by Cara McKenna
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.
“Yes. Very.”
For a long minute he spoiled me with the caress, until I was flushed all over, actually, literally panting.
“I would like to go further,” Didier whispered.
“Go ahead.” I was so fever-stricken, he could have done anything and I’d have been helpless to resist.
As his hand slid down my ribs, he kissed my ear. I’d never understood how that could be sexy to anyone, but fuck. I’d also never known the heaven of a man’s deep breathing so close, his hot breath, the tiny noises of his lips moving as he tastes your skin.
He slid his thumb under the side of my panties, pushing them down my hip. I got them the rest of the way off and he coaxed my legs open, slipping his knee between mine. The air was cool and dry against my swollen sex. For a few moments he touched my thigh and hip, then my lower belly, my mound.
I’d been torn about the state of things down there, annoyed by the idea of waxing or shaving but not so adamant that I’d been willing to go completely natural. A trim in the privacy of my bathroom was what I’d settled for, and as his palm grazed me, the contact prickl
ed. I muttered his name.
Two fingers slipped lower, glancing my clit. I tensed against him, from pleasure alone. Another touch, another, then lower. He traced my lips, already slick. It filled me with pride for him to find me this way.
“More?”
“Yes.”
He teased my clit with a few light strokes then parted my folds. The edges of his fingers to start, then deeper. The most I’ve ever been penetrated, outside the doctor’s office.
“No man has touched you this way before?”
All his questions…before I’d thought it was mere courtesy. But he knows the answer. He wants to hear it again. He’s objectifying me the way I do him, and it’s a wonderful sensation.
“No, never.”
“You’re so soft.” He slid his finger out, then deeper, the pad of his hand rubbing my clit. I bucked, earning a happy noise at my ear. I know his cock will feel nothing like this, but I let myself imagine it. He could so easily have me, right now. Push his shorts down and slide his cock between my thighs and be my first. Tempting. I thought of his mouth, his tongue.
“Didier.”
“It feels good?”
I nodded.
“I am imagining how it would be, taking you.”
“Me too,” I said.
“So warm.” Drenched from me, his fingers slid back to my clit and I gasped. “Do you think I could make you come?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“May I try?”
“Please.”
“Like this?” He moved his fingertips in tight, light circles.
“A little harder.”
More pressure, and in seconds I felt the blood pounding, that gorgeous, angry, desperate feeling mounting against his touch. He fidgeted behind me, erection brushing my butt. Jesus, the things I’d do to that cock if he let me come… I pictured it from Thursday night, shining with oil, dripping with lather, erupting against his stomach.
The frenzy doubled. “Oh fuck.”
His hard arm locked tight to my side, muscles tensing with his strokes. “You’re close?”
I grunted a senseless, “Yuh.”
“Caroly, please.” Fuck, those lips on my neck. “Please.”
I reached behind me, grasping for any bit of him I could get and finding his shoulder. I rubbed maniacally at his damp skin as the pleasure crescendoed, rising, rising, rising until I lost my mind. I think I kicked. I’m sure I groaned, perhaps even swore. The climax was like none I’d ever had, because I wasn’t controlling it. The first orgasm I’d been given, and it reduced me to mush, a pile of wobbly woman trembling against his still fingers. My lungs heaved as though I’d sprinted a mile, chased by a lion.
Didier moved his talented, wonderful, miraculous fingers to my ribs, kissing my jaw. I could feel his happiness and pride, nearly as pleasurable as my orgasm.
“Thank you,” I sighed.
“Thank you.”
A wicked, selfish idea struck. “I want to watch you again.”
“Of course.”
“In front of me, on your knees.”
I took his place against the center pillows and he did as I asked, straddling one of my calves. He pushed his shorts to his thighs, and as he gripped his stiff length, I touched my clit. His lips parted, a look of dark excitement passing over his face. He stroked himself as I rubbed my clit, and it felt like nothing I could have predicted, having his eyes on me. My pleasure rose anew, my second release nearly always a given. Plus I wasn’t done hypothesizing… He’d drop forward, bracing his arms at my side. One clean, gruff push and he’d be inside me, and I’d feel… Full? Ecstatic? Drunk? Complete? I’d be the thing making him moan, not his fist, certainly no other woman, not until he was done with me. He’d hammer his body into mine until he came apart, pushed so deep we’d fuse into one sweaty, happy whole.
In the end, it was that last thought, the most romantic of the bunch, that tipped me over. I came with my eyes wide open, locked on his naked body. He’s the one, I thought idly. I wasn’t sure for what, but he was the one.
Didier’s strokes had sped right alongside mine, and by the time I recovered from my climax, he seemed on the verge of his own.
“Caroly.”
“You close?”
He nodded. “Where?” His gaze flickered over my thighs, belly, breasts, and I knew what he was asking.
“It’s fine,” I assured him. “Wherever you’d like.”
“Your hand. I want your hand.”
