Night Owl (The Night Owl Trilogy)

by M. Pierce

  "It's just... it's surreal. I mean, M. Pierce is walking through my living room."

  "Matt Sky," I corrected her, "your fucked up asshole of a boyfriend."

  My words were not intended to make Hannah beam, but I think all she heard was boyfriend. She launched herself into my arms again and I kissed her hard. My heart protested with a fluttering rhythm. God, I was weak. I'd nearly collapsed after the sex in Nate's basement. How humiliating.

  "Baby, I—"

  Hannah had one leg hooked around my ass and was rocking into my groin.

  "Yeah?"

  "I... I think I know exactly what this place needs," I said, easing her back.

  "What?"

  I ran my fingers over the drywall, which was pale and smeared with stains.

  "A little color," I said, smiling down at her.

  A little color turned out to be an understatement.

  Over the next week, when I wasn't sleeping off my meds, Hannah and I painted the condo. I let her choose everything—and buy nothing. She was crazy about bright colors.

  We painted the main room turquoise, the kitchen yellow, the bedroom blue, the bathroom pink, and the "office library writing room," as we dubbed it, lettuce green.

  Hannah tried damn hard to stop me from buying everything. I countered by threatening to buy anything she looked at, literally.

  In an antique shop, I caught her laughing at a clown lamp.

  "Really?" I said, raising a brow. "Kind of the stuff of nightmares, but since you won't tell me what you do want..."

  "Matt!" She peeled after me as I stalked toward checkout with the lamp. She yanked at my arm. "Okay, okay! Not that, this!"

  We covered the scratched hardwood with bright area rugs. We hung Restoration Hardware lamps in every room—Vintage Birdcage chandeliers, the Foucault Iron Orb—and busied surfaces with knickknacks, accent lamps, and candles.

  Oh yeah, we got surfaces.

  I let Hannah choose a kitchen island from Williams-Sonoma and a handsome circular table and chairs from Ethan Allen... along with a turquoise Quincy bed frame, teal end tables, a claw-foot tub, arch mirrors from West Elm, a deep-buttoned velvet sofa from Couch, and what felt like one of everything from Anthropologie.

  Anthropologie seemed to be Hannah's favorite store. We bought dozens of their hand-painted plates, the Rivulets quilt and shams, a vintage dresser, lace curtains, patterned pillows, animal-shaped wall hooks, and new knobs for everything (including Laurence's hutch).

  By the time we were done, the condo looked like a gypsy caravan collided with a psychic's tent. Nothing matched. I mean nothing. No two knobs were the same, no two pillows or bookshelves or picture frames.

  And Hannah loved it. And I loved seeing her happy.

  We wrote THE NEST in letter-shaped coat hooks by the front door.

  We laughed a lot while we decorated. We goofed off a lot. I think I was almost happy, except when Hannah had to go to work.

  I followed her around as she showered and dressed.

  "My sweet shadow," she said, kissing me slowly before slipping out the door.

  I was anything but sweet in Hannah's absence. The Librium dragged me into a nap, after which I ranged through the condo feeling sick.

  Writing was out of the question.

  Hannah paid special attention to our "office" furnishings, making me choose the desk and transition my whole library over, but that didn't inspire me to write.

  Nothing did.

  More often than not, I avoided the room. The only thing I actually wrote was a letter to Wendy. I thanked her for her transcription services and included a check. Severance pay, I called it. I apologized for my hasty departure and promised to visit one day.

  Another loose end tied up. What now? I felt like a dog waiting for his master to come home. Five o'clock rolled around and I stood on the balcony watching for Hannah.

  Once, I got it in my head to follow her to work. I thought I might feel better being closer to her. I trailed her into the agency and deposited myself on a bench in the lobby.

  Pam found me there, of course.

  "Matthew." She looked at me quizzically. "How wonderful to see you."

  "Mm. Hi Pam." I picked at the cuff of my sleeve.

  "Are you—" She glanced around the empty lobby. "Did you need to see me?"

  "No, just sitting."

  "Ah." Pam blinked and nodded.

  God, go away Pam. I was counting down the seconds until she asked about my writing, but she never did.

