6. Marcus
Marcus
T ime passes quietly, yet everything in the room feels still and calm. The soft light from the fireplace holds my attention, its warmth a comfort as different thoughts drift through my mind. The storm outside has caused an electrical problem, but I’m thankful the backup generator is working well, keeping this space lit and warm.
I glance at Nyree. Her eyes are fixed on the flames, and it’s clear she has no plans to return to bed tonight. It surprises me, considering the flight, the time spent waiting in the airport and the cold outside, but I understand. This living room is the only place powered by the generator, and I imagine she doesn’t want to be alone in the darkness of her room. A sense of protectiveness rises in me. I feel the need to stay close to make sure she’s okay.
The silence brings back earlier memories, and a wave of guilt washes over me. I remember how she reacted when I brought up something she clearly didn’t want to discuss. She had been starting to relax, but my question made her retreat again. Now, looking at her, she seems more like the shy person from the car ride than the one who was at ease during dinner.
I stand up and try to shift the mood. I ask, “Would you like some wine?”
She smiles, a sweet smile that makes me feel lighter.
In the kitchen, I choose a bottle of red wine and pour us each a glass. When I sit back down, we sip in silence, the warmth of the wine and the fire keeping the cold at bay.
“Hmmm, this is great,” Nyree says softly after a few sips, her tension seeming to ease as she nearly drains her glass.
“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” I reply, watching as the light in her eyes returns.
We continue drinking, and before long, the bottle is almost empty. The atmosphere between us grows lighter, more relaxed, though neither of us seems ready for sleep. I look at the clock on the wall, almost 5 a.m. Something about the early hour, combined with the wine, sparks an idea in my mind.
“I’ve got a thought,” I say, the words forming as the idea takes shape. “How about we set up the Christmas tree? It’s already morning. You can help.”
Before she can respond, I’m already on my feet, moving towards where the tree stored. I position it, my hands busy with the familiar task of fitting the pieces together.
Nyree hesitates, a shadow of caution crossing her face. I pause, sensing her unease. “What’s wrong?” I ask gently, looking up from the half-assembled tree.
She exhales a small sigh. “It’s just... I don’t really like winter or the holidays. And Christmas... well, especially Christmas.”
Her admission catches me off guard. The thought of someone not liking Christmas is a little strange to me, despite not being too keen on the holidays myself many years ago. I can’t help but let the surprise show across my face. She notices and quickly adds, “…but I can help.”
With a small smile, she stands and joins me, handing me the ornaments and decorations as I continue assembling the tree. Her movements are careful, almost tentative, but there’s a quiet determination in her gestures.
"So... why don’t you like Christmas?" I ask, my voice soft, careful not to tread too heavily on a subject that might send her back into herself. I appreciate this lighter side of her, this version that feels more at ease and unguarded.
There’s a pause as her expression turns inward, reflective. “Just some sour memories,” she finally says, her voice quiet. The weight of her words settles between us.
The way she says it, curt and almost distant, tells me enough. I know this is a door that shouldn’t be opened any further, not tonight. I nod, a subtle gesture of understanding, and choose not to press. Some topics are better left untouched until they are ready to be shared.
"Well... it’s great that you’re here," I say, shifting the conversation to safer ground. "Christmas has always been a time to be around people." My tone is lighter, almost cheerful, as I step back to admire the tree. The last of the ornaments hangs in place, and the room feels more alive, wrapped in soft light and the scent of pine.
I pick up the tree’s star, turning back to her with a smile. “Here…” I hold it out. “You get to put the star on the tree.”
She laughs, and it’s not just a chuckle or a polite laugh, but a full, vibrant one—rich and unguarded. It echoes through the room, catching me by surprise. I stand there, momentarily stunned. Part of me is confused by what’s so funny, but another part is captivated by the sight of her at that moment. She seems so innocent and free. Her face is bright with genuine joy.
“What? Like a kid?” she says between laughs. “That’s something kids get excited about.”
“That’s the beauty of Christmas,” I reply, unable to help a grin. “We can all be kids for a little.” I thrust the star toward her being playful now.
She shakes her head, the laughter still dancing on her lips as she takes the star from my hand. “Fine... I’ll do it,” she says, and moves toward the ladder that is set beside the tree.
As she climbs, with her back to me, I’m suddenly caught off guard. Her movements, the sway of her hips as she ascends, the soft jiggle of her curves… I swallow hard, my eyes betraying me for a moment. I force myself to look away and focus instead on the fire, with its quiet crackle from the wood.
“The ladder’s a little farther out,” she calls down to me. I look up to see her reaching for the top of the tree, but she is just a few inches short of her goal.
“I’ll move it closer,” I offer, stepping forward to adjust it.
“Don’t worry, I got it,” she says confidently, stretching out her arm just enough to catch the edge of the tree with her fingertips. She fixes the star at the top, her body tensing as she steadies herself. But then, in the space of a breath, her foot slips.
It all happens so quickly. In that instant, time feels like it slows. Her hand loses its grip, her body wobbles precariously on the ladder, and in the blink of an eye, she’s falling, helpless. Her balance was completely gone. A sharp, startled cry escapes her lips, and my body reacts before my mind can catch up.
I surge forward, arms outstretched, my heart hammering in my chest. She tumbles toward the floor, but I catch her, her weight colliding with me as I hold her tight against my chest. The impact nearly knocks me off my feet, but I hold firm. The adrenaline rushes through me; every nerve is alive.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, her body pressed against mine. The air feels thick, charged with the sudden closeness. I look down at her, her face inches from mine, her eyes wide with shock, and her lips are parted slightly.
