Leave the Night On Pt. 04

Agh! This was torture.

It took forever.

I have a multitude of excuses. I won't do you the disservice of explaining.

Suffice to say, I'm sorry.

Right now, I'm wrecking my brain trying to finish that other one. You know which one (S-O-R-R-Y). After that, this story will inevitably meet its end as well.

Writing is soooo hard. Thank God I don't earn my bread from doing it!

Again, this is long so you can entertain yourselves until I'm finished. Also, I've shortened my reviewing time in order to post it sooner (or you would've had to wait another month and you've waited enough time already!). That being said, be aware of my mistakes and forgive me for them (and correct me if you feel like it. You actually know more English!)

Have fun!

Don't forget your slowest writer adores you.

XOXO,

Nana.

4

JULIAN

DISORIENTED, I OPEN MY EYES to a strangeness that consumes everything. I can't tell what time it is. I'm not even sure what day it is. It might still be Monday. It might be Tuesday already. In the semi-darkness, I'm overwhelmed by a sense of dislocation. My body instantly recognizes the bed as foreign, the rustling of the bedsheets against my skin is a softer caress to that I'm used to.

With loose and tired limbs, I roll over inhaling an unfamiliar washing detergent's clean essence. There's also something of myself mingled with newness. It's a powerful memory trigger that relocates me: the faint fragrance of lemongrass on the pillow is the same impregnating my own sheets these days.

Pearl's bedroom is new territory. It's still uprooting to spend the night in a space that isn't my own. This interchange between our places is a new development. Mondays at hers, Fridays at mine, and the occasional quick fuck in my car in the middle of the week are part of our increasing need to be together. Only one thing remains the same: that recurrent, unwelcoming realization that I'm alone hasn't changed. The bed is empty. The bed is always empty.

The rush of abandonment flooding me shouldn't jar me this much. I should get used to it. It's not my first time waking up to an absence. Most nights I'm on my own.

Yet, this absence is specific. It has a name now.

Pearl's sitting on the sill haloed by the yellowed street light filtering in through her window. She's the only source of brightness purging the night from this room. Unaware of my speculative gaze, she's completely absorbed, scribbling away on that secretive black notebook she carries around.

For the millionth time, I wonder what she writes in there. I wonder if I'm written there.

It's become a nearly ritualistic ceremony to be pulled out of sleep just before the beginning of the day, my body wired to awake only to find the space beside me vacant. Not for the first time, it occurs to me I might be unconsciously adapting to her habits. Pearl can never linger on dreams. I'm always denied the pleasure of waking up with my arms around her. I'll always find her sitting in some corner, wearing my t-shirt as she is now, silently waiting for the rest of the night to fade away.

Knowing she would prefer to wear the clothes that were on my body is a small secret pleasure I gorge on. Even here, in her bedroom, where every item of clothing she owns is available to her, my t-shirt is what she picked. If I ask her about it, she'll say she loves how I smell and she wants to cling to it and feel she's got me on her skin.

As if sensing my attention, her eyes fly up to catch mine. "You're awake," she half-whispers, afraid to disturb the incoming morning.

"So are you," I say with sleep deepening my voice. "Again."

She sighs and conspicuously tucks the notebook behind the cushion on her back. I pretend not to notice it. "I couldn't sleep anymore," she says.

"I know."

I've never asked her about the Adderall bottle in her bathroom cabinet. I never ask her about a lot of small things. Pearl has a way of sharing very selective aspects of her life while keeping herself shrouded in mystery. I'm always afraid to pry into her life and come off as invasive.

"I'm sorry I'm such a zombie," she says. "Did I wake you?"

"You didn't. Don't worry," I say, noticing the alertness in her voice. She's been up for some time. "You know, this kind of feels like when Hannah was a baby."

The mention of my daughter puts a smile on Pearl's face. "Was she a terrible sleeper, too?"

"Worse than you, actually." In my mind, I'm transported back in time. I go to those nights Hannah's screeches would interrupt the few precious hours of sleep Karen and I could get. The responsibility of being the one to get up in the middle of the night was mine. I was the only one who could coax a restless baby Hannah back to sleep. I suppose Karen always knew I loved those private moments with Han, which was convenient for her, since she couldn't bring herself to attend to our baby's needs. In those early hours before dawn, it was only my child and myself. No one else. Come to think of it, from the beginning, it's always been the two of us.

