Free Curio by Cara McKenna

you the other night. Thinking of you made me hard then, just as your touch does so now.” He was quiet for several strokes, save his labored breaths. “Do you like it?”
    “Yeah.” Bolder, I wrapped my hand around him as much as possible through his slacks, squeezing to discover how thick he was. He moaned and I felt different, as I never had before—powerful and beautiful and wild.
    “I’m the first,” he murmured.
    The idea that he was fetishizing this experience gave me permission to do the same. I’d already grown quite fond of Didier—surely fonder than was rational, given our perhaps six cumulative hours of acquaintance—but reducing him to a stiff, suffering cock was electrifying. I’d always loathed this idea, openly lavishing a beautiful man with my admiration. As if such a fortunate specimen deserves more validation. But of course it felt nothing like that with Didier. I adored this glimpse into another side of him, a darker, cockier version of the man I was just coming to know.
    “Kiss me,” I said.
    He did. He turned and kissed me as no one ever had before, urgent and demanding. I ached for his hand on top of mine again, dictating—perhaps even forcing —the friction. But I was in charge. I imagined teasing him this way until he begged to be taken out and given release. I imagined denying such a request, degrading him with my refusal until he lost control, quaking and pleading and erupting beneath my hand, inside his clothes, perspiration shining on his forehead.
    But of course I wasn’t ready for that. Indulging the idea was breakthrough enough. Having a hard cock against my palm and Didier’s mouth on mine, the sensations feeling so natural… That was enough.
    Everything was different now. More real. He was as horny as he had been controlled our first night together. And here I was, pursuing his body instead of having it offered. The fact that he was still dressed was a change in itself. Wicked fantasies aside, he felt alarmingly like my boyfriend, and the idea turned me on far more than it should have.
    “What do you want?” I asked. I realized how backward the question was as it came out.
    Didier surprised me with his answer. Our first evening he’d have turned it back on me, asked what I wanted, but this evening…
    “Want to touch you.”
    I’d been nervous about such a thing, but far more potent than my anxiety was the pleasure of being at the heart of Didier’s desperation.
    “Okay.”
    His eyes met mine, and the neediness fogging them was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. “Show me what I can have,” he murmured.
    I shifted, still stroking his hard cock through his soft pants. I took his wrist with my other hand and placed his palm on my collarbone. His skin was warm, and though he’d touched my face and neck before when we kissed, this felt very intimate, only a few inches lower.
    “Touch where you want to,” I whispered. “If it’s too much, I’ll stop you.”
    He kneaded my shoulder and stroked my upper arm, raising goose bumps. I could sense the tension in him as he held back. I gripped his shaft tightly and he repaid me with a sharp grunt.
    “You’re different tonight,” I told him.
    “Is it too much?”
    “No, I like it.”
    “The way you’re touching me… You feel different as well. It finally feels as if you own me. That you know you can take, instead of requesting.”
    “Do you like that? Feeling owned?”
    “I do. Especially with a woman who comes to me so unsure.”
    I imagined pushing him back against the arm of the couch, opening his pants and taking him with my mouth. How he’d moan and pant, and the weight of his strong hands on my head or shoulders. Then I recalled what he’d said, about oral being more intimate to him than intercourse.
    But if I couldn’t rush that act, I’d at least taunt him with it.
    “I keep wondering what it would be like to taste you.”
    His hand clasped my arm tighter and he made a noise, as though a gasp had