Leave the Night On Pt. 02

Now, Julian is watching me that way again. Leering, presented with his first opportunity to study a body he already knows how to work expertly. From the languidness of the gaze that crawls over the swell of my breasts and down to the curve of my hips, he follows the lines of me unblinkingly.

I'm emboldened by his admiration. Without command my hand is guided south by an unconscious decision from my body. Julian's eyes follow my movement. Under his intent gaze, I let my desires go unbridled. Not denying what I want, nor containing it either. It comes naturally to me, the courage to do in front of him what I've done in my room with only my imagination for company. Slowly, so torturously slowly, I cup both my breasts, weighing them in my hands, brushing my thumbs over the taut peaks of my nipples. They ache for him. My touch is a mere ghost of his. My palms are too soft. Silky. Nevertheless, my skin comes alive under my own caresses. The water eases the descent of my fingers down my stomach. The first touch is a shock wave that rides up, awakening my senses. Two fingers plunge into slick warmth. Hotter than the water falling on my shoulders.

The insignificant distance between us allows me the pleasure of seeing his mouth parting ever so slightly. I watch him watching me. Eyes on hands. I don't even need the aid of my imagination; just looking at him like this is enough. I get to that familiar place, press a thumb a little harder, pump a finger a little faster until a moan escapes me.

"Slower," Julian whisper the command.

I startle at this disturbance of silence, but I obey. I ignore my need for more, for faster, in favor of his command. Even this way, on his own terms, the quiet dance of my thumb over my clit has my body sizzling. With Julian so near, attentive to my every shift in breathing, I won't last another minute.

My next sound is louder. An anguished moan. I chase after a satisfaction I know won't be enough. Not nearly. When I dreamed him up I had more than this. When he's real, tangible and within my reach, I want Julian's hands. His touch sliding over my body, drawing pleasure off every curve in me.

The fire in his eyes is strong enough to push me to the edge. My breathing is shallow. My legs wobble under me. I just want it to be over before I go mad. Again, I press against the throbbing spot between my thighs. The sliding of my fingers, in and out, picks up speed.

"Slow down, my Pearl," he commands again in a hoarse and imperial voice.

This time, I don't comply. This time I don't slow down. I'm faster. I'm harder. It's how I want it. How I need it. Julian's body leans forward, tricking me into thinking he might come to me and replace my eager touch for his patient one. But he doesn't. So I don't stop. I welcome the surge when it comes. Up, up, up. I reach a point where's unbearable to remain. I want to stay there, but if I don't come down, I'll lose my mind. I'm suspended into thin air. My whole body shakes, my clit pulses against the soft pad of my finger. Once. Twice. I close my eyes when it hits me.

Julian groans, louder then I cry out, when I come. Panting, I slide a little against the wet tiles. My fingers still inside feel the clutching that longs for more fulfillment. My heart drums simultaneously in my chest, in my ears, on my pulsing clit. I hear Julian breathing out of pace too. I only open my eyes again when the water stops its descent over me. Julian's there, holding the towel open for me, like a curtain between us. I push myself from the wall. Gingerly, I take a step forward not trusting my legs yet. I lift my arms, visibly shaking, expecting him to wrap the towel around me.

"Turn around." It's almost an order.

I turn, obedient again, giving him my back. He works the cloth gently over me. The towel is cotton soft; even so, I interpret its feel against my overly sensitive skin as abrasive. Julian's exhales warm my nape. I shiver at the sensation of having such a neglected area receive such an intimate gift. He's careful in his work, drying me platonically. He asks me to turn again and I do. We're within kissing distance of each other now. His cheeks are slightly flushed. He brushes the towel over my breast, my nipples go taut again. He seems to find this reaction fascinating, because he stays there, brushing again and again, eyes narrowing. It's such a simple, small caress, but it's driving me mad.

I tremble with yet another sway of lust. "Are you drying me or trying to get me wetter, Julian?"

He glances down at me then. I expect a smirk, a teasing line, anything but the silence I get. There's a glaze in his hooded eyes. I recognize in him the same lust that's controlling me.

We're too close; too close for me not to hunger for his mouth over mine. I am the epitome of desire. I've no excuses for my wanting him anymore. Nothing to say I can't. I don't think of a job to protect. I don't think of how inappropriate this situation is. I think only of how that towel is a barrier between us, keeping me from his touch. How I hate it, how I want to yank it from his grasp and throw it away. I put my hands over his, communicating with touch what I need from him.

