Page 34 of At Her Pleasure
“Come give me a tongue kiss and you’ll find out.”
Even at normal pitch, Bastion’s voice could vibrate a person’s bones. He was a bisexual Dom whose scene energy could surpass even her own. Bastion would often take two subs in the same session. Occasionally he joined the women as a guest at Club Progeny, but he had other haunts he preferred, perhaps because Progeny’s membership cost was steep, and the man was a clothes horse. He also liked his jewelry. Today he wore a ruby ring, the stone clasped in a bronze lion’s roaring mouth.
“Tongue kiss,” she scoffed. “In your dreams.”
He’d known she was coming. Though he routinely compared it to motor oil, her preferred K cup brand of coffee was ready and prepared the way she liked it. She gave him a nod of thanks and moved to the window over the sink. Vera was pulling into the back parking lot in her bronze Aston Martin DBS V12. An in-your-face broadcast of her passion for James Bond films. Or rather, the men who played James Bond. She was jonesing to see Idris Elba in the role, probably to augment her fantasies of topping him in an opulent dungeon playroom.
People were far more than they appeared. Vera was their spiritual person, a Wiccan priestess who’d performed weddings and led pagan holiday events in the New Orleans area. Her steadfast moral center made her the right fit for administering TRA’s HR and legal requirements. When their group had faced more personal challenges, like Abby’s illness, Ros’s threat from a local gang, or Skye’s decision to love a man who had ties to a violent world, Vera could be relied upon for her calm grasp of the bigger picture.
Initially Cyn had viewed Vera as an enemy for just that reason. She saw so much it felt like a privacy invasion to meet her gaze or shake her hand. But the unexpected warmth and comfort Vera brought to her insights made them palatable. Mostly. She could tell you that your soul was damned, but leave you feeling loved and cared for anyway. No matter what, a person wasn’t alone, even if, like Cyn, they preferred to be self-sufficient in every way.
Cyn was an acquired taste, she knew. The people who worked under her knew she was tough to please, but when they did the work and showed the right initiative, she was fully in their corner. Over time, she’d populated her department with creative yet thick-skinned individuals who could excel because they thrived off the challenge of hard work and high expectations. When they succeeded, she made damn sure they were rewarded for it.
Yes, she scared newbies and interns, but so did Ros. There were bets among the executive team about who scared them worse. Cyn was competitive, so she tried to keep the edge on Ros there.
“You been here all night?” Bastion had come to stand by her. Vera was crossing the parking lot. She wore a marmalade orange blouse and hip-hugging blue skirt with a silver chain belt draped over the gathered front. The belt had matching blue and orange beads. Her heels were blue. Seamed stockings again. Vera might be the only woman in humid New Orleans who routinely wore hosiery to work.
“God, why would anyone want to spend that much time coordinating in the morning?” Cyn sipped her coffee. “No. I got here about four o’clock.”
Bastion slid a glance over Cyn’s slacks and form-fitting tank. “Black women look outstanding in primary colors. Unlike you pasty white girls. But I give you credit for monotone without monotony. With your astonishingly consistent black, white and gray spectrum, we can’t tell when you’re wearing the same outfit as yesterday and doing the walk of shame. Tell me that’s not on purpose.”
“Tell me why you think I’d be ashamed of fucking someone all night? I’d bring video to work if Vera wouldn’t have baby cow pies. And I occasionally wear colors. You said my red blouse looks vampire hot on me. All I need are fangs.”
“You already have fangs.”
She had changed out jewelry, tucking the Freyja pendant away and pulling one out of her go bag she hadn’t worn in some time, but she carried it with her, always. Sometimes holding it for a few minutes in the morning before putting it away and choosing something less personal. Because the people around her noticed shit.
As Bastion proved by reaching over and picking up the skeleton hugging the cross. She’d bought herself one, telling herself she liked it enough to buy two, one for her and one for Mick slash Cissy. It wasn’t like she’d bought a damn broken coin or something unreasonable like that. Her skeleton also wasn’t the same as his. The artist preferred to make each one different.
“This is new.”
She shrugged. He let the necklace go to pick up the tail of the black shirt at her hip and finger the fabric. “Nice quality. This is a man’s. It doesn’t smell like you.”
“You’re being creepy, Bastion.”
He chuckled, taking a swallow of his chai tea. Cyn didn’t care for the taste, but she liked the smell, associating it with him and times like this, early morning with just a handful of people in the building. People she felt comfortable around.
She had shifted so she was brushing his shoulder, leaning a little. It had taken a long time to get there, but the first time she’d done it, Bastion hadn’t made a big deal of it. Just kept drinking his tea, much like now. He never initiated it. Never rebuffed it, either.
On the rare occasions she sought that contact, he seemed to pick up on the underlying reason and responded like a caring Dom. Not meaning he treated her like a sub, but tailoring his reaction to his understanding of her needs.
Vera had disappeared around the building, probably taking the side stairwell up to their offices. She’d be down for some coffee herself soon. They had a small break area on their floor Bastion kept stocked, but they liked to touch base with him. And all of them often used this breakroom during the workday to connect with staff. No ivory towers for Ros’s executive team.
“Sy give you problems last night?” Bastion asked, moving to the coffee maker to prepare another cup. “That boy’s mouth can get him into trouble. The good kind, usually, but his weekly beating keeps him straight.”
“No. We had a good session.”
“Just wasn’t exactly what you were looking for?”
More like an appetizer to the main event. The thought bugged her. Being with Mick had been explosive enough to change her inner view. As if she’d been wanting something different for a while and hadn’t realized it. She didn’t like it when her subconscious fucked with her.
Her mind was like the maze even now, moving in random patterns, bypassing the exit to cycle over the same thoughts and sensations. His mouth and hands, his scent, the things he’d said, how he’d responded to her. The strength of the past holding them together.
“Did you hear about the Ladies-In-Charge presentation?” she said, instead of answering.
“LIC?” Bastion’s eyes danced at the sexual implications of the acronym. “I heard the presenter was two handfuls of eye candy.”
“You should come with us one night to meet him, Bastion,” Vera noted, joining them. “Cyn probably knows more about his schedule, since she was out half the night with him.”