Leave the Night On Pt. 02

"Was anything you told me a lie?" He immediately knows to what I'm referring. "I mean, the little we talked. You could've pretended to be anyone, anything. The only real thing I knew about you was your first name."

He narrows his eyes, considering me for a second. "No. The little I did tell you was all true. Did you lie?"

"No." I rethink my answer as it leaves my lips, then retract myself. "Yes. I guess I did. A lie by omission is still a lie, right?" I never deliberately said anything untrue to him. Although I didn't really tell him much about myself. I hid the real me. The real I figured he didn't want to see on a woman he met on a club on a fun night out.

Julian stays silent, weighing in my answer. It lasts long enough that reading him is difficult. "Remind me again," he starts, earning a relaxed exhale from me. "Why did we do that stupid anonymity thing?"

"Can you honestly tell me you didn't like it? The mystery of it?"

"I thought you were a Russian spy. A hired murderess. Maybe a dominatrix." He arches a straight questioning brow.

I recall how I used to play this little game with myself. On a sunny random day, I ran into him in the street. We oh-so-casually started a conversation that ended with our truest selves being revealed over coffee. "I could've sworn you were a lawyer, litigator, considering this mouth you have."

He shakes his head, amused at my deviations on his profession. "Just a farm boy."

"I liked to pretend I was bolder than I am." It stumbles out of my mouth, a confession. "I felt it even."

"Why would you need to do that?'

I shrug. "Insecurity?"

"I don't believe that. A woman like you can't be insecure."

My mouth curves in satisfaction even as I disagree with him. "Everyone's insecure about something."

He cocks his head, considering. "Guess that's true. Though I can't picture you afraid of anything."

Blame it on the wine, on the night air, but I'm wanting to explain more of myself to him. Something happens to me around Julian. I can tell him things. He simply allows me the space to do it. There's no judgement in his eyes, no fear. None of that distance some men create to make sure there's a limit to the emotional level in their casual interactions with a woman. "I liked you, Julian," I relent. "I liked being with you that way. It made me feel so powerful. Sexy and secure. It was out of the real-life realm. I don't know. I guess if truths were told my fantasy would've shattered and I was afraid reality wouldn't be as interesting."

Julian regards me differently. It's his turn now to see a newly revealed side of my personality. "Interesting for you or for me?"

"For both of us," I confess.

His eyes travel over my face, capturing every line and curve that composes it. "You know, Pearl," he says. "You've never been more interesting to me than you are right now."

My mouth stretches enough that the whole bottom of my face is a smile. "I'm really glad I'm here right now."

"You're cold," he observes.

I am cold. Although I hadn't really been aware of it. He distracts me from most of my surroundings. I rub my arms, registering the chilly wind blowing from the direction of the lake. "A little."

Julian's gone and returned in a flash, his bare feet fast on the grass. He lays a soft wooly blanket over my shoulders. His hands run up and down my upper arms. Heat curls up from within me, warping all around my arms and legs. "Better?"

"Yeah, thank you." In a reflex that comes to me too fast to be halted, I lift a hand to my shoulder, over his own that's resting there. Our eyes collide and remain. A frenzy enters my bloodstream. It's a rushing in my ears, drowning every other sound. My gaze is drawn to his mouth, the set point of my want. The hand on my shoulder rides up the side of my neck and I close my eyes, leaning into the touch. The shivering breath that leaves me is spontaneous and uncontained. Unthinkingly, I follow his warmth, rending that mere inch separating us nothing. His mouth over mine is an old sensation made new. Complaisant, I open up to him. His hand snakes itself around my nape, into my hair. He's in control of our movements. Submitting to an earlier urge, I weave my fingers through his own hair, rake my nails over his skull. The low groan that erupts from him is the trigger that pushes the kiss into wildness. My hunger gains momentum as teeth crashes into teeth, and tongue meets tongue. I just want it all. I want him to never stop and carry me inside. I want to not be responsible for anything but making Julian make me feel good. He's the one who pulls away. So abruptly that I lean in, following him.

"Are you trying to be eaten for dessert right on this table here?" He half-laughs with not enough air to spare.

I press my forehead to his, noticing, belatedly, he is on his knees in between my legs. "I've been waiting all night for you to kiss me properly," I breathe, fingers still playing with his hair.

