Divine Solace: 8 by Joey W. Hill Page A

that? Only because you felt like it?”
    “No. The way you looked at me, I thought…”
    “I wanted you to touch me. I did. I do. You may not think of
yourself as a Domme, Gen, but here’s the thing about them. They only do what
the submissive truly wants or needs, even though sometimes they have to help us
understand what that is, because we bury it under a lot of other crap. My
crap’s been excavated for quite a while.” His gaze flickered, making her wonder
what that meant for him. “I’m not confused about how I feel, and I don’t want
you to think my reaction to you is some kind of generic program that happens
for every woman who crosses my radar.”
    “I didn’t mean to be cruel,” she said hastily. “I—”
    He shook his head, covered her hand. “I wasn’t criticizing
you. Just making it clear because, like you said, you don’t know much about it.
Sometimes even Doms and subs get it fucked up. So maybe we should talk about it
some, answer those questions you’ve wanted to ask Chloe and Marguerite but
haven’t. Okay? Kind of like I’m a live search engine.”
    While she appreciated the encouragement and understood he
was obviously at ease being grilled about it, they both already knew that
wasn’t the problem.
    “Yes. But maybe later. I need to breathe. And eat.”
    He gave her hand a squeeze. “Fair enough. Will you tell me
more about the craft room? It looks like a major studio in there, a little bit
of everything. Do you do more than collages?”
    “Yes. I do beading, scrapbooking…”

Chapter Three
     
    After the earlier intensity, dinner was surprisingly low
key. He got her talking about her collage projects, how she started doing them,
the local craft and bookclub groups she socialized with. She and a dozen other
women rotated responsibility for hosting crafting parties the first Thursday of
every month. Everyone brought a current project and they chatted, ate a potluck
dinner. She tried to take one course from the community college every semester.
She also volunteered for an animal shelter, walking the dogs and cleaning out
the cat cages a couple Sundays each month. She told him about a lean,
black-and-white, seven-year-old tomcat who had come in recently, with scarred
face and a bad attitude.
    “I’m thinking I may adopt him. He’s starting to like me. But
I wanted to get the kitchen done first. I figured he wouldn’t appreciate all
the noise and dust.”
    In turn, she found out Noah had an eclectic employment
history. In New Orleans, he’d worked multiple jobs, sometimes holding as many
as three at a time. Stocking at grocery stores, park cleanup, mowing right of
ways, construction. But his last job had been as a waiter in an upscale New
Orleans restaurant. The tips he’d earned there were substantial enough he’d
dropped to one job. He’d done that for about a year before coming to Florida to
be near his grandmother.
    “Dot’s still pretty spry and determined to live alone. She’s
far more likely to offer help to a neighbor than ask for it in return, but she
has to use a motorized chair to get around. She and I have always been close,
so now that I’m nearby, if she’s not feeling well or needs something done at
the house, she’ll call me. I’ve built her ramps and helped fix things in the
house so it’s easier for her to navigate and get things done in the chair.”
    His fondness for her was obvious. On the flipside, when he
asked Gen about her job at Tea Leaves, she could tell he registered how much
she loved working with Marguerite and Chloe.
    “It’s funny about Chloe,” he said. “We all know she’s not a
Domme, even Brendan, but she’s adapted herself to him in so many right ways,
even Lyda’s come around about it. At first she was sure they were going to
crash and burn.”
    “Has she seen the two of them together?” Gen was offended
for her friend. “Who could possibly think that?”
    “That’s part of why she’s come around,” Noah