by Cara McKenna
“A clock.” He turned the brass box around in his hands, twisted its winder and opened its glass front. “This is fantastic, thank you.” He smiled right at me, a new smile I’d never seen from him before. No mystery now, only delight. My heart felt hot and swollen.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
“I do.” He pressed it to his ear.
“It doesn’t work.”
His smile deepened. “Even better. I’m sure I’ll spend many hours with my silly monocle and my tweezers, dissecting this.”
I watched him examining it for a few moments longer, overwhelmed by how potent my pleasure was. The thought that he’d busy himself with the gift in my absence, perhaps even associate me with whatever fascination it brought him… It felt better than any physical touch, any carnal indulgence.
He set the clock on top of his cabinet and fussed with the angle. “Wonderful.”
I was inclined to agree. “I wanted to buy you a fish, but I know you said that might depress you.”
He returned to me, taking my elbows in his hands. “You’re very kind.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead, dissolving all my bones.
“Well, you’re very welcome.”
“You’ve spoiled me, and now I hope you will let me spoil you.”
“I suspect I will.” I suspected, too, that tonight was the night. The new knowledge that I wasn’t a natural-born cocksucker only stung the tiniest bit, and I was ready to jump back into my education, head-first.
Er, make that sex-first. Head some other night, perhaps.
“Are you hungry?”
I nodded. “Are you cooking?” I held my breath, waiting for a no—for an invitation to go downstairs, to grab dinner at a restaurant and be seen with Didier by the world.
“I am.”
A mental sigh. Not that being catered to by this fine man was anything to feel disappointed about. Plus knowing my luck, Ania or Paulette would walk by the restaurant window and spot us, and my reign as the demure, gossip-proof member of my small social circle would come to a dramatic close.
Didier made us a delicious meal and shared with me an extraordinary bottle of…cabernet? I can never tell. Some kind of hard-to-pronounce dry red. We spoke about my workday and a new exhibit that was opening next week at the museum, and when the conversation lagged in its comfortable way, my mind wandered.
Didier was wearing a thermal-type knit top with a generous neck, not quite a scoop; a look only a European male model can pull off. Though I wouldn’t have minded pulling it off myself, right up over his head. The sleeves were pushed to his elbows and I studied his bare skin and his collarbone, his dark stubble. This man with all of his extraordinary nuances… He could be above me, before the night was over. I could leave here calling him my lover.
“You’re very quiet,” he said, tapping my forearm. “What are you thinking of?”
“About tonight.”
“Me too. Come.”
He says that a lot—come. A very interesting order. Or in the case of Sunday evening, a plea. Whatever its meaning, I’m happy to comply. I took our glasses and he grabbed the bottle and I followed him to the living room. As we sat on the settee, the wind rattled the old panes behind us.
“So you think tonight may be the night?”
I nodded. “I’d like it to be.”
“I would like that too. Have you thought about how you might wish it to feel? Aggressive, gentle? Romantic?”
I think it’s fair to say I’d given it a ridiculous amount of thought, easily a hundred hours’ theorizing in the past week. The previous evening I’d lay in bed for ages, fantasizing about Didier and running through every scenario, sweet and nasty alike, that crossed my overheated mind.
“Whenever I imagine it,” I said, “I think about you. What you’re doing. More than I need it to be, you know, satisfying, I want it to be hot. I care about that more than I care about coming, I guess is what I’m trying to say.”
“You’d like a show?”
I laughed. “Sounds that way. Sorry, I’m not explaining it very well. When I fantasize about sex, it’s usually just about the man. I’m not usually there in my fantasies.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “That’s always how my brain has worked with sex.”
“You really do fear rejection.”
“I really do.”
“Well, we are not in your mind tonight. Before you know it we’ll be in my bed. I don’t know what you’re picturing, but usually for two people to have sex, they both need to be present.”
I rolled my eyes at the tease. “Of course.”
“But I think I understand what you’re saying.”
“That makes one of us.”
“And how do you want me?” he asked.
“Really…worked up. And aggressive, I think, but not mean. Just sort of desperate. Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely. I can be that way.”
I sipped my wine. “How do most women like you to be?”
“They like many different things. Sometimes they wish to order me around. But far more often, they want to be the one who’s dominated.”
“And you like doing that?”
“As I said, I like pleasing women. I can be cruel, if that is what’s desired of me.”
“Does anyone ever just want to pretend you’re their boyfriend?”
“Yes, sometimes. That is how many dates begin. With a meal or a drink, just as you and I have done. Talking leads to kissing, leads to bed.”
“Do you… Are any of your clients married?”
He nodded. “I imagine so.”
“Oh. How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t.”
His answer gave me pause, but he went on.
“My world is very small, and when I’m with a woman, I think it is my job to reduce that even further, to the space between her and I. It is my job to be someone’s fantasy. And unless they, like you, wish to question me about reality, I give it no thought. For as long as someone is here with me, reality is just whatever happens between our two bodies.”
“You aren’t bothered that you might be helping a woman cheat on someone else?”
