Reversal:Curio Vignettes 03(6)

By: Cara McKenna



Her cheek is velvet against my palm, lips tart with wine. My fingers seek her hair, my tongue her tongue. I feel her stiffen with excitement then soften in a breath. Her mouth welcomes mine and cool, slender fingers slip inside my sleeve to cup my shoulder. Blood pulses through me, its quickness nothing to do with fear, finally. My cock wakes, eager. Hungry.

I whisper against her lips. “Let me take you to bed.” Let me get lost in you, in a place I could navigate blindfolded.

She doesn’t reply in words but stands and takes my hand. I let her lead me to the dark bedroom, but I won’t be led for long. Not tonight, when I need so badly to feel capable. As we cross the threshold I push her toward the bed, a firm hand against the small of her back. She shoots a mischievous glance over her shoulder then pauses to tie one of the curtains to the canopy post. I peel my shirt away as she sits and we push our shoes off. She reaches for an earring.

“Don’t,” I say. Anything that’s to come off that fascinating body, I’ll be the one to remove it. I tell her as much with my eyes, and she laces her fingers obediently in her lap with a little smirk.

Heat fills me from my toes, rising upward with licking flames. I’ve left Didier outside the door with his precious disorder. Here in this room I’m a different man, a better one. One deserving of that smirk, those hands, that mouth, the secret place between her legs where only I’ve ever been allowed. That final thought swells my cock so hard and hot it hurts. Just the brush of my hand as I open my buckle sucks the breath from my lungs.

Socks and pants are kicked aside and I join her in my underwear, my readiness surely plain even in the faint light that leaks in from the hall. She’s eager as well, palms roaming my sides and hips as I roll her onto her back, drive up her skirt with my knees. I slide my arms beneath her, bury my face against her neck, breathe in that vanilla-amber scent and her skin underneath it, her hair, her sweat. The July heat’s made her warm and soft and ripe. I’ll tease her with my mouth, taste that juice no other man has ever sampled. I’ll drink her down for as long as she’ll let me, feeling her fingers clutching my hair and imagining she owns me.

I brace myself on my elbows and bring my hips low, grazing my erection between her thighs through two thin taunting layers. Nails scrape softly over my shoulders and down my arms, and she leans up just a moment to nip at my lower lip. I reward her eagerness with an explicit stroke, drawing my length along the soft cleft of her sex. Approving hands seek my backside, kneading. Begging.

Already I can feel her growing wet, the way the fabric catches between us.

“Tell me what you want tonight,” I say.

“I want to make you feel good.”

“Then let me do whatever I like.” Before the words are even out I’m moving down her body, already anticipating her taste, the pulse of her swollen flesh between my lips. I sit back on my heels and trail my fingertips over her top, her skirt. Her inner thighs are soft as the cotton, as smooth as the satin. My thumbs find the border of her panties, a tease of lace. A hand cups my heart, squeezing, coaxing the blood through my veins in heady bursts. I crave the same treatment for my cock from her actual fist, but it’ll have to wait. I’ll get lost in Caroly’s pleasure for hours, block out the bad memories of the day.

I hook a finger under the strip of fabric between her thighs, draw it up and down so my knuckle strokes her lips, making promises. Her own hand moves to join mine. I expect her to push her panties down, but instead her fingers close around my wrist.

“No,” she says.

A word I’ve rarely heard her utter in this room, curious pupil that she is.

I move my hand to her hip and meet her gaze. “No?”

Sitting up, she shakes her head, smoothes her skirt over her legs, strokes my hair. “I know what you want.” Her voice is thick with arousal. “To please me.”

“Always.”

“But I know what it does for you. I don’t want to be one of your clocks, Didier.”

I frown.

“I don’t want to be some space you escape inside to get out of your head. I don’t…” She sighs and looks around. After a long moment, she rises to tie the other three drapes to the bedposts. Then she’s at the window. She flings the curtains aside, revealing all those buildings under the darkening sky, the sunset winking pink and gold from their west-facing windows. My pulse races as I remember how it felt to be lost in that maze mere hours ago. My role dissolves and I feel like myself again—an ugly sensation.

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