The Remains of Christmas

Chapter 4

Daphne

Chris turned into the driveway, and the tall iron gate opened automatically. Minutes later— whole ass minutes! —the house, if you could call it that, came into view.

It was low but sprawling, and completely gorgeous. This wasn’t some boring, cookie-cutter McMansion. This was an old money home, its design somewhere between Southern charm and English country manor. A winterized fountain stood in the center of the circular drive we bypassed before parking in an adjacent coach house.

Suddenly, Chris felt like he was on the opposite end of a ridiculous spectrum of humanity from me. It was odd that I’d gotten as close as sharing an almost-kiss with someone who lived like this.

Inside, the house was cold, empty, and dark. The only light seeped in from the fluffy swaths of lit garlands that hung outside each window.

In here, it was a ghost of Christmas. The cool blue of night with only a dim glow around the edges.

I didn’t have to see much to know I’d never been in such an opulent space before. But quietly opulent, where real people lived and presumably did normal-people things like eating, and bathing, and pretending to watch a movie while zoning out on their phones.

What were these people like—living here, spending the holidays in Germany? Chris’s parents. If Chris was any indication, they probably weren’t as snobby as this place looked.

There was a generosity of spirit in him I wouldn’t have expected if I’d met him in this mansion instead of on the train tracks. It went beyond his occupation. There was a sense of softness, of sadness about him. Maybe because he’d spent so long in forensics. Maybe that’d happen to me, too, once I worked in the field as long.

But there was that kiss.

It was everything I dreamed an almost-kiss could be. It was a fire that burned through my core and weakened my structure, leaving me a burned-out hull on Decca’s patio. Something ravenous lurked inside the softly sad man with the cool glasses and crooked smile.

“Want something to drink?” He shrugged out of his coat and hung it up on a real hanger in a real closet, instead of a hook behind the door. As an anthropologist, I was always interested in how different societies lived. This was as foreign and as fascinating to me as an ancient civilization.

“I don’t suppose you have any hot cocoa? This doesn’t really seem like a Swiss Miss packet kind of place.” Chris hung up my beat-up thrift store biker jacket next to his and smiled that adorably crooked smile that turned my insides to goo.

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” He moved his hand to the light switch.

“Oh no. Don’t turn them on.”

“Why not? There’s no one to disturb. We’re the only ones here.”

“It’s just… I’m afraid to see how big this house really is. What if I like it too much? All this wealth and luxury. What if it’s so much I start hating you for being rich when you’ve been so nice to me?”

To his credit, he laughed. He was so much more down-to-earth than he had any reason to be, and it— oh, God —it squeezed my heart. “Are you holding that against me?” Something in his eyes almost looked worried. “Should I start behaving like Scrooge, throw you out in the snow without a tuppence?”

“I don’t think you could be a Scrooge if you tried.”

The kitchen was surprisingly not huge. It was also homey, or at least it looked that way in the blue light from outside.

Chris stood in the yellow glow of the open fridge door, looking for something. “You drink dairy?”

“I drink and eat everything.”

He smirked. “Noted.”

After setting a pan of milk to heat on the gas burner of a huge French stove, he rummaged through cupboards until he produced a fat bar of fancy-looking chocolate and began chopping it into shards on the antique butcher block island. The crunch of the blade reverberated through the silence of the empty house. I studied him, entranced by the way he'd moved through the kitchen. His steps seemed choreographed for the most efficient, elegant paths around the island, fridge, and stove. His knife skills made him look like a chef.

When I stepped closer, that smirk ghosted his lips again. Without looking up, he pinched a perfect square of chocolate between his fingers and held it in front of my mouth. He nudged his glasses up with the wrist of his knife hand before finally bringing his eyes to mine with a sighing breath—as if it hadn’t been his idea. He was forced to do this by a secret flirting compulsion.

My heart beat faster. My body was melting as fast as the candy in his hand. I had two choices. I could open my hand, holding my palm under his to catch the chocolate he’d probably intended to drop into my hand as a kindness. Or I could... not.

I leaned closer, parting my lips, holding his gaze even as his eyelids drooped seductively lower, his own mouth falling open with mine.

He placed the candy in my mouth, drawing his fingers slowly off my tongue as I moaned. Swallowing hard, he pressed his lips together, and went back to his task, only he looked... lost. His hands supported him as he leaned forward, gripping the edges of the island with the knife clenched in his fist.