“That is not my job, to be bothered. And to be frank, that is a very American kind of guilt.” He smiled at me.
“I know. I was just curious.”
“It is not my job to ask questions.”
“Does it bother you that I ask so many?”
He shook his head. “It’s a nice change, to have someone so interested in what goes on in my head. I so often play the role of the seducer, it’s flattering to think that maybe I’m interesting to you beyond all that.”
“You are. Very much.” A thought I’d turned around in my head the past few days popped through my lips. “Has a woman ever asked you to get her pregnant?” He’s certainly the man I’d turn to if I needed some genes.
“That has happened.”
“What did you do?”
He laughed. “I said no. How on earth could I say yes?”
“Of course. That would be complicated.”
Didier took a deep breath, gaze focused on the table or our empty glasses. “I’m not capable of being any woman’s husband, certainly not a child’s father. Even if my presence weren’t desired, I would not be able to live with the anxiety of knowing such a child were out there, and that should I one day be needed, I wouldn’t be able to do what is required of me. Of a father.”
“Because you’re not willing to be that emotionally invested, or…?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
For the first time, I could sense that Didier was not eager to answer my questions, so I let it drop. I felt torn about the idea. On the one hand, what a waste that such a passionate and beautiful man would never be some lucky woman’s husband. A shame for both her and him, because I truly believe he’s a good person who deserves happiness…not that happiness can’t exist without marriage or family. My father co
uld attest to the miseries marriage can reap.
On the other hand, Didier’s insistence that he could never commit to someone means I can’t feel jealous at the idea of him belonging to anyone else, for keeps. A prettier, smarter, warmer, worthier woman than me. I frowned as my ugly, familiar thought patterns intruded.
He leaned close, pulling me out of my head. “Have I said something wrong?”
“No, I was just thinking about things. You’re fine.”
My heart raced as he put his fingers to my temple and drew his thumb across my forehead. “I do not like to be the reason you wrinkle your brow this way.”
I laughed. “You’re not. But I suppose we’re a little bit the same, the way we think about commitment. I don’t think I’m cut out for it either.”
He swept his lips against mine, whisper-soft. “Then it is very convenient that this is where we find ourselves, for now.”
“Yes.”
He kissed me, brief and tender.
“I’m ready to have sex with you,” I mumbled. “Tonight.”
“It will happen if it is meant to happen.”
I nodded.
“Would you like to go to my bed and kiss?”
“Yes, that sounds nice.”
He stood and took my hand, led me to that wondrous dark room. Our room, for the evening.
“Candles?” he asked as I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Please.”
He came back shortly with the table and its many pillars, and lit them one by one. Each flame brought more details to the room. The texture of the bedspread I’d lose my virginity beneath or on top of, the glint of bottles, the face of the man I’d chosen for this occasion.
Once the room was aglow, Didier took a seat beside me on his bed. No more questions. He kissed me, neither timid nor forceful, with perfect confidence and ease. The simple fact that I knew how to kiss him back was thrilling beyond words.
Soon we were on our sides, legs tangled, hands grasping. I remembered the moments from Sunday when I’d had him on the brink, graceless with desire. That was my only requirement. I needed Didier half-insane with lust when he took me.
I slung my thigh over his hip, and just as I’d hoped, he was hard. I rubbed against him and the reaction I earned was unexpected—a deep moan, a fundamental shift in how he felt. He rolled me onto my back, breathing harsh, eyes wild.
Things started happening very quickly. Shirts were wrestled away, my skirt stripped, his pants kicked aside, belt buckle jangling to the floor. Socks and underwear and my jewelry were shed until it was just two panting animals atop his covers.
Awareness set in. Not panic—clarity.
I was naked. He was naked. There was a naked, gorgeous, aroused man braced above me, knees between mine, hard cock at the ready. I’d always dreamed but never quite dared to hope that such a man might be the one to do this with me for the first time. Now that it was actually happening, I felt such a potent flash of gratitude I thought I might cry.
Everything about him was right—his chest hair, the smell of his skin, the weight of him, his soft voice and hard muscle. This was how it was meant to happen. I’d waited just shy of thirty years to arrive here with this exact man, and if the tenement blew down before he took me, I’d wait another thirty for such a perfect moment.
With a warm, possessive palm on my hipbone, he swept the head of his cock along my lips, slicking wetness over my clit.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Can we go really slow?”
“As slow as you wish.”
“Then I think I’m ready.”
He nodded and leaned over to take a condom from the bedside table, sat back on his haunches to open it. The scent of latex was out of place in this drafty garret, with its pretty glass bottles of oil and carriage clocks and carved bedposts.
I watched him roll the condom down his thick length, slow and practiced. It was a far sexier moment than I’d guessed, less a sobering intrusion of etiquette than a gesture of affection. Respect. It didn’t detract from the atmosphere at all, only made it more real.
“This is how you want me?” he asked. “Above you?”
“Yeah.”
“This is how I imagined it too.” He lowered again, bracing his arms tight against my sides, just as I’d fantasized.
“You’ve thought about it?”
