Night Owl
Author:M. Pierce

Nate kissed my cheek. The brush of his lips was so formal and chaste, but all I could think of was Matt's jealous stare. He'd hit the roof if he saw this.

 

I closed the basement door behind me.

 

I expected to find Matt asleep, but when I got downstairs I heard the shower running. Our suitcases stood in the bedroom. I pried off my boots and paced the plush carpet.

 

Valerie seemed nice enough, but holy hideous decorating scheme. She'd turned Nate's mansion into a dollhouse.

 

The shower ran... and ran as I paced.

 

I cased the kitchenette. There were sodas, fruit, and sandwich stuff in the fridge. That would do if Matt got hungry. Should I make him eat? God, I had no idea what I was doing.

 

I began to undress, laying my jeans and sweater over my suitcase. I shimmied out of my bra and thong. I didn't need a shower—I had one that morning—but I needed to be with Matt.

 

I let myself into the bathroom. Steam filled the spacious interior.

 

The girl in me got giddy looking at that bathroom. Valerie's princess décor may have failed in the house, but it worked like magic here. The rugs were lush, the towels fluffy and huge, and the sink brimmed with candles, lotions, and perfumes.

 

I shut the door loudly to announce my presence. When I drew back the shower curtain, I found Matt standing under the water, staring lifelessly at the drain. Our eyes met; he rolled his away with dog-like diffidence.

 

He may not seem like his old self for a while.

 

I stepped into the shower and eased my body under the spray.

 

"I guess we both like a hot shower," I said, my mouth near his ear.

 

He grimaced and looked away.

 

I didn't need anyone to tell me that Matt was mortified. I had seen him at his lowest. He would never willingly show me that.

 

I also didn't need anyone to tell me that Matt was happy to see me. His grimace notwithstanding, I felt his stiffening member touch my leg. I brushed against it and watched his eyelids flutter.

 

Between guilt and desire, he was static. I took his hand and brought it to my breast. He squeezed gently and I moaned.

 

God... that touch, did he know what it did to me?

 

"Matt, touch me. I've been desperate for you, please."

 

My hands devoured his body. I cringed as I felt ridges of bone.

 

For the pure pleasure of it, I ran a bar of soap along his skin. I slicked my fingers up his back and lathered shampoo into his hair.

 

Gradually, Matt began to touch me.

 

He was cautious at first, caressing my shoulders, arms, and sides. He watched his hands, never my eyes. His cock hardened between us. When I touched it, he covered my breasts.

 

He lifted them and circled my nipples with his tongue. He touched me as though he'd never touched me before.

 

His fingertips danced over my sex. I groaned and tried to grind onto his hand, but nothing could rush him. He touched me wonderingly; he spread my folds and fingered me as I panted. My god, I couldn't bear this slow torture.

 

At last, we stumbled out of the shower. I gripped the edge of the sink and gazed over my shoulder at Matt. Wet curls were plastered to my neck.

 

I hoped I looked half as good as Matt, who looked like a sea god come to shore. Water coursed down his hard body. His golden treasure trail glistened. Was I under the influence of Valerie's décor?

 

Matt held my hip and positioned his head against my slit. He started to tremble.

 

"It's okay," I whispered. "Please, I need it..."

 

He entered me with slowly deepening strokes. I bit my lip to suppress a groan. If I let go, everyone in the house would hear me.

 

Frantically, I wiped a patch of fog from the mirror.

 

Matt stared at our reflection as he bucked into me. His body couldn't disguise its need. His thrusts grew brutal and his eyes burned as he watched.

 

"Oh... Matt," I gasped, bracing myself against the counter. "God, don't hold back."

 

Matt was unusually quiet. No dirty talk tumbled from his lips—not even a moan.

 

He was transfixed by our reflection. I saw him watching my breasts, their heavy fullness bouncing as he slammed into me. Color flamed my cheeks. I remembered the first time, when he yanked up my top and fondled me in plain view of my house. Where was that man?

 

He looked down at our bodies.

 

"Tell me," I panted. "What do you see?"

 

Matt opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Disappointment crashed through me.

 

He usually needs some time to snap out of it.

 

I knew I wanted too much too soon, but I was addicted to Matt's dirty mouth. I was addicted to the way he humiliated me in bed.

 

Spurred by my rising crescendo of pleasure, I rocked back into his thrusts. I found my voice and started to babble.

 

"Your cock," I stammered. "I feel it, Matt... deep between my legs."

 

"Hannah..."

 

My name was a whisper on his lips.

 

"Tell me, please, talk to me—"

 

"Mm... my dick," he gasped. I moaned in need and encouragement. "Fuck—take it. I'm watching you take it. Ah, fuck, I'm watching your tight little pussy—"

 

I let go of my dignity; the rush of passion tore it away.

 

"Give it to me, Matt, fuck me, come in me—"

 

"Fuck, Hannah!"