Because of Pearl's unusual sleeping patterns, I'm getting to revisit that sensation I used to have with my daughter; it's like she and I are the only two people left on the planet. In this bubble of time we get together, I'm glad I don't need to share myself with anyone else but her.

"Han was a crepuscular creature," I tell Pearl, bringing myself back to the present. "She slept most of the day and cried away throughout the night. I used to stay up till crazy hours just trying to get her to shut up and go back to sleep."

Pearl tilts her head and smiles fondly at me. It's a smile only she gives me and I like to entertain the notion that I'm the only one who gets it. "Come here, My Pearl," I beckon.

She abandons her post and strides towards me. These sleepless dawns have an eerie power to transform her into an ethereal being. She's never stranger or more real than she is now. Her hair is a halo of disarranged curls around her open, ever-smiling face. My smile stretches at the memory of my fingers getting tangled in that soft, dark mass.

My t-shirt is the perfect length to leave her beautiful strong thighs exposed to my admiration. Pushing the bedsheets off of my legs, I make an invitation Pearl gladly accepts. "It's no compliment to me that you're never tired enough to wait for the sun," I say, luxuriating in her comfortable weight settling over my lap. Without even thinking, I move my hands to her bare legs. All that skin, exposed, begging to be touched. I can't help myself.

Her mouth curves lazily, almost sheepishly. "It is a compliment that I'm never tired of you. Not to mention," she says in her characteristic teasing tone, "it's always nice for me if you feel encouraged to try a little harder."

I raise an eyebrow. "You want me to fuck you harder?"

She bites her bottom lip, lowering her eyes coyly. It's an ordinary gesture, yet I find it so sexy, my dick stirs under her. "I wouldn't mind if you did," she purrs. "You could even outdo yourself. I have faith in your virility."

I dig my fingers into the sides of her thighs, running my hands up and meeting only skin under the t-shirt. Endless skin and nothing else. I lift my hips a little so she knows her faith is well warranted.

"You sure are up," she notes, moving ever so slightly.

Softly, I tug the t-shirt's hem. "You got blue paint all over my t-shirt."

Baby blue paint.

Pearl looks down at herself, self-consciously noticing the smudges maculating my clothes. "Oh, shit. Sorry. I'll wash it. It's only water-based paint," she says in an apologetic tone. "I finished Hannah's banner. Baby blue is her favorite color."

My face might crack in two if I smile any wider. She knows Hannah's favorite color. Of course, she does. Last Friday, Pearl witnessed my talentless attempts at confectioning a banner for Hannah's Career Day project. Once she realized I was born missing a creative, crafty gene, she offered to take it off my unskilled hands.

"Yeah, baby blue is Hannah's favorite color," I repeat. The sudden warm weight pressing down inside my chest is unrelated to Pearl's hands running up and down my skin.

Pearl casts a glance over her shoulder to the piece of paper draped over her desk. "Do you think she'll like it?"

There's a tender kind of insecurity to her voice that makes me want to kiss her. "She'll love it," I reassure her. "The best part is that I'll take all the credit for it."

The little smile that quirks the corner of her luscious lips is my favorite thing. "I think I deserve to be thanked properly," she says, leaning forward. "I think you owe me now."

Her lips press a featherlike kiss to the corner of my mouth. The touch is as delicate as it is promising. Immediately, I recognized her current mood. Oftentimes, she'll prefer to yield control. More seldomly though, our roles reverse. Sometimes, I sense she needs some power because it makes her feel safe, somehow.

"Tell me what you want," I ask, reading her intentions.

"You're what I want," she says, raking her fingers through my hair, tilting my chin up so her mouth can find purchase on my neck.

I relax under her hands because I can just be here without any worries. I can shut the world out of this room and pretend we're the only people who sleep hasn't conquered. Hannah is safe and sound. I've nothing to worry or think about. I'm just here with Pearl.

"You have me, My Pearl," I offer.

With my words, her posture changes. The air of early dawn haziness is replaced by bold determination. She gives me that mischievous grin I love and reaches for the hem of my t-shirt, pulling it off her head and revealing all that skin I already know so damn well but never tire of having. My eyes are drawn to her dark chocolate nipples, already taut and peaked in anticipation of my touch.

