Night Owl (The Night Owl Trilogy)

by M. Pierce

  The air was thin and cool and smelled of pine. I felt giddy.

  "Exhilarating, right?" Matt caught my hand as we looked across a vista.

  "God, I feel like Wordsworth in the Alps!" I laughed.

  Evening's shadows fall suddenly in the mountains. One minute Matt and I were sweating on the trail, the next I was shivering and squished to his side.

  "I packed an extra fleece," he told me as we headed back to the Jeep.

  The hike and altitude sapped me. My sugar rush was crashing. Still, as we set out on the trail toward our campsite, I began to feel a very different kind of energy—the rising anticipation of Matt's touch.

  Our site was a secluded clearing surrounded by pines. I heard water rushing in the distance. Matt built a fire in the metal ring and hurried through pitching the tent. We spread foam mats under our sleeping bags.

  I don't know if I could have felt less sexy. I was sticky with sweat and bug spray and wearing old sneakers, a pair of jeans, and a t-shirt—and now an oversized black fleece.

  I perched on a rock by the fire pit. Matt stood nearby, staring into the woods. In the half-light, he looked wild—an animal that would melt into the shadows if I snapped a twig.

  Sparks whirled upward. Beyond the light of our fire, the night was cool and silent.

  "I brought food," Matt murmured. He turned his gaze down at me. His dark, hungry eyes flashed with reflected flames. "Are you hungry?"

  I shook my head.

  I didn't want to speak. I didn't want to shatter the magic of the night. My eyes traveled down Matt's body. I knew he was watching me and I looked boldly at his groin.

  "Yeah?" he whispered. He stepped closer and reached for my hair, winding my ponytail around his hand. "Suck on me, Hannah."

  I undid Matt's shorts and slid his semi-erect cock from his boxers. It swelled in my hands. I began to lick and suckle at it, taking as much as I could. I fondled Matt's balls as I sucked.

  "Oh, Hannah... baby."

  Matt was fully hard in moments. He pulled me to my feet and we undressed one another. Talk about exhilarating; standing naked in the woods with Matt made my heart rush and skip.

  The heat of the fire baked my legs. The chill of the evening hardened my nipples.

  I knew we were alone, and yet I felt like we were on a stage. I felt as if the impenetrable darkness were filled with eyes.

  Matt kissed me, trapping his cock between us. I stroked his muscled body and rocked into the hard organ, making him moan.

  "Hannah," he sighed. "Hannah..."

  I loved the way he said my name. I loved the hundreds of flavors of his voice.

  I hooked my hands over his shoulders and climbed onto him. He lifted me easily, gripping my thighs. He lowered me onto his cock.

  We locked eyes as he penetrated me. The pleasure of the invasion made me wriggle against his body. God, he was letting me down so slowly. I felt each inch stretching me open.

  "Tell me about my cock," Matt whispered.

  As always, I felt disturbingly eager to please him.

  "Matt..." I wet my lips. "It... it fills me. It almost hurts, but I always want it. The whole thing. I want it inside of me."

  Matt lowered me another inch and I gasped. He had all the power in this position. I had no leverage to force myself onto his shaft.

  "Go on," he said, his voice low in deference to the night.

  "I love the taste of it," I whispered, "and the taste of your cum. When you ride me hard, I—" I moaned as Matt let me down all the way, his cock pressed up into me deeply. "Ah, god... Matt, god, I lose my mind."

  "Tell me, Hannah. Do you like it deep?"

  "Yes." I rolled my head back. I felt secure clinging to Matt. He would never let me fall.

  I wished suddenly, desperately, to be both myself and a spectator. I wanted to see Matt holding me in the firelight, his feet planted firmly on the earth, his strong thighs and buttocks tensed. And myself, wound around him, our bodies locked together intimately.

  We were night and day. Gold-skinned and pale. Fair-haired and dark. Tall and short. Lean and lush. And Matt was so ample between his legs, where I was so small.

