Leave the Night On Pt. 04

"You weren't," he says, quick to soothe me. "I actually meant to thank you for staying with her. You know Han's quiet. I'm sure she doesn't say much to you at school, but she comes home every day telling me about you. All the things you said and the things you taught her. She says you're funny. You're the best teacher. Thank you for caring so well for her."

I'm inclined to misinterpret his meanings again. "It's my job," I say, smiling sheepishly.

The smile he gives me is enough to brighten my whole world. "Most people aren't this great even if it's their job to be."

***

"YOU HAVE TO LOOK AMAZING."

Cami throws one of her vintage jackets at me. It's one of those battered old things people actually pay a small fortune for. She probably bought it for a few hundred euros at a boho flea market in Paris.

"It's a 7-year-old's birthday party," I complain, because I'm already late.

"You're unofficially meeting his family," she says, then adds as if remembering a bit belatedly, "You're facing his ex-wife. It's your obligation to look outrageously hot."

I laugh through my incredulity. Cami is surreal. "I won't be facing anybody."

"No?" She defies me. "Remember how hot she is? How jealous she made you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Camille."

She rolls her deep-sea blue eyes. "Whatever, Pearly. Put this on."

I catch the probably real wool from a real fluffy sheep white dress she throws at me. It's thick and soft as a cloud, but it won't cover enough of my cleavage. The neckline plunges down in a bold, revealing cut. Thank God for my proportionally sized boobs. Too much of my collarbones will be exposed in this dress. "This is a little tight, honey," I say, acerbically. "Have you seen the weather outside? My cleavage can't be appearing at a kid's birthday party."

A silk blue scarf followed by a pair of sheer stockings hits my face. "Honestly, Pearly," Cami says, turning back to rummage through her closet. "You should have a little more faith in me." She emerges from her closet with arms full of clothes that could pay for three months of my rent. "Start undressing."

Too annoyed to discuss, I sigh in defeat and unbutton my jeans.

***

WEARING A FEW HUNDRED EUROS WORTH OF CLOTHES, I arrive at the Song's farm. The bag containing Hannah's birthday present is dangling from my fidgeting fingers. Typically, I'm failing in shaking off this sense of unease elevating my heartbeat. I have a strange, almost wrong feeling to be going into this house in the light of day, when Hannah's home. The person I am on those Friday nights with her father isn't someone Hannah would understand or, even, accept.

Today, I'm treading a fine line between Julian's Pearl and Hannah's Miss Jones. I'm afraid I might fail at this double agent mission. This fear doesn't stop me from pressing a finger to the doorbell, though. Everything considered, I'm instilled with enough confidence by Camille's dress that my anxiety is smothered a little. All I need to do is behave myself. I'm not a deranged, sexually uncontrollable woman. I can retain some self-control around Julian.

The door opens a heartbeat after this thought has taken shape in my brain and acid drops on my stomach corroding any assurance I had in myself. I haven't seen him since last Friday's evening. Today is only Sunday, but when he breaks into a huge smile, my heart flutters in my chest. I own a smile now. That smile. The sexy curve on his lips, tilted with mischief and pleasure: I can call that all mine.

"Hello, My Pearl," he croons in that deep husky voice he uses when he wants to tease me. "Not grabbing boobs today? I'm disappointed."

My eyes do an obvious and extensive search of him. He fills up the doorframe. He takes up all the space. All the space in my head. A hunger twists in my belly and slides down. Friday was a million years ago. It feels like I've been fasting and now I have this. Him. Here. On a silver platter. An autumnal wind blows past him and a familiar scent wafts up to me. He smells so good, all musk and fabric softener it makes my mouth water.

I swallow dryly. "Hi, you smartass."

Julian knows, by this point, how affected by his presence I am. I've always been unable to hide it. I expect him to invite me in, but he closes the door behind himself, drowning the chatter and laughter of Hannah's birthday guests. The thrill that slides down my spine is instant.

His intent gaze glides over me. I recognize the desire shadowing his eyes and the pride blossoming inside me because of it. "You look...wow...just..." He sucks his bottom lip in, releases it. He blinks his dark coffee eyes. Once. Twice. "Wow, My Pearl "

I lick the smarmy grin on my lips. "I do?"

He nods, dumbly. "You always do."