Working in symbiotic precision, we shift together. Any deliberation is needless by this point. We already know how to move when we're like this. I never have to think when I'm with her. All we have to do is feel and we'll guide each other.

My hips lift off the mattress, hers lower so I'm right there, the head of my dick stretching her entrance. Barely inside her, I can feel how she's swollen, likely sore too, and I break the resistance in her with slow, shallow trusts.

Pearl releases a tiny desperate sound, her hips lowering slowly as I slide into her an inch at a time, thrust by thrust until she finally takes all of me in. My whole world narrows to the clutching of her walls around my dick. She has a grip on me that's so possessive there's no room to breathe.

We both quiet, waiting, because this is her show. My fingertips are imprinting my touch on the fleshy side of her thighs, the weight of her ass is a demand pressing on my balls. Then, tentatively she moves ever so slightly, muscles contracting, squeezing me. A wince of pleasure pain crinkles her forehead.

I still for a torturous, breathless second. "You okay, My Pearl?"

She nods, trapping her bottom lip with her teeth. A small crease sits right between her eyebrows. "God Julian, you feel so good inside me." She pins me with her lust hooded eyes, misaligning any thoughts running through my head. "I want to make you come. I want to watch you coming inside me and know I did it."

Just like that, she tips me off my balance. My mind blanks out. All I can see is this woman. I tighten my grip on her waist, supporting her while she begins to undulate so effortlessly, we both release a trembling exhale.

"So, make me come, My Pearl. Do your worst," I say, ready to let her guide us whichever way she likes. I'm content to relent to the rhythm she chooses to follow.

Taking the reins, she tips her mane of coal black curls back and moves like a dancer possessed by music. Her hands snake through her own hair, mouth parting to let out those indecent, audacious sounds so typical of her.

Quickly, she is lost to pure sensation giving in to instinct, and I know she would only need a few more minutes. It's so easy to get lost in her. This is all it takes. It's all it takes to flood me with a primal urge to spill into her, just knowing she'd let me have anything I wanted just because she wants me.

Lowering her brazen, defiant eyes to mine, her nails scrape down my chest to create a shiver that zips along my whole body. The night's silence in the room is rapidly replaced with my growling sounds and the flaps of skin on skin as her ass rises and lands on my thighs.

She takes my hands off her waist and places them on her stomach, silently asking me to explore her. She loves the roughness of my calluses scraping her skin. Knowing this, I can't help but give my hands the freedom to roam her body, squeezing her breasts with unapologetic aggression. Moving down again, I settle where our bodies meet, nudging my thumb right at her clit, circling and pressing as her own back and forth motions are slicking my touch.

The force with which she drives her hips down and forward rocks the bed and drives my head up her pillow. Then, she arches her back, changing the angle of our connection, because she knows what I like when she's on top. The pleasure explodes down my spine as the very head of my dick goes so deep, I feel it hitting the bottom inside her.

There's a lapse in time in which she lets her movements abate, if only to bask in the sensation of my dick entering her. She looks down between us, smiling at what she sees. My hand between us is coated with her lust. I can smell us in the air. Pearl doesn't seem to mind, or remember, how tender she still is, because she picks up speed again, ripping through an ever-growing resistance created by our combined coming release.

Bracing her hands on the bed's headboard over my head, she begins to bounce. Up. Down. Using the headboard to support her weight, she alternates her movements, first swaying, rubbing herself on me, then bouncing again. Her dark eyes are riveted to the link between us, hair shadowing the sides of her face. She never wavers, never stops. And oh, fuck it feels insane, so good, so consuming I have to grit my teeth, my every muscle being pulled taut under her.

"Pearl..." I murmur through clenched teeth.

"Come inside me," she whispers pleadingly. "Please, Julian."

"Oh, fuck, Pearl. If you keep this up..."

"Yes." She goes wild, riding me so fucking hard, the bed creaks. "I'm going to come on your dick," she rasps and she knows I'm right there with her.

With no warning, I come with an inhuman grunt. It spills out of me with the rumbling of a dam breaking. I feel myself being poured out into Pearl, filling her up. She's seconds behind me when she cries out my name and slumps down on my chest.

Our heartbeats wild, I hold her to me. We're sweaty, our heaving chests sticking to each other's. We remain as we are for a while, waiting for our breathing to normalize.

"I'm so sore," she murmurs into the silence.

"That's what you get for trying to ride a man to death."

