbled.
“That’s my call, not yours.” Lyda stretched out her other hand, a subtle gesture to Gen. Gen came forward without hesitation, despite unsteady legs. When Lyda sent her a pointed glance, she understood. Follow your instincts. Kneeling next to him, Gen put her arms around his shoulders, used her palm to press his face against her neck.
“Easy,” she whispered. “Just relax. Just breathe. I’m sorry. I didn’t know the right thing to say. I’m sorry.”
“I’m never going to figure it out, Mistress.” Noah’s voice was muffled.
“Just breathe,” Lyda said. “All you have to do is breathe for us. Can you do that?”
“Yes Mistress. I’ll do anything for you.”
“I know. Be quiet now. No words. Just breathe.”
* * * * *
Lyda forbade Noah to go back into the guest house. When he’d hesitated, obviously torn about leaving her with the damage there, Lyda had given him a look that could have withered daisies. “In the house,” she said. “My room.”
He followed her, Gen trailing behind. She had an idea of what Lyda intended, but had no idea how she was going to accomplish it, since the molecules around Noah were still jittering like a pending big-bang event.
When they arrived in the bedroom, Lyda pointed toward the open door of the cage. “All clothes off. You’re in there until I say otherwise.”
His stubborn look appeared. Lyda had obviously handled this situation before, but the volatility surrounding the two made Gen’s gut clench. Lyda stepped forward, met him toe-to-toe, despite the fact he was a few inches taller than her. “Are you defying your Mistress, Noah?”
He shook his head, and looked entirely miserable. Lyda touched his face. He closed his eyes as she caressed his jaw, his lips. His body swayed toward her and he sank to his knees. He kept his back straight, but head bowed, only inches separating his forehead from her abdomen. While she didn’t close that distance, her touch was gentle.
Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace Page 31