I step in a little closer until there’s no distance between the front of my body and his.
Every so often, another party light above us turns off. Slowly, the ballroom gets a little dimmer as we sway back and forth.
And as the musician finishes her song, the only light near us is the steady glow of the Christmas tree, lit with strings of tiny, multicolored lights that glint from the shimmering tinsel and ornaments.
“You deserved better,” I say softly near Niko’s ear.
I stroke the back of his head.
How can someone have hair so soft? I still don’t know how it’s possible, and I know Niko’s the only person I’ve been with, but I’mconvincedthere’s no one in the world with hair as soft as his.
“I don’t deserve much. But thank you.”
“Youdo.”
I feel him exhale as one of his hands grips my hip, like he’s afraid of the moment he’s going to need to let go.
“Sometimes I just want to disappear,” he says so softly that I almost don’t hear it.
“Don’t disappear. I need you here with me.”
My chest tightens a little as the words escape my mouth.
That’s far more than I should be saying to him. Tonight orever.
“Oliver,” he says.
Is his tone a warning or a plea? I can’t tell.
But I’m tired of skirting around the truth.
“Going to miss your touch while we’re on Christmas break,” I tell him.
Letting the words spill out.
Like that same irresistible current, pouring out of me.
“No,” he murmurs.
The violinist has been done for a while now, but Niko won’t pull away from me.
And more words come tumbling out of my mouth, urgently now, like I can tell some spell around us is about to break.
“I’ve been wishing you were in my bed each night,” I admit to him. “I pull up your videos and I watch them, and even when I’m not thinking about your cock I’m thinking about yourbody, your skin, just imagining how good it would feel to have you fucking near me?—”
“Oliver,” he whispers, but his hold on my waist is only getting tighter.
“Come home with me for the break,” I tell him, pulling back and looking him in the eye.
His face is lit only by the ambient glow of the Christmas lights, but the desperation in his gaze is palpable.
I’ve never seen him look desperate quite like that.
“I didn’t mean to make you pity me or something, Ollie.”
“Do you have big traditions with your mom on Christmas?” I ask him. “Obligations back home?”
He shakes his head. “We don’t do anything. My mom isn’t really the cozy, touchy-feely,motherlyChristmas type, to put it lightly.”