"What a coincidence. I've been wanting you to want to kiss me since I caught you grabbing your boobs at my door." He earns another laugh from me. I love how he's able to normalize my rhythm when I'm wary of my own steps. He leaves a gentle press of his lips to mine before getting up to return to his chair.

I ogle him as he seats, three feet across from me. He's relaxed, convincing me not a thing in the world could ever ruffle his languid contentment with himself. I, on my side, am still trying to force my own body back to steadiness.

"Tell me more about yourself," he says, apparently recovered. "Anything"

I ignore the warmth in my cheeks. "Hm, what do you want to know?"

"You," he croons.

"You already know a lot."

"I know where to press to make you moan." He smirks. "I want to know more."

I purse my lips. "More?"

"Yes. I know you're interesting. Prove me right."

"My hopes and dreams?"

"Your hopes and dreams. Specially your dirty dreams." He's on sassy mode. The Julian I'm most familiar with.

My mouth twists up with malice. "You don't need to hear about my dirty dreams. We've already enacted most of those." The darkness that shades his eyes is lascivious as he surveys me, seeing me naked under layers of blanket and clothes. He doesn't speak more. He's waiting for my answer. "Initial career plan was to write. Children's book," I begin. I don't tell many people that. I don't mean to make it seem like I don't love my job, like it's a road I took because I couldn't follow my dream. I love teaching. I love the kids. "But teaching is my calling." The one that proved to be easier and more profitable. Bills and death are the two things certain to come to all of us. I continue, "I hate pistachios. Love pasta more than life. My favorite movie is called The Scent of Green Papaya. Have you seen it? It's a beauty. I like the silence of it. And... let's see."

"Your first time?" He nudges.

"Gael." His name is a magical word that always conjures up a smile. "He was my brother's friend. Tall, dark and handsome. He spoke Spanish and I thought he was the sexiest thing on too-long teenage legs."

His forehead wrinkles in surprise. "You have a brother?"

"Half-brother. Jason. On my father's side." I try to control my face, but I think I still give away my animosity towards Jason. We do not get along. At. All. And I don't want to talk about him. "Your turn. First time. Tell me about it." Julian senses my desperation to move on to another subject unrelated to my family. To his credit, he obliges me.

"Ashley Kim. High school."

I can't help the one smug corner of my mouth from turning upward. "When in high school?"

"Second year. I'd barely mastered the art of masturbation before she came along. She was my first girlfriend." Julian is almost laughing as he tells me this. It's disarmingly sweet. "I'm pretty sure it was a very forgettable event for her. All five seconds of it." Poor Ashley. She wouldn't find him forgettable if she had him now. "My turn," he says. "Favorite book?"

My reply is whip fast. "Howl's Moving Castle."

"What the fuck is that about?"

My mouth forms an undignified O. "Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones! I can't believe you've never heard of it." It was one of the very first books my mother gave me. I love it for her just as much as I love it for itself. "It's about a cursed wizard named Howl who's a womanizer and goes around breaking hearts until he meets this girl, who's also cursed, but the only one who can handle him, even though he drives her crazy." The configuration of his face says he finds some coincidences on my description of the book plot. It also says he doesn't think I'm serious. "What's yours?"

"Norwegian Wood."

"Oh. That's a sad, sad story."

"You've read it?" Surprise again. It keeps jumping on us both.

"Uh, yeah. It's a famous book!" I say, mildly offended. "Plus, I like Murakami. I've read all of his books. But Norwegian Wood is my favorite Beatles song."

Julian gives me a small smile that doesn't put those adorable folds on the corners of his eyes. "See? I knew you were interesting."

"Everyone's a Beatles' fan." My quip does something to him. It softens his eyes with sadness.

"My father was. He learned English mostly from listening to Beatles songs." His voice is tinged with nostalgia. "There was a Liverpool lilt to some of his words."

His nod at my t-shirt last Monday makes sense now. "What happened?" I dare ask.

"Lung cancer. Two years ago."

"Oh." Shit. I'm bad at these things. I never know what to say but for the obvious. "I'm so sorry, Julian."

"Thanks. He had a good life. Smoked all the cigarettes he wanted." There is a smile lingering on his lips that hints at an array of treasured memories. "Hannah misses him a lot. They had an unexpected bond even I envied." I recall the first drawing she made. Her grandparents were both in it.