"It's not my fault your dick feels so good," she says, straightening and rising on her knees. We both grunt at the loss of contact as I slip off of her. Pearl freezes, all of a sudden, momentarily scaring me.

"What was it?" I ask, suddenly alarmed. "Did I hurt you?"

Pearl shakes her head slightly, casting her eyes down. We both notice the thick whiteness starting to run down the inside of her thigh at the same time.

The sight of my cum on her, contrasting beautifully with the darkness of her skin hijacks my brain. "Fuck." Mindlessly, I reach over to touch it.

Pearl remains still as I rub the slickness in circles on her skin, drunk on the proprietary streak that takes hold of me. I smear her skin with my seed, marking her before bringing my fingers up, following the streak of white up her thigh to her clit.

My touch seems to rekindle the pleasure she's not fully recovered from. "I'll be smelling you on myself all day," she draws breathlessly.

"Good." I growl something primal and animalistic. "I want to be all over you." One cum covered finger buries itself in her. She's so tender, a single finger battles its way in. "I want you to be sore because of me all day."

My finger curls inside her, feeling up soft, wet tissue, drawing a deep throated moan out of her. "I'm always thinking about the feeling of your dick in my pussy," she says, half dazed. "I'm like a nymphomaniac. All I want is to have you inside me. All the time."

Wrapping my arms around her, I sit up so I can finally kiss her. "Believe me, My Pearl. If I could make an occupation out of fucking you, that's all I'd do. I'd stop living life and just fuck you constantly."

I feel her walls quiver around my curling finger, clamping in on it. "Are you too sore, My Pearl?"

Overwhelmed, she grabs my wrist when I make a motion to pull my finger out. "Please. Stay," she begs. "I don't want you to stop."

I skim my lips along the column of her neck and she purrs like a kitten. "You want me to make you come again?"

Her answer is a pitiful, low moan.

"Okay, My Pearl," I say. "But you'll have to wear something for me tomorrow."

"Anything. Just." She pauses, swallowing hard. "Please."

The suffering sound that escapes her charms a laugh out of me. "Anything, My Pearl?"

"Yes. Anything. Anything you want." And the need in her voice convinces me. She's all mine. The thought comes as an intruder. To ward it off, I kiss her. I kiss her until we're both moaning. I kiss her to brandish these feelings she stirs within me because I'd rather leave it all unexamined.

When I pull away from her mouth, I take a good look at her face. I notice her parted lips, her half-lidded eyes, her beautiful mussed hair. She's all endless smooth skin that becomes darker in the poorly illuminated room. She's a wonderland of soft curves to bite, suck, and touch. Right now, she is what I want. And I have her. There's nothing else I need to think about.

"Let's strike a bargain, My Pearl," I say. "I'll tell you what I want if you come for me again."

***

PEARL

"WOW! WHAT AN ASS!"

Cami's mouth is hanging open. The lemon she's squeezing into lemonade has long since dried up. Lil isn't even watching how much sugar she's pouring into a juice sure to give the kids early diabetes. We are, all three of us, very obviously gawking at Julian's backside while he's up a ladder setting up Hannah's Career Day banner. Hannah chose her father's profession for Career Day, because of course she did. She idolizes him. Right now, I do too. I could fall to my knees and swear to pray to Julian in khaki pants. Somehow, he looks better all tidy up than he does in his ragged tight cowboy jeans.

"Are men even allowed to have an ass like that?" A stupefied Lil asks no one in particular.

"I told you his ass was superb," I say, smugly. "He has an avocado kind of ass."

"What now?" My friends whip their heads in my direction, forsaking the view Julian is currently presenting us.

"You know the perfect avocado?" I say, not even for a second daring to tear my eyes from the ass I'm correlating to a terrible fruit metaphor. "Like when you're shopping for avocados and find the perfect one? The one that's soft but not too soft, so that when you squeeze your fingers slowly sink into its flesh; but at the same time, you still feel the firmness. You know what I mean?" In the beat that follows, I make a monumental effort to avert my eyes from Julian's perfect ass to search Lil's and Cami's faces. Their expressions tell me they are simultaneously horrified and delighted. "What?" I shrug. "I know my avocados."

Cami's laughter prompts Lil's, and then my own. "I will never ever eat an avocado again without thinking of your boo's ass, Pearly," Cami says. "And that's on you!"