Julian is his casual self today. He's wearing those jeans I adore. Tight enough to accentuate his strong thighs but not fit enough as to be uncomfortable. My attention, though, is glued to the arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing a knitted jumper, a deep moss green that highlights his fading, golden tan. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and my admiration is centered on the bulging veins and taut tendons on his forearms. His eyes catch the drift of my attention "Why, My Pearl," he croons, "You seem to have a fetish."

I shake my head slightly, filled up by a sudden need to sink my nails into his biceps. "I was just pitying the poor cows," I lie. The sound of his soft laughter yanks my eyes back to his face where I find a wide pleased grin waiting. "Won't you let me in?"

He pushes his shoulder off the doorframe and wades closer. "You must pay the toll first," he says.

My eyes dip south again. "Please, tell me it's a blow-job."

The chuckling sound that rattles his chest is a velvet caress down my back. Nothing in the world makes me prouder than the ability to make him laugh. "Nah. The gravel would hurt your knees," he says, his fingers sliding over my jaw, tilting my face up to his. "I'll settle for a kiss." Gently, he sucks my bottom lip between his. My pleased groan is an embarrassing confession of my need for him. He retreats only enough to find my glazed eyes. "On the mouth, that is."

Without further encouragement from him, I loop my arms around his neck and yield to this throbbing longing in me. The bag with Hannah's present drops to the ground at my feet, forgotten. My mouth finds its target and melts against Julian's. His tongue does a tempting slide alongside mine, slowly melting me like a sugar cube. I start to press the full length of my body into his and before I know it, he stumbles backwards. His back hits the wood of the closed door with a soft thud. When he growls against my mouth, I curse my coarse leather jacket for preventing me from feeling more of the hardness of his body.

I push myself up on my tiptoes, pushing my breasts against his chest, searching for some friction. Julian's hands find the opening in my jacket and sweep inside, grabbing my waist. His fingers dig into my dress almost painfully, wanting skin. I make a pitiful sound of approval then he pulls away. It's so sudden I'm left dizzy. My lips are still throbbing and parted.

He leans his head back against the door, panting, eyes closed. His mouth is too high for my reach so my own mouth instantly goes to his neck, because it's all I can get, so it's what I take. "Pearl." My name is a rumbling warning that vibrates on my lips pressed over his Adam's apple. He gently peels me off him. "Not that I would normally object to being mauled by you, but-"

"It's a kiddy's birthday party." I exhale against his skin, then put a savory distance between our bodies. "You're right. It's just...so hard to control myself around you."

"I would never judge you, My Pearl. I am hard to resist." He's being a smartass again. But, despite it, I meant it. It is hard to touch him so casually, without disregarding self-control now that I'm allowed to have all of him. Now that I remember what it is like to have him inside me. Biting teeth, groping hands, and thrusting hips.

He runs his long fingers through his hair, smoothing it back. I know just how silky the jet black, bluish tendrils feel against his palm. It's grown a little longer these past couple of months and its ends are starting to curl over the tips of his ears.

Again, I become the focus of his eyes. "Pearl, I mean it. You look...good. I mean you're pretty," he fumbles, blowing out a heavy breath. "Your skin is nice."

For the first time, I have the pleasure of watching a soft, pinkish blush tinge his cheeks. My appearance is making him blush like a school boy. Next time Cami decides to give me a makeover, I won't argue.

For its rarity, I don't let this chance slide through my fingers. "Oh, thanks," I say, looking down at myself with a fake kind of disinterest. "That's because I'm ovulating. Your skin looks better at this stage. It's a trick of nature to attract the male species. It's saying 'there's a healthy female to procreate with'. A couple of weeks later you'll get lots of pimples. It's really annoying."

He groans, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance, and opens the door. "Get in, you jerk"

It's a new superpower I've discovered. I can ruffle him if I try hard enough. And oh, the fun it is.

Grinning like a fiend, I pick up the bag containing his kid's present and stride inside.

***

FROM WHAT I'VE GATHERED, HANNAH IS A CHILD of few friends, and yet there are more kids running around the backyard than I'd hoped. Most of them I recognize as the faces I spend half my weekdays with. Hannah, to my astonishment, is the source of the shrieking excited cries coming from the ginormous trampoline placed on the lawn. Beside her, Olivia is the other kid jumping and giggling as she's catapulted into the air.

I turn to Julian, possessed by my inner child. "Oooh! Can the adults go, too?"

He bends down and whispers in my ear. "My bed is springy, too. We can bounce in there, if you like."

