Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

11. Jim Morrison's California Sunshine

Carnival of Light (Part 2)

11.

I slept harder than I'd ever slept in my life after smoking that truly exquisite California grass. I went to bed at a reasonable hour, expecting to be woken up most amorously whenever Paul came to join me, but that never happened. The California grass got him too, and he was out like a light once he hit the bed.

I woke up to sunshine spilling in through the huge windows leading out to the pool, with all its glorious colours — aquamarines and burnt reds and taupes and greens of every shade. Paul was sleeping with his back to me, his black hair a mess on the pillow with the pool and patio beyond him.

I was reminded of Paris, waking up somewhere foreign and beautiful with him. It took me a few minutes to wake up enough to check my watch and see that we had plenty of time before I needed to be up. I slid up behind Paul, hooking my leg over his hip and pressing myself up against his back. I slid my arm under his to curl around his chest and kissed his shoulder and his neck, his hair tickling my nose.

I felt Paul stir, a deep breath and a sigh. His hand slid up my shin to squeeze my knee as he yawn-mumbled something that may have been, "What time is it, love?"

"Seven o'clock," I kissed him behind his ear. "Ten o'clock in New York. Three o'clock at home," I nuzzled his neck the way he was always doing to me. "When did you come to bed?"

"Dunno," Paul sighed, rather melodically.

I ran my hand down his chest to his stomach, pressing my lips against his ear. "Did you have fun last night?"

Paul hummed in the affirmative, sounding more awake. His hand trailed up my leg where it was curled over his hip, squeezing the back of my thigh. I nipped at his ear and Paul rolled his head back to smile at me. Seeing him scruffy and sleepy with bed head hair and crucially, no eccentric moustache, made me absolutely ravenous for him.

I kissed him, urging him onto his back so I could slide on top of him. Paul's hands landed on my thighs, squeezing me as I kissed his lips, his cheek, his jaw, his neck. He ran his hands up my back and threaded them into my hair as I pressed my lips to the hollow of his throat and made my way down his chest. He was always so aggressively greedy in the way he touched me, but what he liked best was being desired, worshipped while he sat back and watched.

We had very languid morning sex, taking our time with each other with the sun spilling in. Paul rolled me over and went down on me, and then he made love to me, first on top of me, then from behind, making me come that way with his mouth on my neck and his chest against my back while he was deep inside me, moving so slowly I almost couldn't stand it as I started to come apart. Then it was his turn, and then we started from the top again.

Paul fell back to sleep while I had a bath and dressed. I wore a white muslin smock beneath an apricot-coloured jacquard vest and a necklace of tinkling gold coins. It looked blustery out so I nicked Paul's brown suede jacket too.

I woke him up again to kiss him goodbye when my car arrived. He tried to pull me back into bed with him.

"I have to go," I laughed, pushing his hands away.

"What?" Paul frowned, confused and sleepy. "Already?"

"Yes," I planted one knee on the bed and kissed him again, stroking his scratchy cheek with my thumb. "I'll see you this evening."

"Are you writing another screenplay?" He yawned.

"No," I kept stroking his cheek, reluctant to pull away. "I have press in Beverly Hills until seven."

"Seven?" Paul groaned, his eyes still closed, making me grin.

"Have Mal give me a ring when you know what we're doing tonight. Or I'll get the car back here if I don't hear from you by then." I kissed him. "I love you."