I sat up and he took my wrist. I let him cup my palm over his head, the warm, slick heat of his pre-come yet another first for me. Watching him masturbate, watching the way his arm trembled as he lost control… I was dizzy.
“Come,” I said.
He answered with a gasp, his back arching. His free hand held my shoulder and I stared at his biceps, his chest, the flush in his neck. I thrilled from the way he held me—tight and frantic, possessive. I wanted that hand on my shoulder when we finally fucked, tugging me into his thrusts.
“Caroly.”
Our gazes locked. I didn’t look away as he came, just stared straight into his dark eyes and memorized them. Hot come filled my palm, coated his knuckles, and I felt dirty and happy and honored to be a part of this mess, with this man. I smiled up at him.
With a final weary groan, he released my shoulder, leaving me to grab a towel from the bedside table drawer. He handed it to me first before tidying himself.
“Well,” he said as he lay beside me.
“Yes, well.”
He turned to grin at me. “So many new things tonight.”
“I was thinking that too.”
“And the night is not over.”
As he said it, I felt a yawn rising. “I think it may be over for me. That was plenty for my second evening.”
“I suppose… My, look how far we have come from the other night, you watching from behind that changing screen. At the rate we’re going, we’ll be married by morning.”
Though I laughed, his words upended me. Being teased about such a thing made me both giddy and sad. Such a wonderful but impractical, impossible scenario. This man could never be mine for keeps.
I sighed, suddenly exhausted. “I wonder what time it is.”
“Not very late. Perhaps ten, maybe earlier.”
Wow, not even my bedtime and look how much I’d accomplished! Being seen in sexy, matching underwear! Inaugural cock-touching! An orgasm at a man’s hand! Then another, just as the thrill of watching me triggered the same in him. Fellatio, if barely. I deserved a gold star.
Didier leaned close, resting his chin on my shoulder. Oh, melt.
“Are you staying the night? You’re always welcome to sleep here.”
“I know, thank you. I hope you’re not offended if I don’t. Not yet, anyhow.” I was already stripped bare emotionally, and I knew I’d wake up whiplashed by the memory of everything that had happened. Better to do that alone and not have the worries of my greasy morning complexion and nasty breath casting an anxious shadow on the moment. Though perhaps if one evening I did sleep over, I could convince Didier to come out for a coffee. Didier by my side, in the broad daylight…
After twenty minutes’ murmured fondnesses, we dressed in easy silence and he walked me to the door.
I patted his arm. “I had a wonderful time.”
“I’m so pleased. I’ll see you again?”
How I fluttered, that he thought he had to ask. “You will.”
“Would you like to choose a date now?” He touched my ear, a fond, teasing gesture. “Since you seem allergic to the telephone?”
I laughed, blushing. “Not allergic, just shy. And sure. What evenings are you free this week?”
“How about Tuesday? Or is that too soon?”
I nodded, liking the notion—an otherwise boring day, but oh, how I’d float through the rest of my work week… “That sounds fine. Seven?”
“Whenever you arrive. I’m always home.”
“Okay, great.”
I waited for the cheek-kissing, but he surprised me. A warm hand on my neck, hot lips pressed right to mine. The goodnight kiss I’d dreamed of since junior high, the one that had never hit the mark at the end of an actual date. My face burned with pleasure as he stepped back.
“Goodnight, Caroly. Have a safe journey.”
“I will. See you in a couple days.”
That roguish smile. “I will count the seconds.”
I rolled my eyes at him and waved, heading for the stairs.
He called after me. “How come you never take the lift?”
“I’m afraid of it.” Glancing over my shoulder, I saw his eyebrows rise.
“So am I.”
“Great minds,” I called.
“Indeed.”
A final wave, and I turned the corner. I counted the steps as I descended—sixty-eight. I tapped each mailbox on its glass window, smiled at every person I passed on my walk to the Metro station through the wet, good-smelling spring air.
Everything is beautiful in Paris, when you’re a young woman in lust.
Tuesday
The Third Visit
I arrived at Didier’s flat late, having gone home to change after a long workday. It was blustery out and I’d stupidly gone with a skirt, one I had to fist at my side to keep from flashing the whole of the Latin Quarter. My bobby pins lost the war with the gusting wind.
Yet when Didier answered my knock, my lateness and wild hair seemed not to register. His smile was like a door shut on a gale, calm dropping down around me, warm and easy.
“Good evening, Caroly. Come in.” He took my purse and a paper shopping bag I’d brought and set them on a table by the door.
“Evening. How was your day?”
He shrugged as he led me into the living room. “I did not wake until nearly two, so I could not tell you yet. Ask me again at the end of our date. I’m sure I will say it was just lovely.”
“I, um, brought you something.”
He turned. “Did you? What is it?”
I went to my bags and came back with the gift, swaddled in striped tissue. I handed it to Didier and watched him unwrap it, praying he couldn’t tell how much of my heart was folded inside that gauzy paper, how long I’d stood obsessing in the antique shop, debating whether or not to buy this for him. He set the tissue aside and to my great relief, his face lit up.