Curio (9 page)

“Is everything all right?”

I hesitated before answering, long enough for emotion to take hold. Tears came, just a few. Didier sat up and wiped them from beneath my eyes.

“We can stop.”

“I’m not upset, not from this. I just feel sad.”

“Sad?”

“This is all really wonderful, but it makes me realize… I don’t know. I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time and energy, avoiding being this way with someone.”

“You’re here now, with me,” he murmured. He kissed my cheeks, my ears, my neck.

“I am.”

“So enjoy that this is all still new to you. That all this, these thrills most people can barely remember at twenty-nine, they’re still ahead of you. Right in front of you.”

I smiled, tears drying up. “You’re a very smart man. And I am, I’m here with you, right now.”

Didier smiled, something mischievous in his narrowed eyes. “You’re very pretty when you cry, though.”

I laughed, and Didier kissed me again, to the left of my lips.

“Better?”

I nodded.

Another kiss, on the other side.

“You’re sweet,” I said.

One more kiss, square on the mouth. It was a relief—a release—to allow him to lead. I welcomed him inside, the sweep of his tongue against mine. It was in that moment that I knew for certain, I’d have him. Not tonight, perhaps, but soon. I’d hoped he would feel just like this, intuitive and easy. As bold as I so often felt lost and unsure.

He spoke against my lips. “Lie back.”

Excitement surged as my head found the pillows, all my sadness reduced to a figment.

Didier knelt between my legs, palms on the bed beside my ribs, bringing our centers back together. “Tell me if I’m too forward.”

“I trust you.”

He locked his forearms tight to my sides and the unexpected possession of the contact shifted everything. His hips began to move, the ridge of his erection teasing my clit with short, faint strokes.
Faster
, I thought. Fast enough to burn away the last scraps of our clothes.

He looked strong and solid, felt just as good as I lay my hands on his shoulders. I wondered how many women had been taken on this bed, head against these pillows… It sounds like an ugly, sabotaging thought, but weirdly enough, it only thrilled me more. I wanted to be that sort of woman, the kind who took what she wanted. I wanted to be with Didier, a man so skilled with his body that he’d made a craft of sex.

I watched his hips, fantasizing we were actually having sex. I pictured his cock surging as he fucked me, gleaming wet in the candlelight. I glanced to his bedside table as a thought tugged at me.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Do you have any water in here?”

He craned his neck and I spotted it—a pitcher and tumbler on his deep windowsill. He left me to fill the glass.

I suppose he expected me to drink it, but I sat up, pouring a bit into my cupped palm. I felt his gaze on me as I brought my hand to his abdomen, letting the liquid slip down his skin to darken his shorts. Another palmful, dripped right against his bulge, underwear going translucent. Even sexier than I’d hoped. I could see nearly everything, only the most explicit details obscured, as though behind fogged glass. The camera of my memory clicked madly and I pictured him kneeling in the ocean surf, pummeled by waves… Dirty-poetic; how I imagine a pornographer might shoot a cologne commercial. A decadent marriage of sleaze and luxury.

“I love the way you look at me,” he murmured.

I drew my palm across his cock, side to side, reveling in the contrast of his hot flesh, the drag of wet silk. If I’d thought for even a second, the next words would never have fallen from my lips. “I’d like to feel you…in my mouth.”

“You know you can have whatever you want.”

I nodded. “I want that. And I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“That’s fine. That’s very exciting, in fact. But do you know how you’d like to
feel
? In control?”

“Just free to…experiment, I think. Maybe you could tell me what feels good to you, give me instructions. Nothing too aggressive.” I traced my thumb and finger down his shaft. “I’d like to be the one doing everything.” I imagined the scenes that turn porn from exciting to
ick
for me—gagging and ears-as-fuck-handles are not my idea of
sensual
. Not that I could imagine Didier cast in any such sloppy imitation of the erotic.

“How would you like me? Lying down, or standing before the bed? Something else?”

Less intimidating on his back, but perhaps more exciting towering above me… “I’m not sure.”

“I think you will feel most in control if I lie down.”

I nodded. “That sounds wise.”