  "You almost hurt me, too," Matt whispered. "So tight, Hannah. But you get so wet and let me in. My body—"

  Matt lifted and lowered me minutely and bucked his hips as he did, bouncing me on an inch of his cock. I groaned and bit his shoulder. He breathed raggedly into my hair.

  "T-tell me," I stammered.

  "My body... craves your body." Matt bounced me again and we moaned together. "It f-feels the distance... when we're apart. Hannah, I can't be apart from you."

  "You never have to be," I said.

  I shifted to get a look at Matt. Each motion of my thighs and spine made the muscles of my sex clamp at Matt's shaft. Pleasure trilled through me. God, I could come like this, but I needed Matt to see my sincerity.

  Matt caught my gaze and searched it.

  "Hannah, god," he whispered. He began to bounce me steadily on his cock, his fingers digging into my bottom. He thrust from deep to deeper, again and again, and my clit ground into his pubic bone. My breasts rubbed along his chest. My hard nipples bent against his skin.

  When I came, I gasped in shock and pleasure. My sex pulled and pressed and Matt growled in my ear.

  "There's my little slut," he hissed. "Come on me, come on my cock."

  Oh, and there was the dirty boy I loved.

  Matt lifted me off his cock and set me on my feet. My legs felt watery. Moisture trickled down my inner thigh.

  He led me into the tent and I stretched out on my back. Matt climbed over me. He dragged his wet tip along my belly and smirked.

  "Still hard," he murmured. "Now you have to help me, Hannah."

  I thought Matt was moving toward my mouth, but he stopped with his shaft between my breasts. I knew what he wanted then. I clasped my breasts and forced them together, sandwiching Matt's throbbing member. God, he was huge. I glanced down to see his head squeezed out of my cleavage. Matt moaned.

  "Mm, that's it baby, keep looking. You're going to make me come hard. Oh—fuck, you're going to lick it all up when I'm done."

  Matt thrust through the seal of my breasts, his sex slick with my desire. The moans falling from his lips made me tremble. I watched his abs flexing. God, he moved beautifully. When his head plunged toward my neck, I licked and sucked at it.

  "Hannah!" His cry filled my ears.

  He grasped his shaft and hot spurts hit my breasts. I licked at the milky fluid while Matt watched. I brought my nipples to my mouth and sucked them clean.

  When I glanced up, Matt was smiling cagily at me.

  "Perfect," he whispered.

  Matt clambered out of the tent to douse the fire and fetch our clothes.

  We fell asleep on top of our sleeping bags.

  I awoke freezing in the night and climbed into my bag, but Matt remained slumbering on his stomach, sprawled out beside me. I inched closer to him and he chuckled in his sleep. He threw an arm over my cocooned body.

  Through my sleeping bag, I could feel the weight of his arm and the incredible heat of it. I peered at him in the darkness.

  Half awake, halfway in the land of dreams, I imagined Matt was a tiger in a man's skin. He must have been extraordinary, though I knew so little about him. Some wild heat—some extravagance, some consuming ambition—must have kept him burning in the cold night.

  CHAPTER 19

  Matt

  _____

  I WOKE TOO early on Monday. I didn't need to look at my clock to know it was early. The light coming through the window was pale and depressive.

  No Hannah.

  I didn't know how to be apart from Hannah anymore. I didn't know how to wake up without her. When I was with her, I felt right and the world felt full of possibility.

  We'd spent all of Sunday driving and hiking around the park. We drove back late last night. When I dropped Hannah off and pulled away, a familiar desperation came over me.
<
br />   Why the desperation, still?

  Why did every small separation still seem to echo a future goodbye?

  I had broken up with Bethany. I called her the same day I tried to meet Hannah for lunch. In vague terms, I told Bethany that I could no longer be with her. I apologized for the timing, the phone call, everything.

  Bethany sobbed and swore. She was by turns accepting, then venomous and threatening. She demanded to know if I was seeing someone else.

  "There's no one," I lied.

  I would protect Hannah no matter what. I wouldn't drag her deeper into my mess.

  "I don't believe you!" Bethany's voice was shrill. "You lying cheating fuck!"