His chest rose and fell as heavily as mine, blinking at his pile of chocolate shavings like it was something foreign. Whatever was happening between us was big. Deafening. Consuming.

I could barely taste the chocolate melting on my tongue. Tasting would mean focusing on a sense Chris wasn’t sharing with me, and I wanted every part of him with me right now. I wanted to experience all of him everywhere. Not just sexually, just... him. His spirit. His Chris-ness.

I took one tentative step closer.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. The knife clattered to the island, and all at once, his arms were around me, his lips pressing against mine, his warm body pushing me back against the counter.

He caressed my lips with his, digging his fingers into my hair with a desperate wildness.

Part of me couldn’t believe this was happening. I wanted to breathe him in, get lost in his kiss. When his tongue slipped over my lower lip, heat ripped through my body. I groaned, deepening the kiss, needing more. His hands slid behind my thighs, gripping the backs and pulling me up, up and onto the counter, stepping into the space between my legs.

I rocked my pelvis, needing contact with him, but he wasn’t close enough.

My legs wound around him, pulling him into me. He sucked in a breath of air when we made contact. In seconds, his cock went hard, pressing against the pleats of wool trousers, hitting me right where I wanted to feel him. The way he’d lost all control—so thoroughly, so fast—was intoxicating. I was out of my body but feeling everything: the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands kneading my thighs, the strong square shoulders under his black sweater. Joy and pleasure and hope radiated through my body, bursting out like an explosion of light.

Then, I felt nothing.

Chris pulled away from the kiss. He inched his pelvis away from mine. Dropping his forehead, he adjusted his glasses again. A pained expression crossed his face. “I got chocolate on your jeans.”

“It’ll wash out,” I said stupidly.

He spun around and turned off the flame under the milk, dumping the chopped chocolate into the pot.

“You’re just going to go back to the cocoa after that?”

“I shouldn’t have done that. You’re a guest. I didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t say no. There’s a power imbalance.”

“That’s sweet, but who’s on what side? Because it felt pretty fucking powerful to feel your cock get that hard the minute you were between my legs.”

He bit his lip to stop his smile. “You think I’m being an ass?”

“Kind of.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I know better.” He smirked. “But I’m choosing to believe you.” He poured the steaming cocoa into two mugs and handed me one. “What do we drink to?”

“To this not being a blue Christmas.”

After he’d given me the official tour of the family side of the house, we stood at opposite ends of his bedroom. His murky brown eyes were black as he looked at me across his childhood bed.

His king-size childhood bed. Something about it seemed so lonely—his mom and dad reading him stories and tucking him into this enormous bed in this enormous room.

The whole house was huge and lonely, as if it was only meant to be used for parties. With just the two of us here, it was an empty rib cage with no heart lub-dubbing away inside. He’d noticed my discomfort with this insane level of luxury: room after cavernous room of king-sized bed suites. He’d offered me his room if I’d wanted it. It was cozy, dark, and hugged me like I was inside a womb.

I did want—and more than just the room. I wanted him in it with me.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m just next door if you need anything.”

In front of me on the bed, Chris had laid out a pair of his boxers and a neatly folded Harvard t-shirt, well-worn, its crimson faded to the pinky-brown color of a healthy liver. Obviously, it was a favorite. And maybe a flex, although I’d memorized his C.V. and already knew that was where he’d gone to dental school.

“Well..." He nodded once, definitively. He looked like he was about to leave, but he didn’t. He hesitated awkwardly.

“You know…” I started.

A single eyebrow rose over the frame of his glasses.

“There’s really no need for your parents to have to wash two sets of sheets when we leave. This bed is too big for me anyway. You could... sleep here, too. It’s your bed, after all.”

His mouth dropped open and an audible breath escaped. Pushing his tortoiseshell glasses higher onto his nose, he glanced at the bed. “My parents don’t do the laundry.” The light was dim, but I was pretty sure his cheeks were reddening. “They have someone.”

He stood in place like he’d been stunned.

“Of course they do. Still.” I dug my toes into the plush navy rug. The room was decorated floor to ceiling in a space theme, but this was more than just a comforter and matching rocket ship sheets. Standing in one corner was a blue velvet armchair, retrofitted into a scaled-down replica of the lunar module. An actual piece of one of the Mercury ships lay under thick protective glass on the bureau, and above us, a mural of celestial bodies mimicked the night sky.