Didier and I swapped places, and as I set the glass aside and knelt between his legs, the reality of the moment set my heart racing. He was the only man I could imagine doing this to. Beautiful beyond reason and aware of his looks, even profiting from them…but no smugness. No
getting his way
. This was my way, pure and simple. I don’t care if that makes me selfish or cowardly. It feels safe. And I need
safe
to get off as surely as others merely need
horny
.

Below me, Didier cupped his cock through his wet shorts, the touch patient and seductive. I touched him myself, running my hands over his hard belly with its exceptional muscles, then his broad thighs.

“Let me see,” I whispered.

He tucked a thumb inside his shorts and pushed them down.

“I’m nervous.”

“And I’m just a man,” he said. “I want only what you do.”

I was tempted to correct him, to tell him he’s more to me. He’s my fantasy, maleness in its near-unattainable, ideal state. He’s the one I waited for, even if my delusions of once-in-a-lifetime, breathless romance wound up mutating into the more two-dimensional courtship called prostitution.

I stared down at his bare length, needing a push, the tiniest shove past hesitation.

“It excites me to be the first,” he said.

My body melted at the notion—molten, not gooey this time. Lava, not chocolate. I could smell him even before I brought my face closer. I held his thighs as I lowered, letting the scarier sensations wash over me, nothing but initial icy waves to endure en route to submersion. Submission.

“You have my word that I’m clean,” he said. “But if you want a condom I’m more than happy.”

I was torn… The good girl in me wanted to do everything right, but I also wanted the real deal, the taste of his skin and perhaps his come, not latex and lubricant. And God help me if it makes me a fool, but Didier’s word was enough.

“I want you bare.”

“Then that is how you’ll have me. Get comfortable.” His directive was kind, though also a touch devious if I wasn’t mistaken.

Reclining on my hip, I propped my elbow beside him, sliding my hand under the small of his back. Heat seemed to roll off him, hot enough to ripple the air. Didier took my other hand and wrapped it around the base of his cock, holding it there gently. His head no more than three inches from my lips…

He waited while my dramatic pause turned to hesitance, hesitance to misgiving.

“Too much?” he asked. “Too soon?”

I met his gaze. “No, I don’t think so. Just at the edge of the diving board, you know?”

“You need a push, I’m sensing?”

I laughed faintly. “Probably.”

He let my hand go, smoothing a rogue curl behind my ear before resting his palm on my neck. “Taste me.”

Ah, blessed nudge. I brought my mouth to him, the smooth, hot skin of his head grazing my lower lip. He smelled like sex—a scent so exactly its own, I could never have guessed it. His soap and skin, his sweat, his sheets, beeswax, the kiss of wine still lingering on my tongue. It was as unique and raw as hide or soil or grass, perfect and potent.

Warm fingers traced my jaw. “Open your mouth, Caroly.”

Oh, that was it. The push, the plunge, all my stalling swallowed by the blessed deep.

I parted my lips and kissed him. The tiniest sweep of my tongue, then a bit more. A glorious noise brightened the dim room, the involuntary sigh of an excited man.
My
excited man, for the evening. Until that sigh I hadn’t been sure who all this was for, but suddenly it was about more than me and my checkboxes and lessons. I wanted to pleasure him. I didn’t want to know merely how to suck cock, but how to suck
his
.

“Tell me what you like,” I murmured.

“Many things. Stroke me, and learn what feels right in your mouth. Learn how far is too far.”

I did as he said. I gave his shaft slow, artless pulls as my mouth found its way. It was harder than I’d expected. I knew to keep my teeth covered, to suck but not too hard. I was learning to swim—the rhythm, how to breathe, how to coordinate my hand, my tongue, my lips, my lungs. It was frustrating. But high-schoolers can do this, for better or worse. Surely I can too.

“Don’t be afraid to rely on your hand, if you need to rest.”

I nodded. My throat felt tight from disappointment, because I had always hoped that if I found a man I deemed deserving of this, I’d discover I was a phenom.

I’m not.

And I didn’t feel what I’d so hoped I would, with the right man—comfort. I felt small and fearful. I felt I was failing, and for the second time since we’d entered this room, tears were percolating. My jaw ached, as it always did when I was about to cry.