I lean in, lips parted, wanting. I'm treading delicate ground. I shouldn't. But I want to. God, do I want to. I want it enough for my yearning to stump my reason. My lust is a pulsing beat in my core again. I sense it coming and I don't fight it: the moment where, more than anything, my need for his kiss is like the pressure of lungs asking for air. I want his mouth. I want his tongue touching mine. The turn of my thoughts is in my whole body, clear. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

"Pearl." My name is a breathless plea on his lips. "The things I want to do to you right now...I wouldn't be able to stop if I started."

"I wouldn't want you to stop," I say, in hopes I'll usher him in. Into me.

He groans, eyes meeting mine before they're drawn back to my mouth. He eases closer, so close that I soak in his heat. I hardly breathe. I don't want to pressure him. I want him to advance that last inch propelled by his own desire for me. I have to believe he wants this as much as I do. I shut my eyes, waiting. A blow of his warm breath compels me to open my mouth in welcome and I can almost taste him. Almost... "I'll find you clean clothes." My eyes pop open. I barely have time to take in his words before the towel is shoved into my hands and Julian is rushing out of the bathroom like his life is in danger.

I'm abandoned to my want.

With my brain whirring slowly, I wrap the towel around myself and step out of the shower. In his room, he is nowhere to be seen. I've no other option but to wait for him to bring me something to wear. I stay in his towel, still sensing the undulations of the reactions we both created in my body. The instinct to overthink what just happened greets me, but I turn my back on it.

Julian strides back in, his steps growing slower the nearer to me he gets until he stops. He hesitates. I don't understand his expression. He glances at me then at his bed. It seems to grow larger. The big white elephant in the room. Everything screams at us. We're alone. My need for him is still a pulsing wet clamor and I'm wearing nothing under the towel I'm clutching to my chest. I want nothing more than to let it drop. I don't know what to say. I'm even afraid to breathe.

There's a spell in the air. I could just let it fall. I could just lay on that bed. Disregard all the world outside and offer myself to him on a silver platter. I know that if I did it, he wouldn't resist the temptation. But I have a responsibility here, plus all those people waiting for us. We're already taking too long. The fact Julian hasn't returned as well might not go unnoticed, specially by Marnie, who's been all too aware of the looks he and I have been exchanging throughout the day.

He's holding on to something. "Here," he says, offering it to me. "I think these might fit you." It's a pair of jeans. A single pair of jeans that shatters the spell and pulls my feet to the ground again.

Of course, I should get dressed.

Inside me, there's a little something of rejection and shame settling down in my stomach. It's silly and unreasonable, but I can't help it. I draw in a huge gulp of air then take the pants. I study its size. He's right. They should fit me fine.

I do one more stupid thing, which is to wonder why he has a pair of female jeans in his house that would fit me so well. "Do you keep a stock of clean pants for the women you lure into the pigsty?" I joke, awkwardly.

"They're Karen's," he answers, flatly.

"Sorry?"

"Hannah's mother."

"Oh." I am an idiot.

It's the first time Hannah's mother is consciously mentioned between us and none of us pretends very well at ignoring how heavy her name hangs in the air. It's not an opportune moment to mention exes. I stare at the jeans on my hands and see, from my peripheral vision, Julian swaying on his heels.

"Here. Put this on, too." He hands me a shirt that's probably his and turns to leave. His unexpected reaction replaces the uncomfortable tension with absurdity.

I start laughing. "Julian, you don't have to leave! You have literally just seen everything I've got!" He has just watched me touch myself and now he offers to give me privacy so I can get dressed. Such a nice boy. He spends his days saying the dirtiest things, but when it comes to it he's this considerate.

He raises his eyebrows in confusion. "I just thought maybe you'd like some privacy."

He stays on the edge of a movement, to go or not to go, until staying becomes the one thing not to do. "Okay, now you got to leave. You made it awkward," I say, but he still doesn't move. "Turn around!"

When he turns his back, I sniff the shirt. It's his alright. Not even the scent of fabric softener could hide the Julian all over that shirt. I might keep it, without washing it. He peeks over his shoulder at the sound of the towel cloth hitting the ground. I pretend not to notice it. I like that he still wants to see more of me. "Okay, all done," I say, when I'm fully clothed. "You might not ever get this shirt back."

