Home > Night Owl (The Night Owl Trilogy #1)(12)

Night Owl (The Night Owl Trilogy #1)(12)
Author: M. Pierce

Her threat to start calling felt very real, and very menacing.

I couldn't deal with Bethany calling while I was with Hannah, and I wanted to be with Hannah all the time. Dropping her off last night had been hell.

I had driven Hannah home in stunned silence—no girl ever made me come that fast and that hard with her mouth—and maybe her boldness angered me, but I liked it too. I liked being caught off guard. I liked being provoked. I wanted nothing more than to blow by Hannah's house, drive her to my apartment, bend her over the kitchen counter, and spank her until she cried. And f**k her hard and make her come, too.

Damn. This girl was getting under my skin.

The worst part was, I could see Hannah's disappointment when I pulled up to her house. She tried to play it off, but she was a shit actress. She'd just given me the blowjob of my young life and I must have seemed annoyed about it.

Why else would I end the night so abruptly? Why else wouldn't I take her to my place?

The questions were plain in her eyes, and the hurt.

She thanked for me dinner.

I barely replied.

My mind was already churning.

How could I have Hannah over when every corner of my apartment screamed, "I have a girlfriend! A female resides here! Look, tampons!"

Step one: buy time.

Subject: Dynamite

Sender: Matthew R. Sky Jr.

Date: Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Time: 8:15 AM

Morning Hannah,

I have plans after work that will go on indefinitely, so if you don't hear from me tonight you know the reason.


* * *

I sent the email and called Pam.

Step 2: get rid of the suspicious labeled food in my freezer.

It would be a shame to throw out the food, and anyway, I'm not that coldhearted. I felt a stab of guilt as I thought about Bethany cooking and labeling the meals.

My behavior was starting to beg the question—why not just break up with her? Call her and do the deed. Make this right. It had to happen.

But not yet.

Dumping my girlfriend over the phone while she was on vacation felt about as wrong as cheating on her under the same circumstances, and two wrongs...

Shit, think about this later.

"Matthew?" Pam's clipped voice came on the line.

"Hey Pam." I paced through the kitchen. "Look, I need a favor. I need you to swing by and pick something up."

"You have new pages for me?"

Poor Pam, she sounded ridiculously excited. I smirked at the gridlock of Tupperware in my freezer. Pam was the only person I knew who would store and return these without asking any questions. To her, I was simply M. Pierce, eccentric writer extraordinaire.

"New pages?" I said, closing the freezer. "Mm... not quite..."

After Pam left with three grocery bags of frozen meals (and assurances to restore them when I asked), I began to comb my apartment and remove all traces of Bethany.

I thought listening to hiphop would help distract me from the scumbagginess of my task, but after "99 Problems" and "Heartless" I flung my iPod away.

Everything went into duffel bags: pictures of Bethany and I, all my photo albums, her razors, makeup, shampoo, and other toiletries, her jewelry and clothes, my books, manuscripts, files with documents pertaining to royalties and film deals—shit, I even threw my tax stuff in the bag. Yeah, like Hannah would look in my file cabinet. I was getting paranoid.

I locked the stuff in the trunk of my Lincoln.

Damn, I felt like a gangster closing a trunk on a body. This was getting seriously f**ked up. Another surge of guilt went through me as I made my way back up to my apartment.

I felt like I'd taken a ten-mile run, minus the stress relief. I also didn't have a thing left to eat besides a few cans of soup, pasta, and cereal. Awesome.

It was 7:00 p.m.

It took me all day to transform my apartment into a bachelor pad, and the exercise left me feeling dirty and hollow. Plus, I missed Hannah. I missed her voice and the candied scent of her shampoo. I missed her open thighs. I missed her furious blushing, her wet cunt...

I checked my email.

She sent a post for our story yesterday, nothing else.

I added a couple paragraphs to The Surrogate. They were dry and plodding compared to my racing fantasies of Hannah.

I could call her, but I'd already blown her off for the day. Besides, I didn't want to come off as some loser with no life.

Was I a loser with no life? I needed to schedule an appointment with my psychiatrist. He always helped me think my way out of corners, and he was one of a handful of people who knew that Matthew Sky was M. Pierce.

He didn't spare me hard truths, either. I just wasn't sure I wanted to hear the hard truths about Hannah.

I already knew that the price of great pleasure is great pain.

I also knew that this thing with Hannah would hit the ground sooner or later and she would be hurt, god help me, and I wouldn't be able to protect her—to protect her from my own stupid, selfish choices.

Finally these thoughts became too much. I showered and resigned myself to a date with my hand and my poor sketch of Hannah (and the memory of her hot mouth making me come against my will), but when I got out of the shower I saw I'd missed two calls.

Both from Hannah.

I pulled on a pair of boxers and called her back.


"Hey." I smiled compulsively at the sound of her voice. My c*ck perked up, too. Perfect, just call me Pavlov's dog. "You called?"

"Yeah. Matt, I..."

Maybe it was because I'd just been knee deep in my girlfriend's stuff, but I had a sudden gaping sense of dread.

"Go on," I said quietly.