  "Bethany, please—"

  "Don't say my name! You fucking asshole. I've always been able to do better. Like I need you and your ridiculous antisocial neurotic bullshit. Good riddance. You don't give a fuck about anyone or anything but your fucking writing."

  I didn't hang up on Bethany. I smoked and let her rip into me; I watched the city darken and thought of Hannah. When this was over, I could really be with her.

  Finally, Bethany wound down to tearful hiccups.

  She said she couldn't wait to tell her father that he was right about me, that I was no good after all. He was right, I thought.

  She said she would get her things when she returned and stay with a friend, and could I please not be around when she packed.

  "Of course," I said, lighting my third cigarette. "I'll go out. I can gather up your things, if you want..."

  I thought of Bethany's stuff crammed into the trunk of my car.

  "Fuck you," she said, and she was gone.

  That night, I didn't let myself reach out for Hannah. Bethany might call back for another round of cussing and questioning, and besides, I didn't deserve Hannah's comfort. I deserved a night alone.

  I deserved worse.

  Had I really made things right by breaking up with Bethany? I had no intention of telling Bethany about Hannah or Hannah about Bethany. Could I pull this off? Could I blithely begin a relationship with Hannah on this foundation of lies?

  I peeled back the sheets and checked my phone.

  8:45 a.m.

  Hannah would be getting ready for work. More like on her way to work. I hoped she wasn't too wiped out from our weekend in the mountains.

  Maybe today I could meet her for lunch—for real.

  I frowned. Would I need to dress up like a "businessman" again? Sooner or later, and preferably sooner, I had to tell Hannah that I was M. Pierce. She would understand. She would see how I'd been cornered into the lie about my line of work. Wouldn't she?

  I pulled on a t-shirt and flopped into my office chair. I opened my email. An email appeared as I was deleting spam. I smirked at the sender name: FIT TO PRINT.

  That goddamn zine. I subscribed to their updates simply because they were vocally obsessed with the mystery of me. They weren't idiots, either. Somehow they had uncovered my representation by Pam's agency. Keeping an eye on them couldn't hurt.

  I skimmed over the subject line.

  My body went cold.

  My throat constricted.

  It wasn't possible. I clicked the link to the story.

  M. PIERCE'S IDENTITY UNVEILED; FIT TO PRINT FIRST TO PRINT

  July 8, 2013

  Author M. Pierce is Denver resident Matthew Robert Sky Jr., an anonymous source recently revealed.

  Though Sky forced friends and family to sign non-disclosure agreements protecting his privacy, sources close to his girlfriend say they have long known she was protecting Sky's secret.

  "She would never tell and always fudged about his work," said one friend, "but we had a bet going about it. There were a lot of small clues. He controlled and manipulated her with threats."

  I tried to keep reading.

  The words blurred on the screen.

  I knew I was having a panic attack. I knew this. I knew the symptoms.

  I couldn't get enough oxygen. The air in my apartment was suddenly frigid. I began to sweat. I needed to breathe. I had to breathe.

  Sources close to his girlfriend.

  Sky's secret.

  She would never tell.

  Bethany.

  Bethany ratted me out.

  I broke up with Bethany and she ratted me out.

  My lists.

  My lists.

  Hannah.

  I thought I felt my heart stop.

  Where was my pulse? I clutched at my chest.

  I was still breathing, but I couldn't find my heartbeat.

  My cell rang and rang and rang. How long had it been ringing? The tone was discordant.

  I brought it to my ear with a shaking hand.

  "Matthew?"

  It was Pam.

  "Matthew? Are you there? Are you seeing this?"

  "Hannah," I managed.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Is..."

  "Matthew, listen. I need a word. I don't care how this happened, it's out. I need to know how you want to spin it. There's a reporter here."

  I tried to stand and found myself on the floor.

  A reporter.

  No, it didn't matter. Pam didn't matter. Fit to Print didn't matter. Bethany didn't matter. My secrets and books didn't matter.

  Hannah.