He gently drew my face away and coaxed my fingers from him, letting his underwear ride up to hide his cock.

He patted the covers beside him. “Come here.”

Already crumbling, I complied. He urged me onto my side, facing the wall, and wrapped a strong arm around my middle. Kisses peppered my neck and ear, unspeakably tender.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Everything’s been easier than I’d hoped, until just now.”

“What did you feel?”

My airway was so closed up, I could hardly swallow. “I don’t know. Panic. About failing.”

“You thought it would feel different?”

“I thought… I hoped I’d be better at it. A natural, I guess. As dumb as that sounds.”

Another sweet press of his lips, just behind my ear. “For whose benefit?”

“Yours. And for my ego, probably.”

“What you can offer me is more intimate and special than discovering you are some great talent at this. There is no one else I know of, and will likely ever meet again, who can offer me your uncertainty. Your innocence, to perhaps risk patronizing you. I do not expect or want you to be perfect. So take me out of that equation, if it helps.”

A huge tear rolled across the bridge of my nose, dropping onto his pillowcase. “I think it does. But I don’t know… I wasn’t expecting to panic. Not with you.”

“I’m no magic spell,” he whispered. “There’s nothing about me that should make you think we’re more than what we are.”

His words perplexed me,
scared
me at first.

“We are two people getting to know each other,” he went on, restarting my heart. “Two people who are fond of one another, attracted to one another. I like you vulnerable.” I heard the smile in his deep voice. “I don’t want to upset you by any means, but it touches me, to be here as you figure these things out. If you have any fear that I’m seeking perfection from you, and that you stand any chance in hell of ever disappointing me, please dismiss it. You can only be perfect in your intentions. Do not worry about the performance.”

“Really?”

“Really. I may be your teacher in some ways, but trust me, there are no marks. No exam.”

“No pop quiz?”

A tiny laugh. “No, no quiz. Just two people in this bed together. Two new friends, on their way to lovers. Okay?”

I nodded.

“Let’s give that a rest, though, for tonight.”

“Probably wise. Maybe you’re on to something, saving that for last.”

I felt him shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe this simply was not the night for it. When you want to try a second time, that is when we try a second time.”

“Right.” Bless him. If not for that lazy philosophy, I’d surely have stigmatized myself, let the act grow to looming proportions in my mind. But he’s right. Some other night, that’s all.

“I’d still like to…do things. I’d like to make you come,” I mumbled. “Or watch, at least.”

“Not because you feel you should, I trust.”

“No, because I want to.”

“Good. Whenever you’re ready. Do you want another glass of wine, a break from this room?”

I twisted myself around to face him, our noses nearly brushing. “No, it’s nice in here.”

He kissed me, soft to start. It told my pulse to slow, my breaths to deepen, my mind to quiet. He reduced us to two mouths, two bodies in this tiny corner of Paris. He fit us together like gears in a pocket watch and shut its shell, hearts ticking in time, safe in the dark.

Before long, my nerves were gone. Excitement came back and just as he’d promised, my earlier shortcoming was reduced to a little slip, a case of the wrong moment. This new moment eclipsed the lousy one and my body warmed through, itchy to be nearer to him. I lay my thigh over his, thrilling as he held me close by the hip. His body felt hard and almost excruciating male against my softness—chest to chest, belly to belly.

I spoke against his lips. “You feel good.”

“So do you… I’d like to touch you. If you’ll let me.”

The gentle request made me shiver, hot as a barked order. “We can try that.”

“Turn over.”

I did, settling my back against his front, only the slightest bit embarrassed to feel his erection against my butt. He palmed my breast first, filling my chest with stifling warmth and quickening my breaths. It’s a peculiar erogenous zone, for me at least. It can go either way, sexy or unnerving, but I liked how his touch felt, the faint squeeze of his broad palm far nicer than pinching or tweaking or some such. The lace had gone damp with perspiration from one or both of us, and my nipple perked, exquisitely sensitive. He brushed his palm over it, soft as a whisper. The friction lit me as I hadn’t known it could, connecting my breast to my pussy like an electrical impulse. It sizzled. No other word for it.

“Wow.”

“Good wow?” he asked.