I'm curious about Julian's background, hungry for more information on his life. The events that have shaped him into who he is. "How old were your Parents when they emigrated here?"

"My father was 20, Umma was 18. She was already pregnant with my brother and I."

It's my turn to be stunned at the unexpected. "You have a brother too?"

He wiggles his brows, smirking. "I'm a twin."

"There's two of you in the world?!" I am floored. Completely.

"Gives you an idea of what school was like. People have a hard time telling random Asians apart, imagine when we're actually twins."

I'm suddenly having a very inappropriate daydream. Double the dirty in it. I pull my knees up, hugging them to keep the heat in my chest from leaving. "What's his name?"

"Henry." The name is a smile on his lips. "He lives in Seoul. Married a Korean girl, to my parent's delight. He's my mother's excuse to travel to Korea once a year." His comment is innocent, uttered thoughtlessly. But it pokes at my ribs. A Korean girl to his parent's delight. Would I be as delightful to Korean parents? I shake my head to dissipate the stupid thought. Julian doesn't notice as he goes on. "He was one of the popular kids in school. I was just a regular kid, though it never made sense to me. We're identical. Why didn't all the girls want to date me too?"

"Is he hotter?" I regard him from under my batting eyelashes.

He narrows his eyes at me. "We're identical."

"Hotness isn't about looks. Trust me." I'm provoking him now. "Maybe he just had it and you didn't."

"It?"

I lift one shoulder. "The swag. You know when you have it." Cause he's got it. Lord Almighty, he's got it from head to toe.

"Puberty was kinder to him. I wasn't so lucky."

"You better not be belittling yourself or fishing for reaffirmation here because I'm not going to tell you you're hot." I'm telling him already. "You own mirrors. Why d'you think I let you do those sinful things to me?"

He leans in, resting his elbows on the table. The heat of his stare could burn my clothes off. "I was sure my amazing personality and good heart had charmed the pants off of you."

"It charmed my skirts up. You never even took them off to fuck me."

He bites down on his bottom lip, releases it and says, "It's absurd how much I like hearing you say that."

"Say what?" I already know what.

"Fuck me.'" On his tongue, the words are made sensuous and dangerous.

I go molten inside. The dampness on my panties has been uncomfortable since he kissed me. Now it just gets unbearable. An itch that needs scratching. "You like hearing it?" I ask, coyly.

The intensity of his dark eyes turns my breathing shallow. "I like you, Pearl."

I find I need a deep intake of air to slow my heartbeat. Impossibly, he got me to be even more attracted to him. It bursts inside me like a supernova. I want to tell him as much. "You are such a goody goody, Julian. When I saw you eye-fucking me in that club I could never have pegged you for such a perfectly nice guy. You were right. I do like you." I like him to a dangerous degree of distraction.

The smirk I knew would follow my admission comes. "That I already knew."

Okay. We've established that we like each other. I'm in it now. I'm his daughter's teacher. I'm into him. I'm in a date with him. I am wet and hot because I want him to fuck me into forgetting basic human functions. "I'm still not sure what my being here means." It's true. I don't.

He tilts his head, confused.

"This could be stupid, Julian."

"Stupid would be not doing this."

"Why did you invite me here?"

His beautiful dark eyebrows rise. He looks at me like I just asked him why we breathe air. "Because we like each other."

Before, I thought Julian was the wrong kind of handsome. The irresistible, dangerous kind. Made to part legs and break hearts. Now, I know I couldn't have been more wrong. He's still irresistible. Still could easily part legs wherever he goes. Except he's not wrong. He's just...nice. He's an ordinary man. Except he's so much more than that.

He allows me to linger on him. I watch as his lips, full and inviting, curve slowly into a lopsided smile while my eyes roam over his features. Over lines that rise and fall, that tell a story of his heritage, and that twist and turn to illustrate his emotions and his thoughts. I trap my own lip between my teeth, hoping the pressure there will release some of the tension building way south. We're doing things backwards. After the sex, the date. But now I'm conditioned to having him all over me. This distance, this polite conversation, are just steps to get me where I want. I want to be on him. Now.

"Tell me what you see." It's a soft demand from him.

I shake my head, smiling. "I like your face."

"Don't you mean you'd like to sit on my face."

My mouth opens, but I don't have a reply for him. My head is full of the picture his words just painted. Full of every little wet detail. My toes curl inside my shoes. I'm pulsing with breathless need.