  "Hannah," I said. "Where—"

  "Matthew! For god's sake. I would happily throw Hannah at this reporter and make him schedule an appointment with me in 2016, but she's not here yet. Listen. I can call security and have him removed, or I can sit down with him and pretend to ignorance. Or we can let the cat out of the bag. It's already basically out, so we—"

  Not here yet. Hannah wasn't at work yet. The reporter. The email. Did Hannah get that email? Did she subscribe to Fit to Print?

  I don't remember ending the call with Pam and calling Hannah. I only know that her voice was on the line.

  "Hey you!" she said.

  I could tell that she was moving. Wind rushed over the receiver. She sounded normal. She sounded cheerful.

  "Hannah. Hannah, listen."

  "Matt?"

  I reached for my office chair and it swiveled out of my hand.

  "Matt, what's going on?"

  "Hannah." I swallowed. I tasted bile. "Where are you?"

  "I'm... about five steps from the agency, and about ten minutes from getting growled at by Pam for being late. Look, are you—"

  "Don't go," I said. "Hannah. I need you to come over. Don't go in. Don't go to work."

  My voice broke.

  Hannah hadn't read the article yet, but she was about to collide with a reporter who had.

  "Matt, you're scaring me. What's going on? Are you okay?"

  "No, Hannah, I'm not. I need you, please. Come over. Now, please."

  "I will. It's okay. Breathe. God, Matt, you make me so scared for you. I'm coming right now, okay? Let me—"

  "Please just come, please Hannah..."

  Hot tears spilled over my eyelids.

  "Matt, I swear, I'll be there. I have to tell Pam I'll be late. I'll be there, though, just..."

  My mouth worked speechlessly. I wanted to beg her not to talk to Pam. I wanted to threaten her. Come directly here, or else...

  He controlled and manipulated her with threats.

  "Please," I whispered.

  "I'm coming. I'm going in, I'm telling Pam I'll be late, and no matter what, I'm coming over Matt. Give me ten minutes. Five minutes."

  "No matter what," I repeated.

  "No matter what."

  "Promise. Hannah, Promise. Promise you'll be here no matter what."

  "Matt, I promise. I'll be right there. No matter what."

  CHAPTER 20

  Hannah

  _____

  MATTHEW ROBERT SKY Jr. was born on November 9th, 1984. His father, a renowned orthopedic hand surgeon, and his mother, a pediatrician, were killed in a bus accident in South America when he was nine. They were doing philanthropic work in the favelas of Rio.

 
; Matthew and his brothers, Nathaniel and Seth, were raised by their uncle in New Jersey.

  He graduated at the top of his high school class and attended Cornell University. He published his first short story at the age of twenty.

  He left graduate school after a failed suicide attempt and stayed in a psychiatric ward for over a month. Upon release, he began a downward spiral into drug and alcohol addiction, followed by a string of petty crimes and misdemeanors.

  Until getting sober at the age of twenty-three, Matthew lived a playboy lifestyle on the east coast, funded by the considerable inheritance released to him on his eighteenth birthday. He never stopped writing.

  After over fifteen rejections, he queried Pamela Wing with Ten Thousand Nights in 2007. The book was published to national and eventually global acclaim.

  I watched, dazed, as everything I wanted to know about Matt spilled onto the internet.

  July. The month of Matt.

  The month without Matt.

  Even the big news stations and papers ran stories on M. Pierce's unveiling. No one could get an interview from him, not even a comment, but Pam quietly confirmed the author's identity and released several generic statements.

  "Mr. Sky's private life was very important to his writing," said Pamela Wing of the Granite Wing Agency. "The media has respected him as an artist; now they need to respect him as a human and stop splashing his life all over the net."

  One reporter finally caught Matt outside of his apartment. An altercation ensued. The reporter was badly beaten. Charges were filed, then settled outside of court.

  The local papers and news stations lost interest by the middle of July.

  Fit to Print got national attention for uncovering the story but never revealed its source. They continued to run a column on Matt's life and writing. Pictures appeared there regularly.

  I saw a ten-year-old Matt boating with his parents, his hair swept back.

  There was Matt in his high school graduation gown.