Free Your Desire by Francis Drake, Dee S. Knight

man had ever interested her enough to make her want to change her attitude. The men she worked with hadn’t wanted a relationship with her except in the most primal sense—where they, of course, had the control. Not for her, thanks. The least she’d settle for was equality of power.
    She could have had that with some of her previous lovers, she supposed. None of them had been involved with her firm directly, and so there’d been some freedom for her give in to the wantonness that lay below her controlled exterior. But she hadn’t wanted to. Deep inside she’d felt the desire to let go though, and that’s what Kailen tapped into. Tapped into, drilled into, drove into… As the metaphors came to mind, heat flared between her legs.
    Taking a breath, she pulled herself toward the edge of the bed, sliding from under his arm. He made an effort to hold her, wrinkling his face and grunting as his fingers scrabbled for her body, but he didn’t waken. When what he searched for wasn’t there, he pulled his hand up under his chin and began snoring again.
    Derica found the bathroom and relieved herself, then examined her reflection in the mirror over the sink. After their session of sex late in the afternoon, they’d fallen asleep only to waken hungry for each other hours later. That sequence repeated itself early in the morning, when she’d brought him to life with her mouth and ridden him to climax minutes later.
    Neither food nor drink had entered her mind since arriving, and if they’d occurred to Kailen, he hadn’t indicated it. Instead, only sex and sleep, then more sex, had occupied her consciousness. The alley cat analogy came to mind again, especially when she remembered the gleam in his eyes when she’d looked over her shoulder at him, her ass stuck in the air, an invitation to do whatever he wanted. Oh, she’d felt wild. She wanted to be wild again.
    Despite the interrupted sleep she looked refreshed, rested. Content, even. Like a woman well-used. She smiled at her reflection, knowing she had given as good as she got.
    Tempted to go back to bed and wake him, she fought the urge. Her body cried for a different type of relief, and she decided to make coffee and see what Kailen had in the fridge.
    Tiptoeing from the bathroom, she saw a shirt thrown across a chair near the bed. Like the one he’d worn the previous afternoon, this one was denim, but without the spatters of paint. She slipped it on and was immediately engulfed in his scent: musk, light sweat and a hint of oil paint. No other man in the world smelled like Kailen, and for a moment she was overpowered, feeling his hands on her body and the brush of his tongue on her clit. The intensity nearly robbed her of breath.
    She buttoned the shirt and rolled up the sleeves, then left Kailen in bed while she went to explore his home.
    Coffee was easy to find, and she started a pot brewing. The loft was surprisingly warm, even so early and with the primarily northern exposure, and she was comfortable wandering around in her bare feet and half-dressed. In a pantry, she found a trash can and loaded it with the pizza boxes and empty cans that littered the table, then she rinsed the dishes left in the sink and stacked them in the dishwasher. Nodding approval, she noted the kitchen looked clean and neat.
    With a steaming cup of coffee she walked through the rest of the loft. When she’d passed through the previous afternoon, clutter seemed to be everywhere. Upon more careful examination, she saw that clutter was all it was. The loft was as clean as her apartment. It was simply layered with … things. Clothes, books, empty cups—it was all there, in the living quarters. Only the studio was scrupulously neat, with everything in a particular niche.
    The early morning light lent a touch of mystery to paintings stacked against one of the walls. Squatting, she looked at each, pulling a canvas forward to lean on her knee as she examined the one behind it.
    She recognized