  "Well, it's great to see you, again." She pat-squeezed my shoulder. I was starting to hate that gesture. Nothing says I view you as an invalid quite like the shoulder pat-squeeze.

  As if the run-in with Pam weren't enough, a tour group appeared in the lobby a few hours later. They were mostly college-aged—probably a creative writing class.

  I angled my body toward the wall.

  The tour guide's voice began to drone.

  "The Granite Wing Agency is one of Denver's literary landmarks. It was founded—"

  "Oh my god!" a student enthused. I heard footfalls approaching. A young woman came to stand practically on my feet. "Are you—? Oh my god. Can you—? Oh my god, it's M. Pierce."

  The tour group closed in like a school of piranhas. I was off the Librium by then and my Xanax was at the condo. Basically I was fucked.

  M. Pierce, M. Pierce, M. Pierce. It was all I could hear.

  Little did those assholes know, my pen name had become a source of major anxiety for me. I never wanted to hear it. It reminded me of losing Hannah, and it made me feel like I was losing her again.

  "Please," I mumbled, my ears ringing.

  Even the tour guide was soliciting my attention.

  "Leave him alone!" Hannah's voice echoed through the lobby. I was on my feet facing the corner, my head in my hands.

  Hannah collided with the cluster of students and body checked the young woman into a wall. She threw her arms around me.

  "Baby, come on."

  She guided me out of the building.

  After that, I rarely left the condo.

  Hannah was careful never to ask about my writing, though sometimes I saw her riffling through my pages. She probably assumed I was writing on the computer. I let her think so.

  We watched movies together, my favorites and hers—Legends of the Fall, Wonder Boys, Good Will Hunting.

  We read aloud to one another.

  Hannah tried to teach me how to cook. Pan-fried pork chops ended with me lying on the kitchen floor, covered in flour.

  On Halloween, we went to her parents' house and handed out candy, watching the trick-or-treaters from the porch.

  Chrissy "apologized" for Macing me in the face. ("You deserved it," she said. "I know," I told her.)

  We fucked all over the condo—in the shower, on the couch, in bed, against walls. I knew I wasn't the same, of course, and I knew Hannah felt the change.

  For one thing, silence replaced my rapacious dirty talk. Hannah had to coax the words out of me. And for another, I couldn't bring myself to get rough with Hannah.

  Maybe I still felt guilty. I don't know.

  I kept waiting for something to click into place, but it wasn't happening, and the more it didn't happen, the more nervous I got. How long would my tame lovemaking satisfy Hannah?

  She didn't say a word about it, but she struggled to inspire me. She went strutting around the condo in nothing but a thong and bustier. She cleaned in a skirt, no panties, and bent over every available surface. She slept naked, too. Each morning I woke with a hard-on pressed against her soft skin.

  God, I was lucky.

  And fuck, I was unhappy.

  When Hannah left for work, she took all of my happiness with her, and the void left in me was my essential misery.

  I woke to an empty condo on Saturday.

  I loped through the rooms in a state of mild panic.

  "Where's Hannah?" I asked Laurence.

  I tried her cell. It rang and rang and
went to voicemail.

  I threw on a bathrobe and stood out on the balcony, watching the street. The November sunlight was deceptive. I shivered and paced.

  I was still out there at noon, probably looking like a bum, when Hannah came striding up the sidewalk. She spotted me on the balcony and waved.

  "Go inside!" She laughed. She was carrying two bags. "It's freezing!"

  I shuffled inside and waited for her on the landing. Hannah took the stairs two at a time and kissed me on the mouth.

  "Hi," I said through the kiss.

  She giggled as I tried to get her against the wall.

  "In!" she huffed, slipping away from me. I followed her into the condo and helped her out of her coat. I loomed, trying to get a look at her shopping bags.

  "I called. Where were you?"

  "Making secret purchases." Hannah darted to the bedroom and returned with only one bag. From it, she produced a box of gourmet cupcakes. They were piled high with icing—more icing than cake. I smiled as she pushed one on me.

  "Happy birthday, Matt," she whispered.

  I blinked, reeling for a beat. Birthday? My watch and phone were in the bedroom. I glanced at the kitchen calendar. November 9th.

  "Holy shit," I said.

