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Gen wet her lips. Lyda spoke again, sharp. "You answer me when I ask you a question, Gen."
"Yes Mistress. Yes." Gen bit back a plea as Lyda plucked at her nipple. Gen's fingers dug into her thighs as she tried not to squirm.
"Drop your panties to your ankles, Gen. Don't interrupt what I'm doing."
It wasn't easy in a seated position. It required some awkward wiggling. Lyda moved to the other nipple, making Gen gasp.
"I'll clamp these during one of our sessions. Once they're nice and swollen, I'll pull the clamps off. It's excruciating, but when I have Noah suckle you after you'll love it. Pain and pleasure work that way for you, Gen. Have you noticed?"
"Somewhat. Maybe. Yes." She was certainly experiencing those two elements right now under Lyda's firm fingertips.
"Eyes open. You don't get to hide from me in any way. A hundred percent present when your Mistress is commanding you." Lyda stepped back, taking her hand away. "Pull your skirt up to your waist, and straddle the end of the bench so you can't close your legs. Hips tucked under so your pussy isn't in contact with the wood at all."
Lyda gave her another of those kick-your-ass looks, and Gen moved to do it. She made sure her back was straight, the bench cool against her bare buttocks.
Lyda picked up the soda, still so cold that the metal sides looked frosted. Squatting at the end of the bench, she put the top of the can right up against Gen's cunt.
Fuck. The provocative contrast of aroused heat and relentless cold drove a cry from her, but she made herself stay still because that was what Lyda had ordered.
"You tell me when it's too much, Gen. I decide when to take it away." Lyda propped her other hand on the bench, her tone casual even as her expression was anything but. "And while you're thinking about that, you think about this too. You ever raise a hand to me again, there will be tough consequences."
"Do you mean when I almost slapped you for the doormat comment, or what I was thinking when you were bending over the sink?"
She must be insane to try yanking Lyda's chain, but her state of arousal wasn't helping her judgment. Lyda's eyes glittered, appreciating her fire while also conveying she was more than capable of melting Gen down like candle wax with it.
"Both. Consider me the Old Testament God. I punish for thought as well as deed."
At first, she'd been so hot between her legs, the can felt good. But as Lyda kept holding it flush against her tender flesh, the cold invaded, followed by pain, because that was how the brain warned a person when things became too much. Gen struggled against it, though. Her Mistress was watching, waiting, and she wanted to show her she wouldn't fail her. But oh fuck it was starting to really hurt...
"Beg me, Gen."
"I...can hold out."
"No, you can't." Lyda took it away, gave her thigh a reproving tap. "Begging your Mistress for mercy is a gift to me as well. You don't risk nerve damage just to prove a point. We aren't in competition. You'll figure that out eventually."
Giving her an even look, Lyda straightened. "If nothing else, that'll settle you down enough I don't have to worry about you driving. As for me..." Her fingers slid over the tab top. "I'll have the pleasure of knowing just where this has been as I'm drinking it."
Bringing Gen to her feet with a firm hand on her elbow, Lyda straightened Gen's skirt back down over her hips, not allowing her to do it, and then cupped a hand over Gen's buttock, giving it an admonishing squeeze.
"Going back to this nonsense about you feeling 'less'. The only function of your past is to be the building blocks to your future. Whatever parts of your past are in the way of that, bury them like the dead, accept their loss and move on."
"Is that how you did it?" There was no need to state the obvious--Lyda emanated the self-confidence only a woman who'd accepted all parts of herself could.
"I was born believing the word impossible didn't apply to me. So far, I haven't been proven wrong. Time for you to get to work." Lyda shouldered her purse, flashed her a smile. "I told you I'd keep you safe, and Marguerite will give you the death-stare if you're running late. Even I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that."
Chapter Eleven
A case of cold sodas couldn't keep Gen's mind from being like a scrambled egg throughout the workday. Chloe teased her about it, bumping her hip once to knock her out of it. "So is it Mistress Lyda or Noah? Or both?"
Gen made a face at her. "Shoo, annoying fly."
"You look so happy. Crazy batshit freaked out, but happy too. That's good, right?"
Gen chuckled. She couldn't help it. "Yeah, that pretty much describes it."
"Have you ever wanted to kiss Marguerite? With tongue and everything?"
"What?" Gen bobbled the Brown Betty tea pot she was bringing back to the counter. She put it down abruptly, terrified she would break one of Marguerite's collectibles. Part of Tea Leaves' appeal was that the patrons could request service from specific tea sets Marguerite had collected from around the world. While sipping from cups that had graced Victorian parlors, grand Russian dining rooms or Japanese tea houses, they could learn about the set's history, either from Marguerite herself, or from Gen and Chloe, because part of their training included a thorough history of tea.