The image he paints in my brain is never leaving me. "How inappropriate, Mr. Song."

I catch his tiny smile over my shoulder. "Let me take your jacket."

I let him slide the jacket off my shoulders while my eyes roam the cluster of guests. There are, surprisingly, more adults than children. Altogether, there's less than twenty people dappling the Song's backyard. Unconsciously, I scan the scene for Hannah's mother. The sound of her laughter gives her away and makes it easy to spot her talking to the man I recognize as Mrs. McCullough, Julian's farm hand. To their left, is the group of moms who integrate Julian's fan club. I make them my new focal point. "Oh look! Your fans are here," I joke, just for the sick pleasure of poking Julian.

In the absence of a snarky comment, I twist my neck. Julian's behind me. Paralyzed. Eyes down. Right on my ass.

"Julian?"

"Jesus, Pearl," he says, words passing through his teeth. The dumb lust on his face is priceless.

"What?" I ask, all coy and mischievous.

His eyes cut to my face. The dark intensity in them has me squirming under his gaze. "What are you wearing?"

I blink coquettishly. "A dress?"

"A dress?" His eyes leisurely travel the length of my back. "Don't you know what a dress can do to a man by now?"

My answer is about to slide off my tongue when Hannah's voice interrupts me.

"Miss Jones!" She comes into the house, her feet barely staying on the ground as she springs from step to step until she stops, bouncing on her heels in front of me. Something clogs my throat at the sight of the happiness all over her face. "You came!" Hannah exclaims, excitedly. Her dog arrives in tow and barks happily at me, wagging his tail before sitting with a lolling tongue.

On Hannah's face there's the same sunshine smile I just saw on her mother's. She looks so happy. "Of course, I came. I'm not crazy enough to miss your birthday!" I say, keeping a steady voice despite the emotion tightening its grip on my throat. I crouch so Hannah and I are at eye level. "Happy birthday," I say and, lowering my voice to a playful whisper, I add, "My favorite student!"

Hannah, in this moment, does something that I would never have expected from her. She throws her little arms round my neck and gives me a hug. It's brief, warm and shy. The weight of her small body lingers for a mere second. I'm left stunned as she quickly pulls away. Her dog barks once. If in protest or approval, I don't know.

My throat clogs, and because I don't know what to say I glance up at Julian who's standing directly behind Hannah. My own surprise is reflected on his face sharing space with some other emotion. Something I don't have time to read because Hannah, in a version of herself I've never met before, says, "Is this my present?"

I blink thrice remembering the bag dangling from my fingers. "Yes! This is yours," I tell her, extending the gift to her. "And you know what? This is a special present because no one else in the world has one like it."

Hannah's eyes sparkle with excitement. She throws a quick look to her father, silently asking him for permission. Julian nods and only then does Hannah take the present from me.

She pulls the wrapped up rectangular block from the bag and starts tearing it open. I stiffen. Stupidly, I expected her to throw it on the pile and open it later. I want to slap myself on the forehead. She is seven. Of course, she wants to open it now. I start fidgeting nervously, watching the wrapping paper fall, crumpled and forgotten, to the ground. Hannah eyes the leather-bound book in her hands curiously.

I see her slowly read the name of the book, printed in indented gold letters, on the cover.

It's crazy how my skin is prickly and I'm feeling overexposed. I battle the fear she might hate it. I almost got her some generic toy, but I wanted her to have something special. Even more so after her fight with Toby. I don't know exactly what compelled me to do it. I've never even shown my stories to anyone, although I also felt that I could trust Hannah with one. One made especially for her.

"I've noticed you're a little book worm," I say to her, my voice laced with insecurity. "When I was your age, books were my best friends. So, I made this one specially for you."

She is still staring at the book's brown leather cover. "You made this?" It's not Hannah's voice that asks. I lift my head to look up at Julian. I told him, that very first Friday we had, about wanting to write children's stories. Few people in my life know about that ambition of mine.

Both Julian and I turn our eyes to the soft sound of Hannah cracking the book open. She lands right in the middle of it, on a page where I'd painted, in watercolor, a girl. A girl with her face. She's wearing a pink and white hanbok, standing with a dog just as shaggy as the one by her side.

Hannah stares at the page in silence. Enough time goes by that regret starts chewing at me. I chance a worried glance at Julian, but he is frowning, analyzing the drawing Hannah has been staring at. My eyes fly away from him, past him, to land on the woman I presume to be Karen and who is staring at her ex-husband and daughter gathered around me.