  "You forgot your own birthday, didn't you?" Hannah took my face between her hands and kissed me longingly. Without looking, I slid my cupcake onto the counter. I pulled her close.

  "I think I did," I murmured, kissing my way down her neck. She pushed my bathrobe off my shoulders. Hannah was wearing a form-fitting sweater dress and leggings. The outfit showed off her beautiful body.

  "I have another present for you." Hannah took my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom. I gazed at her ass as it swayed from side to side.

  I knew I was about the get the blowjob of a lifetime.

  Until Hannah started going through her other shopping bag.

  She looked uneasy.

  "Can you take off your boxers?" She glanced at me.

  "Um... yeah." I slid my boxers down my legs. Suddenly things were awkward. Hannah was fully dressed and I was standing there semi-hard, totally naked, and very confused.

  She wrestled with some packaging and withdrew a blindfold from the bag. Oh. Hannah and I hadn't tried anything kinky since... well, since four months ago when I tied her to my bed. Did she think I could do that now? Could I?

  "I see how it is," I said, laughing nervously.

  "Do you?" There was a glimmer of mischief in Hannah's eyes. She slid behind me and told me to close my eyes, then she tied the blindfold onto me.

  "Okay, maybe I don't see." I grinned and held the footboard. Blindfolded blowjob. I could definitely get into this.

  Hannah guided me over to the bed and I stretched out on my back. My cock twitched in anticipation. God, I wanted to feel her hot tongue on my dick...

  If only I could say that.

  I heard Hannah's clothes hitting the floor. My senses intensified in the absence of sight. I could smell Hannah's honeysuckle perfume and a few of our candles. The warm air of the room seemed to gust over my skin.

  "You look so good," Hannah purred. She climbed over me and I sighed as her creamy skin brushed mine. She drew my wrist toward a bedpost. My grin faltered.

  "Oh, really?" I chuckled as she began to tie me to the bed.

  "Yes, really." Hannah's breasts brushed my face as she worked, tying my wrists with soft cords to the upper bedposts. I mouthed at her nipples blindly.

  "Not yet," she whispered, lifting them beyond my reach. Fuck...

  She tied each of my ankles to the bottom bedposts. I swallowed and tried to move. Damn, Hannah tied a good knot. I was spread eagle and nearly immobile.

  No lover had ever bound me before. I always cracked the whip—literally and figuratively. And truth be told, I wasn't sure how much I liked this.

  Hannah straddled my torso.

  "Do you want to suck on me, Matt? Do you want to taste my skin?"

  "Mm..."

  "You have to tell me exactly what you want."

  "Your breasts."

  I felt Hannah hovering over my face. A stiff nipple rubbed at my lips, but when I moved to suck it she moved away.

  "Please," I whispered. Instinctively, I tried to yank my arms free.

  "Please what?"

  "Let me... suck on your nipples, come on."

  I was rewarded with a pert nipple between my lips. I gasped and felt my cock thickening. I sucked hungrily at Hannah's breast, biting down and tugging to make her yelp.

  Crazy girl, she had a lot more coming to her if she kept this up.

  "The other," I snarled. "Give me the other."

  Hannah obliged me and I swirled my tongue over her other nipple.

  "Alright, that's enough." She moved away. I turned my head on the pillow and stared into the blackness of my blindfolded eyes.

  The mattress shifted.

  Suddenly Hannah's sex pressed against my mouth, smothering me.

  "Mm!" I groaned and began to lap at her slit.

  She tasted like desire, and she was hot and soaked.

  "Oh god, Matt," she panted. I pictured her sitting astride me, her pussy resting on my face. Her fingertips tweaked my nipples and I jerked on the bed.

  "Touch me!" My words came out muffled against Hannah's cunt. She rubbed it over my face, smearing her arousal on my nose and lips. I fucked her with my tongue.

  At last, Hannah's fingers wrapped around my cock. She flicked her tongue over my tip. I tried to thrust into her mouth, but I couldn't move.

  "What do you want?" Hannah lifted her sex from my face. I breathed raggedly.

  "My cock, god—suck it Hannah."

  Hannah wriggled her tongue against the tiny hole in the head of my cock.

  "Ah! God, please," I whispered. "Suck my cock, please..."

