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ly willed Chloe to tell her everything she knew. For once, surprisingly, Chloe didn't oblige.
"Okay. Sure. But if you change your mind, you know my cell number."
It made sense. Those who inhabited the D/s world were probably very private about their preferences, not wanting them discussed among the uninitiated. For all her uninhibited nature, Chloe was sensitive to discretion, else she wouldn't be working for Marguerite. For instance, while she was pretty open about her relationship with Brendan, if Chloe saw things in the club that revealed more about that type of relationship between Marguerite and Tyler, two Dominants, she never spoke of it.
Coming back to the present, the thought helped Gen rein herself in. Keep it separate. Not your world. Of course Marguerite had said he'd be absolutely honest...
Before knowing Brendan's orientation, Gen had accepted the same BDSM stereotypes as most people did. She'd assumed a man who wanted to be ground under a woman's stiletto was a pushover, or nothing better than a child. Noah defined himself as under the control of a woman, but he refused to let Lyda pay for his accommodations and he'd jumped right in to help with closing. Then there'd been that spark as he'd met Gen's gaze over the teacup.
So even if she couldn't form any definite conclusions about Noah, she could about Brendan. Watching him with Chloe, it was clear he defined his primary job as caring for his wife. Yet Tyler had the same opinion toward Marguerite, and he was clearly the top Dominant in their unusual relationship.
Gen had married two men who, by any standard definition, would be considered testosterone-laden alpha males, and all they'd wanted her to do was take care of them. Domestically, sexually, financially.
Chloe had said they were all different, but it still made Gen's head spin. Unfortunately, not in a way that turned off her curiosity. The idea of a man wanting to take care of a woman, in the ways she truly needed his care, wasn't her typical experience with men. If she tried to idealize something she knew nothing about, she'd be doomed to disappointment. Yes, Noah was helping her with her kitchen, but if he put his feet up on her coffee table and had a beer afterward while she cleaned up the mess caused by tiling, that was fine. She'd be content with the donation of physical labor.
Though he really didn't really look like the beer type.
"Anyone else would have said something by now," she observed, shifting in her seat. "Filling the silence."
"I figured if you wanted to talk, you would have."
"Maybe I can't think of anything to say and am hoping you will."
Noah gave her a sidelong glance. "I don't know about that. The silence felt pretty comfortable, both sides. What do you usually do on the drive home?"
"Listen to music, think about the day, think about what I'm going to do that night."
"Which is? If it's not too private."
She was kind of pleased he'd asked, though she knew the truth was probably yawn-city to most people. "I can't tell you about my second job as an international spy, but I can tell you what I do when I'm not needed for top-secret missions."
She was rewarded with the full, toe-curling grin. "Okay. Tell me what you're doing when you're not chasing down terrorists or defusing bombs."
"I read, watch TV. I like to do crafts." She could tell him about her collages, but she bit that back. Did she want to sound any less exciting? "How about you?"
"Is it okay if we talk more about you first? I'm interested in what you read and watch."
"Nothing you'd like. Romances. Biographies. Poetry."
He shifted lanes, checking the mirrors with a quick flick of his gaze. "I get why you think I wouldn't like romances, but why wouldn't I like biographies or poetry?"
"Well, I guess I meant the type of biographies and poetry I read. Stories about strong women, the kind that came from hard situations and still managed to do great things with themselves. The poetry is more romantic, girl stuff. Not Edgar Allan Poe."
He gave her an ironic look. "I like strong women, Gen. My...Lyda has me read to her. I'd be happy to read to you if you like. She says I have a good voice for it."
He did. He had a masculine tenor, infused with inflections that would make him a good dramatic speaker. Underneath all that was a lazy touch of Southern. Listening to him talk was like listening to smooth jazz.
"If you want to call her whatever it is you normally call her, that's fine." At his quizzical glance, she added, "You keep hesitating over it. I do know about Marguerite and Brendan, the kind of things...people, they are. Sorry, I'm not really sure what the correct thing is to say. I don't want to offend you."
"You couldn't possibly," he said, with a genuine kindness that made her feel better. "My Mistress likes me to read...romances to her."
At his hesitation, she lifted a brow. "Erotic romances? Spicy stuff?"
He chuckled. "Yeah."
She thought about Noah reading a steamy sex scene to Lyda. Would she lounge in the bed with him, her wearing nothing but a filmy negligee that revealed all that fair skin? Or maybe, given their relationship, she'd have Noah in a chair across the room, out of touching distance. She'd tell him he couldn't lift his eyes from the page and, as he read, she'd put her hand between her legs, stroke herself...
Up until today, Gen hadn't asked many questions about all this, not wanting to encourage Chloe. Yet though she'd always told herself BDSM wasn't her thing in reality, Gen had imagined quite a few scenarios about Marguerite and Chloe with their respective husbands. It made it way too easy to get caught up in fascinating visions now of the gorgeous, intimidating woman and undeniably hot male next to her, both of whom had more than a few intriguing layers. A Mistress and a submissive. Her mind ping-ponged, considering them separately, together. As a threesome...