"Do you like it, Hannah?" I ask, awkwardly breaking the tense silence.

Hannah nods. Even though I understand her nods to mean an affirmation, I think she doesn't like it and my heart caves in a little. I'm about to apologize when she speaks. "This dog is Fluffies." The tip of her small finger lands on the watercolor dog. "Is this girl me?" She lifts her eyes, so much like his, to me.

I see her for who she is. Only a little girl. Still so naive, so new and untarnished. There's still so much she'll see. Such harshness this world will throw at her. In a rush, I'm completely and utterly possessed by an urge to hold her and shield her from it all.

"Yes, Hannah," I croak. "She is you. She's every girl like you."

"Did you make this drawing, Miss Jones?"

"I did."

Her little eyebrows rise a little. "It's a nice drawing, Miss Jones."

I release a huff of relieved laughter. "Thanks, Hannah."

She closes the book and turns to her father, who's standing silently behind her. "Can we read it tonight, Daddy?"

Julian smiles softly down at his kid and my heart remembers to beat again. "Sure, Han."

Hannah hands the book to him and says to me, "Thank you very much for the present, Miss Jones." I'm sure Julian has made her memorize the line. Her next words, though, feel more natural. "I like your book."

"You're welcome, Hannah," I tell her. "I'm happy you like it."

With a small smile thrown her father's way, she runs back to her small circle of friends.

Once again alone with Julian, I rise to my full height reaching the hard plane of his chest. When I look up, he's gazing down at me wearing an expression that's a mix of fondness and incredulity.

"I was going to get her a toy," I start saying, apologetically, "but then I remembered she's always reading and I... I thought she might like...Maybe I should've gotten her-"

"Pearl," he interrupts me, and his mouth crooks, lightening his face up in that smile I've only ever seen Hannah get. "She loves it."

"Are you sure? She seemed so...I don't know. Weirded out?"

He laughs at my insecurity. "You know how she works by now. She's not big on reactions. Her silence was testimony to her approval. I guess she was just...surprised. As was I."

I raise my eyebrows, uncertain.

"You made her a whole book, Pearl," he clarifies.

"I figured she doesn't find herself in books very often. I wanted to make her feel special."

Julian's smile softens into something else. Something so loving I catch myself unconsciously stepping closer to him. "That was thoughtful of you. Thank you, Pearl."

In a breath, everything and everyone fades away. The laughter and the voices drift away, dwindling into the background. He's still holding my jacket draped over his arms. I'm still wet from the welcome kiss he gave me. I'm reminded by the sudden rush of heat, that this man in front of me is the reason why I'm aware of the chafing of my tight dress against my skin and the shallowness of my breathing. His eyes dance all over my body, drinking me in until he's inebriated.

"You look like all my wet dreams come alive in this dress, My Pearl."

Using mere words, he's just made me wetter.

"I know this is wrong and inappropriate on so many levels," I start, slightly out of breath, "but if I went into the bathroom, would you please, please, follow me and give me five minutes? Just five minutes, please. I haven't properly touched you in two whole days. All I need is to kiss you for five uninterrupted minutes then I'll be okay."

Julian's eyes flash with something dark. It's quick, a fraction of a second in which he truly sees how I need him. We both might have been overestimating my self-control. His mouth changes and becomes that one grin that precedes the unspeakable things his mouth will do to me. "Five minutes, uh?" He jerks his head towards the hallway. "I'll be there in a second."

I flash him a smile, and turn to go but stop dead in my tracks. Karen has materialized behind him. "Hi!" she says, sidestepping Julian to stand beside me. "You must be the famous Miss Jones! I'm Karen, Hannah's mom."

It takes me a few heartbeats to take in the situation. Karen's big, incandescent smile, Julian's slightly shocked face and my own instant case of social awkwardness.

"Hi!" I finally manage to say, I more shriek than say, and I sound so phony. Overly nice. My second attempt comes out better. "Hi, Karen. It's nice to meet you."

Her eyes are a large, sparkling hazel. She's looking at me expectantly. My lips twitch, wanting to give her a smile. Karen has the kind of face that induces people to smile back at her. "You can't believe how much I've heard about you!" Her voice is honey smooth, too sweet as she turns to Julian and lays a hand on his arm. "I don't think I've ever seen Hannah take such a liking to an adult before. Right, Jules?"