  Was I not saying something right? I wrenched my arms and legs helplessly. My erect member throbbed, aching for stimulation.

  Hannah giggled and climbed off of me. She left me panting on the bed. Holy fuck. I licked my lips, tasting her musky sweetness.

  "I was just getting you ready," she murmured. "I'm not going to tease you on your birthday, Matt, but I needed you hard. Are you ready?"

  "Fuck, yes," I snapped. How the hell did I look? I was ready for anything. Her mouth, her pussy—I just needed Hannah on my dick.

  I heard some indeterminate rustling. A cold hand grasped my cock. I hissed and tensed. Hannah began to stroke me, spreading a copious amount of lube along my shaft. It trickled over my balls and I moaned.

  "Baby, it's—"

  "Shhh." Hannah stilled my lips with a clean finger.

  She climbed over me and positioned my sex. My slick tip slid along her crack, stopping in the dimple of her anus. I flexed my thighs, trying to push my cock up toward Hannah's pussy, but she held it steady against the puckered entrance of her ass.

  "Happy birthday, lover," she whispered. She began to lower herself. I felt my cockhead spreading an improbably tight ring of muscle. I tensed from head to toe.

  "What—what are you doing?"

  The reply from Hannah was a long, low moan. I trembled in my restraints. My god... she was going to take me into her ass.

  "Oh, fuck," I grunted. My breaths grew shallow. "Oh... oh..."

  All at once, my head popped into Hannah's ass. She cried out—and I cried out, thrashing helplessly. It felt so good, it almost hurt. My heart drummed in my chest.

  "More," I pleaded.

  "More of what?" Hannah said, her voice strained but even. "Tell me. Tell me everything. Never deny me, Matt."

  Never deny me.

  I said those words to Hannah months ago.

  "Your ass," I growled. "Mm... Hannah, get on my dick."

  "God, Matt..."

  Hannah lowered herself inch by agonizing inch. I could do nothing but wait—and as I waited, I felt my tongue loosening. I couldn't deny the incredible eroticism of the moment: Hannah making me fuck her ass for the first time, my stro
ng body helpless.

  "Fuck, god, your ass," I moaned. "Your tight ass, you want my cock inside of it Hannah?"

  "Yes," she breathed.

  At last, Hannah sat on my groin, my dick deep inside of her.

  "Comfortable?" I gasped. "God, Hannah, my beautiful slut..."

  "So full..."

  "That's r-right," I growled. "Now ride my dick."

  Trying to call the shots while bound should have been an exercise in frustration, but Hannah obeyed me. She loved to obey me. And I loved to call the shots.

  She began to bounce on my cock, the tight grip of her ass stroking me hard.

  "Fuck!" I writhed. I wanted to squeeze her tits. I wanted to spank her ass.

  Lube squelched in the silence and Hannah's cheeks slapped at my thighs.

  "Faster, fuck," I panted. "Nn... make me come. Listen to your ass Hannah, fuck..."

  "Oh god, oh god..." Hannah's pace became frenzied. I jerked in my bonds. She reached behind her cleft and cupped my balls, fondling them. I gasped as jets of cum shot from me.

  "Hannah, I'm coming!" I moaned. "God, Hannah—"

  Hannah's bottom milked out the last of my desire. I began to struggle at once, baring my teeth like an animal. So help me god, I would tear these silly cords.

  "Untie me... now," I growled.

  CHAPTER 30

  Hannah

  _____

  I BOUND MY broken, beautiful Matt, so sad and silent.

  I unbound my tiger.

  When I slid the blindfold off his head, his eyes were electric. A frisson of fear passed through me. Fuck, was he angry?

  "H-happy birthday," I mumbled again, my hands trembling as I untied his ankles. Ankles first, hands last. I wondered if I should flee to the bathroom.

  Matt said nothing. He watched me with his smoldering stare. As I freed his feet, he flexed his legs and dug his heels into the bed.

  For months, I longed to see this very heat in Matt's eyes... the dangerous unpredictability I loved. But now? Now I felt the double edge of it—the fear that was so real and exciting.

  "I... I've been... planning that for a while," I said. I massaged Matt's ankles, delaying untying his wrists. "I hope... that was okay."