He smiled. “Of course. It’s exciting, being your first. This is special for me as well. But if that feels too personal, I won’t make a big deal of it.”
“No, I don’t mind.” I didn’t mind at all. The only thing that could’ve made losing my virginity to Didier any better would’ve been believing the act meant something to him beyond another greedy woman in his bed, another night’s work.
“Bring your legs up,” he said softly.
I hugged my knees to his thighs and he reached between us to grasp his cock.
“Ready?”
“I’m ready.”
The moment arrived. The head of his cock pressed at my entrance, feeling far different than his fingers. Scarier and sexier at once.
“Breathe,” he whispered, backing off.
Right, yes, that. I did my best to relax, knowing it might be the key to a pleasurable first time versus a painful one. I stared at the cock intended for the task. Ambitious. I imagined him disappearing inside me and the lust grew, crowding out all nervous thoughts.
“Good.” Didier’s knuckles brushed my clit as he guided his crown between my lips once more.
A push. A twinge, but not the one I’d anticipated—too deep to be my hymen, and more like a cramp than anything being torn. I held Didier’s arms, needed to feel grounded in him. “More.”
Another inch and a strange new sensation. Fullness is too stupid a word. It felt like violation, only nicer… A lovely, thrilling intrusion. He gave me more and the pain arrived, a mean cramp and the small, unmistakable sensation of something surrendering in my body, welcoming him deeper.
My sharp “Ooh” gave him pause.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Just a cramp. It’ll pass.”
He was still and steady as I waited for the pain to fade. I watched him, the swell of his abdomen as he breathed, the patient, dark expression on his face. And his cock, half buried in me, obscured by his hand. Jesus, what a man.
“It’s going,” I said.
“Good. Whenever you’re ready.”
I stroked his arms, sinking back into the mood of this moment. “How does it feel for you? How do I feel?”
A grin—shy, if I wasn’t mistaken. Cute. “You feel wonderful. Warm… Your body feels hesitant,” he added, “just like your heart.”
I smiled at that.
“More?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He withdrew first then slid back inside, infinitely easier than before. “You’re very wet.”
“Because I want you. And this.” I aimed my gaze between our bodies.
Didier pushed again, another inch intensifying that feeling of intrusion. No cramps came and I relaxed further. The exotic slide of his body inside mine as he withdrew, the intoxicating pressure as he claimed me again…
Oh my.
I was having sex.
“Bring your knees up, if you can.” He urged my calves higher and I raised them to his waist. When he thrust again it felt entirely different—smooth and easy. His muttered “Yes” sent a happy shiver all through my body.
He set a slow pace, taking me a little deeper with each push, until at long last our bodies met, utterly. He dropped to his elbows, burying his face against my neck and letting me wallow in him. This strong, big man momentarily weak. I combed my fingers through his hair, suddenly the reassuring one. I felt his cock…the heat of his skin against my lips, even the faint pulsing of his hard flesh inside me. Tick, tick, tick, a clock counting down to whatever was to come.
His head came up and he stared into my eyes. Something burned there. Something male and primal that made me high. Fuck feminism. I’d stay mono
gamous to him the rest of my life if it meant I might get to see this look again, be made to feel I was his sole possession. His territory. Whatever might make his eyes narrow at another man who wandered too close, whatever set a growl humming in his throat.
Enough with the gentle deflowering. I wanted to get fucked. “Take me.”
He straightened his arms and edged his hips closer, spreading my thighs even wider. Still slow, he began to thrust again. For a minute or two I merely watched, recording it all in my mind, these new sights and scents and feelings. I hesitated before sliding a hand between us. I didn’t want this to be about me coming, or to stress myself out by trying too hard to make it happen. But what if I could? And not just for my own pleasure, but for his… How smug could I make this man?
I circled my clit with the pads of two fingers, and it was extraordinary. Far different with Didier inside me. Everything felt taut and intensified. I glanced to his table.
“Yes? Do you need something?”
“Just a little of the oil.”
“Not with the condom. Here.” He pulled out, leaving my body cold and hungry as he grabbed a smaller bottle. I put my hand out and he dripped slippery liquid onto my fingertips.
I waited until he’d replaced the bottle before touching myself. As he slid deep, I teased my clit with the lube.
His dark eyes took it all in.
“Caroly.” Brows drawn, cheeks flushed, a vein rising along his neck. Didier is even more perfect when he’s a mess. “Do you think you could…?”
“Come? I’m not sure, but I’ll try.”
He nodded.
“You feel wonderful,” I said. “It doesn’t hurt at all. Feel free to take me however you want.”
His lips parted with words that never came. If he felt as I did, he held those thoughts back because they were too loaded, too tender for people in our complex position to share. I ached to tell him any number of inappropriately earnest things. Our bodies would have to express the feelings too risky to utter aloud.
He took me faster. Not rough, not yet, but the speed was enough to tell me I’d like that…a forceful man. I abandoned my clit to wrap my thumb and finger around his cock, at my lips. I measured him, objectified his heat and stiffness. As I went back to touching myself, his thrusts grew harsher.
