Night Owl
Author:M. Pierce

"Yeah. She's really tired. We're at a motel, we just stopped. Pretty sure the wall between this bathroom and her bed is a piece of plywood, so."


"Well... damn. I wanted to hear your voice. I mean, your regular volume voice." He chuckled. "Do you think you could risk a few words? I'll deal with your sister if she wakes up."


I smirked, imagining a conversation between my hotheaded sis and this glib personality.


"I think that would be a bad idea. But, um. Sure. What should I say?"


"With your normal voice? How about, the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."


"Okay." I cleared my throat. I was suddenly painfully self-conscious about my voice. "Um. Okay. The... the quick brown fox—"


Laughter exploded on the line. It was loud and sharp, nearly cruel.


"Oh... my god Hannah." I heard a clatter, then some scuffling. "Oh fuck. You were really saying it. The quick... brown fox... oh god." Matt dissolved into laughter again.


I glared at my knees.


"What's so fucking funny?" I whispered.


"Hannah. Hannah, I'm sorry."


I heard him take a few calming breaths.


"Okay," he said. "I'm sorry. Ignore me, seriously. I have a weird sense of humor. That... that struck me funny. You have a lovely voice. Go figure."


Go figure? What did he mean by that?


"Look, is there a reason you wanted me to call, or were you just looking for some late night entertainment?"


"Pretty sure this classifies as early morning entertainment, Hannah."


"Okay. Well whatever. Look, I'm not sure why I—"


"I can't stop thinking about you."


His words stopped me cold.


His words, and something in his voice. Honesty.


"What we did," he continued. "Or what you did to me..."


My throat went dry. What I did to him. It should have grossed me out, the thought of a stranger beating off to a few details about my body, but it didn't. It intrigued me. The heat between my legs pulsed.


"You know what I'm talking about," he insisted. An edge came into his voice at the slightest provocation.


"Y-yeah," I managed. "Yeah."


"You enjoyed it."




"You said you wished I were pounding into you."




I couldn't believe this smooth-talking stranger was dictating to me how I felt.


I couldn't believe I was blindly agreeing.


And I couldn't believe my considerable vocabulary had suddenly been reduced to "yeah."


"Hannah, you made me come so hard. And I did it again, thinking about you. Let me return the favor."


His words hung in the silence between us.


Return the favor. Help me come.


"Yes," I whispered. My voice was a thread of sound.


"God, Hannah. Tell me what you're wearing."


Shivers raced up and down my spine as I locked the bathroom door and glanced at myself in the mirror. My skin was flushed. I must have been biting my lips because they were swollen and bright.


"A baby blue cami and a pair of jeans."


"Get out of those jeans. What else?"


My pulse fluttered. I jerked at my jeans with one hand and shoved them down, stepping out of them. I kept watching myself in the mirror. I expected to see confusion on my face—was I out of my fucking mind right now?—but all I saw was a glazed look of arousal.


"A gray pushup bra and a blue thong with a black lace waistband."


"Fuck, a thong? Perfect. God, you're perfect. Lie down. Put the phone near your ear. I want you to have both hands free."


I obeyed automatically. I was putty in this stranger's hands. Not even his hands! His sexy, soft voice, demanding and encouraging.


I grabbed two clean towels from the rack and strew them on the bathroom floor, then stretched out on top of them and set my iPhone beside my ear.


"I bet your breasts look damn good in that pushup bra, Hannah. Why don't you lift your cami and show them off. How do they look, hm? Pressed together, nice and high? You like to show them off? Squeeze them for me. Spread your legs. Is that the kind of girl you are, teasing men with your beautiful tits? I bet you like it. You liked driving me mad in your bathrobe, making me get hard."


"Yes," I gasped. Yes, yes, yes. I pulled my tight cami up, bunching it high around my chest and baring my bra and breasts to the empty bathroom. I imagined Matt hovering over me. I imagined him smirking and telling me I liked to show off my tits. Was it true?


I squeezed the cups of my bra and bit my lip to suppress a groan.


"Your nipples are sensitive. You told me that." Matt laughed softly. "Twist them, Hannah. Rub them and pull on them. Don't spare yourself the pain. I bet you're drenched."


"I am," I whispered. "God, Matt... I can feel it, how wet I am."


I could. I could feel the slick, oozing sensation of desire between my legs.


Matt drew a sharp breath.


With trembling hands I unclasped my bra and slid the cups off my breasts. I pinched a nipple between my fingers and gasped. So sensitive! An arrow of pleasure shot down to my sex. Don't spare yourself the pain. I twisted my nipple and yelped.


"Hannah!" For the first time, I heard a quaver in Matt's voice. He was losing control. He was losing control with me. I began to tremble.