His eyes glitter with a self-satisfaction I know now is second nature to him. That cockiness is not a quality that looks good on people. But on him, it's charming. I don't know what this is. It's a magnetic pull to him. I want to drown in it. Maybe, this way I will be rid of this lust for him. Get too much of it, see if perhaps I'll get sick of it. Like when you have the same thing to eat every day until you can't stand it anymore. The staring gets too intense for me, I push off from my chair before I climb on that table and offer myself as dessert. "You are going to be a lot of trouble, Mr. Song. I just know it."

A wicked grin. "A little trouble is essential to a healthy life, Miss Jones."

I refrain from stating he's way more than a little trouble. I clear my throat, wrapping the blanket around me a little tighter. Cold has nothing to do with my shivering. "Let me help with the dishes. I can't cook, but I'm a pro when it comes to cleaning," I say, already assembling the dirty dishes on a pile. As I turn in the direction of the house, I hear Julian's steps are steady thumps behind me.

My shoulders are tense, the hairs on the back on my neck are erect. We're at the part of the game I've been anticipating. Inside, I set the plates and cutlery we used on the kitchen sink, open the tap as though I've done it before and have the intimacy to do it. I feel his warmth first. My body goes on alert mode. Nothing uncomfortable, on the contrary, my body is relaxed, easy, the lines of it being reshaped to ready it into fitting with his. I want him to press against me. I decide that if he doesn't, I'll lean back into him. Julian is the one who glues his body to mine though. Chest to back. A rolling wave of heat rises little hairs everywhere.

"Don't worry about dishes, Pearl," he purrs in my ear. "I haven't given you desert yet."

The blanket he laid around me earlier falls to the ground. I turn, slowly, curling my fingers on the marble edge of the kitchen isle behind me. "What's for dessert?"

"Chocolate," he says, slowly dragging his eyes over my chest and neck like he thinks I taste better than chocolate.

Breathless, I ask, "For you or for me?"

"Mostly for me, I hope."

"Oh." Shit. I'm half a heartbeat from dropping my panties at his feet.

He tucks a coiled tendril of hair behind my ear. His finger slides down, from my ear to my jaw, until it reaches my mouth. He outlines my lips. Invitingly, I part them. He smirks knowingly but doesn't give me more. "Come on. The night isn't over until after dessert. We can't make a habit of leaving things unfinished."

"You're the one leaving things unfinished. I tend to go all the way."

"So I've seen." His voice drops to an impossible sensuous tone. "In fact, I can't stop thinking about it. You've forced me to permanently set the water temperature to freezing cold. I can't even get in my shower without remembering you were there all wet."

"And alone." I arch into him, my breasts pushing more against his chest. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

Julian's fiery gaze dips to my cleavage. His Adam's apple bobbling on his throat. "Why? You're clearly capable of taking things into your own hands."

At some unconscious moment, my thighs glued together in a desperate effort to minimize the aching on their apex. The wetness is a pleasure in itself. The manifestation of my yielding to him. My mind is foggy with lust. I'm just so horny I'm wrenched out of reason into an animalistic urge to have him moving inside me. After a long decisive breath, I say, "I have to take it into my own hands because I can't get you out of my head." The grin on his face spreads slow and feline. He pulls me into his hardness. His strong arms around my waist propel me to stand on my tiptoes, waiting. "Don't make me beg for it, Mr. Song." And he doesn't.

My mouth is already open for him. His tongue slides in, demanding, taking. He knows what to do to make me gasp just the right way. Just the way he wants. I love hearing the conquering groan he utters. I am aware of everything that makes him into a man. Into a gorgeous, hot man. His height; I've never seen a Korean man so tall. His druglike scent. His warmth. His everything. I'm aware of nature, of how I'm a woman and he's a man and we are made to fit together. The push of his hips against me warns me to his lust. Thumbs digging in my waist. A rough hand on my neck, tilting my head to his liking. The edge of the kitchen counter is pressing on my back. The flatness of his chest is pressing against my front. His kisses travel down. Down. Neck. Hollow of my throat. Narrow path between my breasts. My fingers on his hair pull him back up. More. His lips have the power to steal my breath, make me tremble. His mouth makes another detour to scrape teeth against my neck. "God. I really want you," I drawl, hoarsely.

He laughs against my skin, pleased. "I'm all yours, my Pearl."