He turns to face me. "Keep it. Looks good on you." He doesn't sound like himself saying it. He's not comfortable. Not sassy.

I raise a brow, confused. "Thanks?"

He doesn't meet my eyes. There seems to be something very interesting on the floor by my feet. Or maybe he's afraid looking at me for too long when I'm dressed might turn him to stone. "Look, Pearl" he begins, a hand scratching the back of his head. The foreign shyness doesn't suit him. "I'm sorry about that."

"Sorry about what?" That weird mention of his ex whose pants I'm wearing?

"What just happened," he clarifies. "In the bathroom."

"Oh." That rejection swirls in my stomach. "You're sorry?" My tone of voice lays my insecurity bare.

"No! I mean, I am. Not because of what happened, but because it happened," he says, flustered. Oh my God. That's priceless. I've never seen flustered Julian. I love it. I forget why his apology stung me. Now it's fun again.

"You're not making sense, Julian."

He runs a hand down his face. "Shit, I mean I should've had the sense to walk away. The door was open, I didn't think you'd already be naked in there, you know. I walked in, but I should've walked away the minute I saw you-"

"Naked?'

He exhales, "Yeah."

Boy, am I smiling inside. "So why didn't you? Walk away."

"I-I couldn't."

"Are you regretting it now?"

"No," he whispers. He's back to himself now. His eyes are on me in a way that has me prone to believe he regrets the clothes he lent me.

"Good," I say. "Because I would do it again given the chance." I would. Not even the knowledge I might be getting myself into a heap of trouble is big enough to eclipse the attraction I feel towards him. I don't regret I just made myself cum while he was right there, watching me. I regret he wasn't the one who did it.

"Have dinner with me this Friday," he blurts.

My brows rise so high they pull my mouth open. "Are you...asking me out?"

"I'm asking you in, actually. I want to cook for you, to make up for...well, everything," he says. "You like Italian, right?"

I smile because he remembers I told him, during one of my drunken rumblings at the club, that Italian food is my favorite thing. I always thought he didn't really listen to anything I said back then, only faking interest until I shut up long enough for us to fuck. "Yes, I love Italian."

"So, Friday?"

I'm about to say yes and then I remember why he and I are a complicated idea. "What about Hannah?"

"She spends Fridays with my mother."

"That's convenient."

"So?" He presses for my answer.

I was never the kind of person who believes much in anything esoteric. I don't believe in fate, meant-to-be, the one and only type who is the single other human being, in a planet of billions, who's right for you. What I do believe in, is my intuition. And although the rational side of brain knows Julian is a messy choice, I also can't turn a blind eye to the spiraling sugar high of pure ecstasy I get when he's around. It's fun. It's sexy. I feel right in the marrow of my bones that this is good.

I walk over to him, stand on the tip of my toes, and throw my arms around his neck. Slowly, like it's a test, my lips brush over his. He lets out a shaky breath, the sign I needed. Because I have been literally daydreaming about it, I take his bottom lip between my teeth. I love the rumbling groan he lets out when I bite down, just a little, before sucking on it. The next second, his arms are around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and he's kissing me like he wants to strip me off the clothes he just lent me. I like it too much. I lose myself in it. There's no escalating build up with Julian. His tongue is in, immediately caressing mine. I grab his hair, yank at it savagely. Julian's lips are wonderland. He kisses me until I'm breathless. It's the kind of kiss that leaves you stupid but it's also unsatisfactory to a frustrating degree. I follow the will of my hands, down his back to his ass. I fill my hands with the hard muscles there. He chuckles against the kiss.

"I thought I caught you staring at my ass," he says, mouth still moving against mine.

"It's my favorite part of you," I say, dragging my teeth along his jaw.

"Your favorite?

He earns a bragging grin from me. "Second favorite. Your pretty coffee eyes are number one."

"Nice enough to get you to have dinner with me?"

One of my fingers hooks itself inside the waistband of his pants. "It's nice enough to get me to be dinner."

"Fuck," he mutters. "Let's go before I throw you on my bed. You've had enough of the country experience for one day."

"Like I'd let you fuck me after you almost got me murdered by a demon pig."

