I’m energized, and something in my body releases, a burst of joy and glee and maybe love. I jump up from the couch and run up to join Oliver, but not before someone thrusts a second microphone into my hand. Laughing, I join him in a horribly harmonized version of the refrain.
“All I want for Christmas is you…” and all I see is the crinkles in the corners of his golden eyes and his crooked front tooth as he grins down at me. He lifts me in the air in a big bear hug and gives me a giant peck on the lips as his family cheers around us, but nothing exists in this moment except for us.
When we get home (homeis what I’ve started calling Oliver’s apartment), we don’t devour each other as is typical when we walk through the front door. Instead, we stand side by side in the mirror of his bathroom, brushing our teeth and washing our faces. I steal some of his moisturizer, a Korean brand that does wonders for my skin. He diligently wipes down all the water splatter off the bathroom counter after we finish. I take off all my clothes before crawling into bed, while he goes into the kitchen to get each of us our bedside glass of water.
He turns out the lights and climbs into bed, groaning when he finds me naked under the covers. He takes his time mapping my body slowly, tenderly, reverently. He plants soft kisses all over my breasts, my stomach, making his way down my body until he throws both my legs over his shoulders, moaning when he sees, when he tastes how wet I am. He worships every inch, every crevice, spreading me and licking in and around until my legs are shaking around his ears.
He holds my eyes as he pushes into me, back and forth in small increments, mapping my entire face as he makes sure I adjust to his girth. When he is finally seated to the hilt, he stays there, unmoving, gently collaring my neck with his hand and kissing my eyes, the tip of my nose, my mouth. Our kiss deepens, mouths opening and tongues tangling, and then finally he moves, long pulls and pushes that I feel deep within.
“Georgia,” is all he whispers, and it’s a prayer coming from his lips. I feel worshipped. I trace the contours of his strongshoulders, his biceps, down his ropy forearms to his hands as he steadily moves inside me.
He takes both my hands in his and lifts them above my head, restraining them. He lifts up on his knees, tilts my hips up, and there, there is the spot. He takes a hand to circle my clit, still restraining my hands with one of his, while a familiar pressure builds in my core.
I gasp, and it’s a slow build-up and even slower release, a rolling force of warmth instead of a massive explosion, one that I feel in every inch of my body. I feel my small muscles contracting around his length, and he groans, thrusts harder and more erratic until I feel him spill inside me.
He keeps moving, even after he’s finished, still hard, the slickness of his release providing an incredible friction. He rubs tight, quick circles around my clit, and this last orgasm is a surprise, a sharp explosion behind my eyes. I cry into his neck as he whispers in my ear.
“Gorgeous”, “you’re beautiful”, “you are perfect”.
Ten minutes later, he asks me how it was.
“Five out of five, obviously,” I joke, deflecting and still reeling from the sheer emotion of earlier.
He twists my nipple. “Not that. Christmas Eve with my family. How are you feeling? You didn’t seem okay earlier.”
I groan. He’s always making me grapple with things. “It was… actually really nice, Oliver. You… I wasn’t okay earlier. But you knew exactly what to do. And then it was great.”
He kisses me. “Was my family too much like you were worried about?”
“No, they were perfect. How did they know?”
He tenses.
I eye him. “Oliver?”
“I texted them,” he admits with a whoosh. “I told them to lay off, that Christmas was a tough time for you because of yourparents.”
I roll that around, playing with it. I find I’m okay with it, and it was the perfect thing to do.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “If that wasn’t okay. I did the fixing thing again.”
I do a different Oliver thing, where I look deep into his eyes and force him to do the same. They are oddly bright in the dim glow of the streetlights outside his window.“Thank you,” I say, instead ofI love you.
He might catch the underlying declaration in that, though, because the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen in my whole fucking life still breaks through his face. “You’re welcome, Chaos.”
Feeling whole, shiny, and brand new, I’m more than happy to go to his parents for a small Christmas get-together.
Nothing fancy, just a million pounds of leftovers from the night before, watching old Christmas movies and snacking periodically (read: Gloria force feeding us) throughout the day. I fully cuddle in his lap on the couch, his arms wrapped around me, as he drops periodic kisses into my hair, and no one minds or cares, especially the two of us.
The next day, we go to the grocery store in the next neighborhood over, because we still can’t be seen in Fort Greene together, and because we will need to sustain ourselves for the rest of winter break, because we will obviously spend every day of it together in his apartment.
I get distracted and wander over to the candy section, poking through the multicolored packages. I think about how wonderful it is to be an adult and to be able to buy and eat all the candy I ever want whenever I want. Eventually, Oliver wanders over with the shopping cart.
I look inside, horrified bywhat I find.
“What?” he demands to know.
My top lip curls in disgust as I look up at him.
