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His genitals? "Should I have him put the cuffs on first?"
"I don't know. Should you?" Lyda gave her a teasing look, not unkind. "It's up to you, but I often like to do the cuffing. There's something about a strong man letting himself be bound that gets all the juices flowing. Literally." Her voice dropped lower, though Gen assumed Noah could still hear them, given the small area. "He'll probably behave himself tonight, but he can get feisty. He's not a brat, but it's his subtle way of asking for the noose to be tightened. Watch his cues."
Lyda nodded toward him. "He'll also pull shit if he thinks that's what you want and need. He anticipates and he's a nurturer. Sometimes he messes up that way, but he's digging deep for what you want and need from him. Like I said, he'd be a good Dom if he ran that way. But he doesn't. Watch his face, body, everything, and follow your own instincts, what you desire. I won't let you hurt him or yourself. All right?"
"Is that what you look for from a sub?" Gen asked impulsively. "Or is that what drew you to him?"
"He was given to me to protect," Lyda said.
Noah's head came up at that. Rather than his usual easy expression, or slumberous sexual promise, Gen saw a flash of something else. Offense. Anger. Here then gone, but his back had stiffened.
"You want to argue about it, Noah?" Lyda's tone went sharp.
Though Gen was still learning a lot about this world, whenever the two of them hit this area, it was clear that things moved quickly out of sensual play into a far darker realm. It caused a tense ball in her own stomach, a swirl of feelings like a fight-or-flight instinct, except it wasn't her in danger. It was the special, unexpectedly fragile connection between Mistress and sub.
Gen expected Noah to respond with a "No Mistress," in that wooden voice he used whenever Lyda touched a nerve of that enigma Gen hadn't yet deciphered. Instead he turned his gaze back to the floor and said nothing. That ball in her stomach grew spikes, because she knew Lyda wouldn't let it pass. And she didn't.
Moving across the floor, Lyda stood where her knees practically pressed against the crown of his head. "You will answer me, Noah."
He tilted his head to the right, his jaw tight. And stayed silent.
"You don't like hearing I'm your warden?" Lyda demanded. "Your babysitter?"
His gaze snapped back up to her at that. Was Lyda deliberately baiting him? Gen bit her lip. She was about to stick her nose into something she likely didn't understand. But she remembered Noah leaning over her on the beach, the tilt of his head toward the sun, that half-smile.
"He thinks that's all you consider yourself."
Now two sets of eyes came to her. Noah's showing dismay, as if he'd have preferred her not to say it, and Lyda looking like she'd stated the obvious, making Gen flush. The silver eyes had frosted at the interruption.
"It's always intriguing, how subs tend to protect one another, even when they both crave their Mistress's attention," Lyda said in a deceptively casual tone. She turned her gaze back to Noah. "She can already give voice to the preferences you can't, Noah. Your own personal Cyrano de Bergerac. With a much nicer nose, though big enough to interfere when she can't help herself."
Lyda didn't say it in a mean way. There wasn't even any mockery in her tone, but the pain Gen saw grow more stark in Noah's face, something he couldn't seem to voice, awoke something inside her, something hard and ugly. She should retreat, leave the cubicle. This kind of behavior was likely a deal breaker for her. But she couldn't make herself move. Any more than she could stop the words that sprang to her lips.
"Have you ever told him how you feel about him?"
Lyda's gaze flickered back over to her. Gen could tell she was about to tell her to back off, and she couldn't handle that. She had to get this out, because all of a sudden it was filling up her diaphragm like an explosive device.
"It seems so little to ask, but it's everything," Gen said. "Seeing it in someone's eyes, that you matter...more. It helps everything else make sense, every other problem seem solvable." Her eyes locked with Lyda's. "You said being a Dom is about really knowing what the other person wants and needs, but what does it mean when you hold back on that, not for them, but to protect yourself? How is that different from being a cruel bastard who can't put down the cable remote and make you feel for one goddamn second like you're more special than a fucking golf match?"
Lyda shifted forward. Noah went to a half kneel, as if he might get up, but Gen stepped back, holding up a hand. "It leaves you hating yourself, you know," she told Lyda. "If he'd just done that, given me those two precious seconds, I'd have felt like the queen of Egypt. Such a little thing. Maybe that's why he didn't give me that. Because if that's all it takes, then I didn't expect a lot for myself. I was giving him permission to treat me like I was nothing." Her attention shifted to Noah, came back to Lyda. "But I don't have it in me to demand. I never thought I'd have to demand to be treated special by someone who loved me. I always thought he'd want to do that."
She swallowed. "Can you do something like that for Noah right now? Nothing elaborate. Just one gesture, so I can believe this isn't just another version of the same place I keep finding myself whenever I get pulled into a relationship?"
Lyda pressed a hand into Noah's shoulder, a nonverbal command to stay where he was as she stepped away from him. Gen backed up into the cubicle wall, but Lyda kept coming. She cupped Gen's face, drew closer until Gen's nose brushed her jaw, her forehead against Lyda's prominent cheekbone, all those sculpted angles and fragrant skin. As Lyda's fingers slipped around to the back of her neck, holding her, Gen's throat was burning with a dry-eyed pain, the worst kind, like a desert where life had been burned from it.
"Ssshh," Lyda said against her ear. "It's all right, rabbit. It's all right. Okay."
Lyda had said she wasn't a nurturer, and she wasn't, but maybe that was what made a comforting touch from her so potent. There was a strength to the woman, like a tree. Gen knew she should push away, but it felt so good to be held against her. When Lyda at last drew back, her gaze was thoughtful. "All right, Gen."
She pivoted, shifting so Gen could see Noah as well. He was still on the one knee, quivering with the effort of self-restraint. His gaze was on Gen, showing concern for her, yet still holding onto that wary pain he and Lyda had stirred up between them. Then Lyda snapped his attention back to her with one sharp question.
"Noah, would you go into my home and piss on my expensive rugs?"
He looked startled. "No Mistress."
"Set fire to items that have great sentimental value? And yes"--she shot a glance at Gen--"despite reports to the contrary about what a hardass I am, I do have those."
"No Mistress." His brow creased. "Absolutely no."