***

I WAS A SCRAWNY little thing of a girl with big, frizzy, curly hair in kindergarten. Ronnie Nowak saw that as a pretty good reason to pester me every spare second of his time. And he spared me an ungodly amount of his time. Many Ronnies come and go each school year. This year's culprit is Toby Sanders. That pink-cheeked little shit of a kid has me on edge of forgetting teachers aren't supposed to pull kids by their ears and drag them to the principal's office.

Just as every new year there's a new incarnation of my childhood nightmarish bully, there's also that one child in whom I see the reflection of seven-year-old me. As fate, or whatever weird coincidence, would have it, Hannah Song is that child this time around. On the outside she's quiet, shy and meek. But on the inside, she's a roaring force, overflowing with color.

All the bullying I witnessed, and suffered, in school, is probably the fact that weighed more on my decision to become an elementary school teacher. The smaller they are, the more moldable their minds. If it is within my power to teach them compassion and empathy, then I'll do my best to make sure these values are ingrained in them.

Marnie and I are sitting on the patio, watching the kids during their break. I'm eyeballing Sanders assessing his territory. He's sitting on the swing, flanked by his little clique. Those boys who are now only beginning to navigate social interaction and are looking for someone to follow. His eyes are hawk like on Hannah and Olivia while they eat together. I can hear the roaring engines on his little brain rolling and rolling, just trying to find the meanest thing to do to upset the girls. As a teacher, I must approach the situation with the utmost diplomacy. As a former bullied kid, I want to grab Toby Sanders by his big red ears and kick him out of my class. There is, however, the grown-up in me; the one who knows Toby must need my help just as much as the children he looks to bully. Maybe he needs it even more.

"Toby Sanders is a bully if I ever saw one. He's just waiting for the best moment to strike."

Marnie pushes her glasses up her nose with the aid of her middle finger. She does that a lot, especially when the principal happens to be in front of her. "I see it too. Want me to intervene?"

"Let me try first. If he really does it, you step in with the parents," I say. "I just hope he doesn't make Hannah Song his target." She's too kind and placid. Precisely the kind bullies like to pick at.

Marnie tsks. "That's another situation I'm worried about."

I turn worried eyes her way. "You think he'll pester Hannah too?"

"What? Hannah? Nah." She waves a dismissive hand at my face. "She'll be fine. It's her father I'm worried about."

"Julian?" I blurt first, think later.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Marnie hits me with a smirk that says I've just unleashed all the secrets inside Pandora's box. "Julian, uh? You two seem to be very cozy."

My sandwich gets stuck in my throat, midway to my stomach. I shouldn't be shocked by her comment. Marnie is lethal. She picks up on a million details just from the way a person breathes. I often say she should be a top-secret agent or an assassin for the Government. She's fantastic at reading people. Which is why I trust her, every year, to spot the children who will be trouble before they have a chance to be trouble. I like Marnie. I really do. I'm sure she'd never rat. Still, I don't see why I should tell her I've slept with Julian. Even if she might be a friend beyond work. "What are you on about?"

Her hazel eyes are narrow slits. "Oh, don't you come playing the dumb card. The vibe is obvious."

"There's no vibe." I am so full of shit I'm drowning in it.

"Yeah, right. I'll pretend I never noticed you two making eyes at each other. Or that whole pig fiasco. Or that you took the longest shower in history at his house after, while he was inside with you." Her words are laid with suspicions. She's baiting me.

I try not to appear to be as tense as I am. "You're crazy. He couldn't leave me in his house alone. We hardly know each other."

"There's also the fact he's the only parent who makes a point of talking to you every damn day at pick up time. Either he's very overprotective of his daughter, which I doubt very much, or he likes your face."

Alright. Julian and I might have been a little too oblivious and obnoxious. If I defend myself too much it will look suspicious. "Okay. I knew him before his kid started here."

Marnie's face is the picture of victory. She arches a dark defined eyebrow. "In the biblical sense?"

"No!" Okay, too desperate. Slow down, Pearl. "It's more like I was aware of his existence than anything else."

"Right." She sucks on the white and red striped straw on her apple juice box. "So you two never..."

"Never." I think I sound convincing. I should stop here. I should, but I'm itching to add, so I add, "Wouldn't mind it, though. I mean, have you seen him? Yummy." One day I'll learn to keep my mouth shut.