She’s so close. Her soft body nestles in my arms, her warmth pressing into me. Everything else seems to fade. The look on her face, so vulnerable, her breath still shallow from the fall. And then, without warning, my body betrays me. I feel the heat rush downward, and I stiffen. The allure of her thick, soft body ignites a reaction that I can’t control.
Her eyes widen even more. An expression of realization crosses her face as she shifts slightly in my arms. “Is that your…?” she begins, her voice quiet but unmistakable.
The words jolt me into motion. I set her down quickly, too quickly, as if by freeing her from my arms could free myself from this humiliating situation. But there’s no escaping it now. The bulge in my trousers is evident, embarrassingly so, and I’m standing there…utterly exposed.
“I am so sorry,” I blurt out, desperately trying to adjust myself, but it’s pointless. It all has a mind of its own, and no amount of quick apologies can erase what she’s just noticed.
An awkward silence hangs between us, heavy and suffocating. My heart pounds in my chest as I stand there, caught between shame and disbelief, unsure what to say. But then, to my surprise, her voice cuts through the tension.
“It’s okay… it just happens sometimes, I guess,” she says softly. Her tone is kind, almost reassuring, though it only deepens my embarrassment.
It just happens? Not to me. I’m no inexperienced boy, certainly not a hormone-driven teenager. This…shouldn’t be happening. I stand there, dumbfounded and trying to process her words. But the awkwardness feels like it’s crushing me. I feel like I’ve lost control, not just of my body, but of the moment itself.
Then she speaks again, her voice tinged with a hint of self-consciousness. “I should be the one apologizing…” she murmurs, scratching the back of her neck. “I just dropped on you like that… and I’m quite heavy.”
Heavy?
Her words stop me cold, drawing me out of my tangled thoughts. Heavy? That’s what she’s thinking? I shake my head, stunned by how absurd it sounds. Yes, she had fallen from the ladder, and yes, catching her had been a challenge, but not because she was heavy. I’d held her easily enough. Now, hearing her say that, something stirs inside me, something protective and even tender.
“You’re not heavy,” I say, shaking my head as the corners of my mouth lift into a faint smile. “You were like a feather in my arms.” There’s a teasing edge to my voice, but the truth of it rings clear.
“A feather?” she repeats, her brow arching in disbelief.
I step closer, the awkwardness dissipating with each step. I stand before her, reach down and gently, but firmly, lift her back into my arms. Her eyes widen again, but this time it’s not from shock. She looks up at me, and I feel the air between us change. For a moment, it’s like we’re suspended in time, connected in a way neither of us can name.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, my voice low, “a feather to me.”
She says nothing.
I set her down again, carefully, but there’s a softness in her expression, a trace of bashfulness that is clear. I notice the way her eyes drop to my trousers again. The bulge is still there and unrelenting, a reminder of the tension that hangs.
I swallow hard. I feel the heat rise in my chest, but the weight of her stare is a thousand times heavier than her body had ever been in my arms. I need to say something, anything, to break this spell. This moment is something neither of us knows how to handle.
“It’s… it’s just been a while since I’ve been this close to a woman,” I admit, my voice quieter than I intend. The words come out awkward and rough, but they tumble out of me, trying to answer the question in her eyes.
She lifts her gaze to meet mine, and it’s then that I realize just how close we are. Our bodies are mere inches apart. I can feel her breath on my skin, soft and warm, brushing against my chin like a whisper. The space between us feels fragile.
And then, in that heartbeat of silence, something tilts. It pulls at me and at her. I move toward her, almost without thinking, as though my body is no longer under my command, but drawn to her by some unseen force. Her focus stays glued to my face, and she moves too, matching my slow, tentative step. We inch closer, the world narrowing to just this moment.
When our lips meet, it’s as if a spark ignites, setting everything ablaze. The kiss is soft at first, almost hesitant, but then something inside me snaps. It’s as if a dam breaks, and all the restraint and uncertainty are washed away in the flood. I pull her to me with a wildness I can’t control. Her soft curves press against me, sending jolts of pleasure through my entire body this time.
She presses harder into my bulge, and I can feel her breath quickening, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow bursts. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and urging me on. The kiss deepens with a fierce, raw, and electric yearning behind it.
It’s as though we’ve both been set loose; two animals lost in the depths of their instincts, consumed by an uncontrolled, ferocious passion. There’s no room for thought, no space for hesitation. Just the two of us, crashing into each other with an urgency so powerful that it threatens to tear us apart.
But then, suddenly, everything halts. The spell shatters.
She pulls away abruptly, her breath ragged and her hand flies to her mouth in shock. Her eyes broaden, her chest heaving as if she’s just surfaced from deep water. “Oh my God,” she gasps, her words muffled behind her trembling fingers.
I stand there, still caught in the heat of the moment, my body screaming for more even as my mind reels. Guilt and confusion crash into me like waves, and I stumble backward, as if putting distance between us could somehow undo what just happened. “I’m… I’m sorry…” I stammer, my voice hoarse and thick with the weight of what we’ve done.
The air between us is heavier than ever before. If the awkwardness before had been difficult, now it feels unbearable. We stand there, frozen, the reality of what we’ve just done sinking in. The silence stretches as we both try to process the gravity of the moment we’ve just shared.
***