"Well, first off, are you busy? I know you said you'd be busy. I don't want to—"

"No! No." I ruffled my damp hair. "I got done with my obligations sooner than expected. I'm home, just kind of dicking around."

Okay, could have phrased that better.

"Oh." Hannah sounded distant. "If you were bored, you could have called me."

"Hm? No, um... I do have stuff to do."

"So do you need to go?"

"No!" Geez, I was starting to feel exasperated. Lies on top of lies on top of lies. "Please, just... talk," I stammered.

"Okay. Okay. So." Hannah gathered a shaky breath. "Did I make some epic mistake last night? At the club?"

"What?" I flopped onto the couch in shock. "God, no. No."


"No! No no no. I loved it, Hannah. Fuck, I've thought about little else besides repaying you for that sassy display." I chuckled. "Mm, I almost invited you over last night, except my apartment... was wicked dirty." Another lie on the heap. I probably owned the cleanest apartment in Denver. "I didn't want you to see the sloppy side of Matt."

"I think I've already seen the sloppy side of Matt." Hannah giggled. Her relief was palpable. I laughed with her. Maybe my relief was palpable, too.

"God, little bird. Trust me, your mouth on my cock, god damn..."

I trailed off. My dick was already far too interested in this conversation.

"Okay," Hannah said, "so the next thing. Matt, I can't... accept these." She cleared her throat. I heard a door close. "I mean, my god. I went online, so I know how much they cost. And you obviously had them overnighted. Are you insane? We're going to have to figure out..."

Hannah rambled on about returns and money and paying me back.

For a beat, I was in the dark. Accept these? How much they cost?

Then I remembered. The LELO toys. I jumped up and began pacing around my living room excitedly. Laurence pricked an ear in my direction.

"They arrived? Excellent."

"Yeah, like I said. And I can't—"

"Good, good. I had a hell of a time getting them overnighted, that required a little finessing. You opened them?"

"Yes. Are you not hearing me?"

"Hm?" It was true, I wasn't hearing Hannah. The toys had arrived and my gutter-dwelling mind was whirring. "You have a laptop? With a webcam?"

"Yes, uh, why? If—"

"Good. Okay. Get on your laptop, Hannah, let's Skype."


I ended the call. I may very well have skipped into the office.

Hannah was already on Skype when I logged on. I started a video call.

She was sitting in bed with her back to the headboard and wearing a gray camisole, no bra by the look of it. She grinned when she saw me.

"Are you nak*d?" she laughed.

"What? No. Shirtless." I frowned down at myself.

"I demand proof."

I rolled my eyes. I also started VodBurner to record our call.

"I think you called enough of the shots last night, Hannah. But so you don't think I'm a total perv—" I aimed the webcam down at my lap. I was wearing a pale pair of Etiquette Clothiers boxers. "—there you go. Would you like me to keep the camera at this angle? Clearly you were making a play to see my junk, so..."

"Matt!" Hannah turned red. I smirked and fixed the camera.

I could have grabbed my laptop and gotten more comfortable, but my desktop was already on—and I was feeling impatient.

"Lemme see your room," I said.

Hannah turned her laptop, giving me a quick view of the room. I saw a bed, bookshelves, boxes, and... not much else.

"I like what you've done with the place."

"I just got here," she grumbled, twisting the laptop back around, "and I've had zero time to unpack. Some guy keeps distracting me."

"What a wanker," I said. "He should really give you some time to turn that den into a cute little nest. Maybe he should help you pimp out your nest..."

"No he shouldn't!" Hannah glowered at the screen and I laughed. God, it felt good to be talking to her again. And she definitely wasn't wearing a bra. When she leaned closer, I could see her n**ples.

My c*ck stirred.

"You might want headphones if anyone's in hearing distance," I said. "I'm about to start talking about those beautiful tits of yours."

"Oh, yeah... be right back." Hannah slipped away.

I dashed to the bathroom, found my lube, and beat her back. She reappeared with a bulky headset. Her blush was still firmly in place.

"Don't judge me," she said as she plugged in the jack and fit the earphones on. They engulfed her ears. Noise-canceling, by the look. "I used to be a gamer."

"Nah, they're perfect," I said.

They were perfect, even if they looked a little silly. With the mic right by her mouth I would be able to hear every noise she made, and she would be able to hear only me. "You're not wearing a bra, are you Hannah? I can see your n**ples. They're hard. Is your door locked? Show me a breast, just one. Keep it out."

"It's locked," Hannah whispered.

"Your breast," I demanded.

I heard her breath quicken.

"Right, sorry." She slid off the thin straps of her cami and stretched the neckline below one of her br**sts. It spilled down and I heard her sigh.

"Mm, is that nice for you?" I began to rub my c*ck through my boxers. "To let it out? I know they're heavy. You love it when I lift and squeeze them, don't you? Show me the other one. Shake them for me."

Hannah's blush extended down her neck to her chest. She rolled down the other half of her cami and I clenched my teeth against a moan. Her dark curls fell softly around her, framing her chest. She twisted from side to side. The motion made her br**sts bounce and sway.

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