My dad was a big space geek. One of our only vacations was to the Kennedy Space Center when I was twelve. It was the most hot and bored I’d ever been in my life. Between that excruciating visit—seriously, why couldn’t we have gone to Universal Studios?—and all the NASA documentaries I’d been forced to watch, I knew way too much about a subject I intensely detested.

Maybe I wouldn’t have hated it so much if I’d known a space aesthetic could be this pretty.

In honor of the season, someone had even decorated a Christmas tree with twinkling silver garland, blown glass stars, space shuttles, and satellites, topped with a gold beaded crescent moon. That might have been the saddest part of all: the idea of his people decorating a child’s Christmas tree. His own solitary little tree. Except it wasn’t little—it was full-size.

My heart ached for little Chris, tucked away in here with his space books and toys instead of a big, raucous family.

Then again, just because you were poor or you came from a big family didn’t mean you had love, either. Maybe Chris and I were two loveless sad sacks destined to find each other.

I could tell he wasn’t going to make the decision for us. I’d have to do it, even if asking for what I wanted made my skin crawl.

I closed the distance between us and reached out, covering the back of his hand with mine. I threaded our fingers together. “Please? Stay and cuddle with me?”

He looked down at our fingers as if they were something foreign to him, but he nodded slowly. “I’m trusting you on this. That you don’t feel like you’re being pressured to do this.”

“Do what? It’s just sleeping.”

“Right.” He let the delusion play.

“Is it okay if I shower first? I’m sure you have a guest bathroom somewhere on this property stocked with girl shampoo and conditioner. Maybe even a razor?”

“There’s girl shampoo in the bathroom in the bedroom next door. To the left. Just open the drawers. Anything you need will be there. I’ll take this one. It only has shampoo that identifies as male.” He gave me one of his droopy smiles.

“Can...? Never mind.”

“What?”

“I was going to ask if two people can shower at the same time, but in this house, it feels like a really stupid question.”

“Why wouldn’t we be able to?”

“That’s what I mean. Stupid question. Obviously, you’ve never lived anywhere with a tiny water heater.”

He smiled at me fully, bringing out more of the lopsidedness of his mouth. He seemed embarrassed about it earlier, looking away and letting those big smiles dissolve almost as quickly as they’d come out, like the sun going behind a cloud. Now the sun was bright and shiny. And he made me bright and shiny, too.

“Enjoy your shower. I dare you to use up all the hot water. Or get pruny trying.”

I did enjoy it. The shower alone was practically the size of my bedroom back home, and it took what would have been all the heat in Dad’s hot water tank just to steam it up enough so I wouldn’t freeze once I stepped around the glass partition.

I found fancy shampoo and conditioner, razors, softly fragranced, fine-milled soaps, lotions and oils with minimalist labels, and extra toothbrush heads for a high-end, sleek-looking electric toothbrush. Well, I should’ve expected that with Chris being a dentist for living people as well as the dead.

The scalding water bit into my skin. I stood under the downpour, letting the searing heat turn my skin pink, giving my body the sensation it craved.

When I padded back through the hall, wearing Chris’s Harvard t-shirt under a fluffy, white robe (there were freshly-laundered guest robes hanging in the linen closet, just begging me to slip my arms into), his door was shut. When I knocked, there was no answer. I peeked in. The shower was still running in the en suite bathroom.

Damn. Apparently, he was even more desperate for the hot water than I was.

The room was darker, too. The overhead chandelier was off. The only glow came from the lamps flanking the bed—not rocket ship-themed, thank goodness.

I let the robe fall off my shoulders and pool on the floor, then pulled back the piles of blankets and the embroidered velvet duvet and sank between layers of pristine, ironed cotton.

The pillow was the perfect level of firmness to curl around my shoulders and allow my big head to sink into. Just for a minute, my eyes drifted closed. I didn’t want sleep to overtake me. I didn’t want to miss a moment of this hedonism. If this was what it felt like to be rich, I could definitely adjust my prejudices.

The bed moved, and my eyes opened. Chris was lying on his side facing me.

“Hi,” I said sleepily.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He reached toward me and brushed his thumb across my cheek.

“I wanted you to. You promised you’d cuddle.”

“I did.”

I scooched closer. It was difficult under the weight of the covers and how tightly the sheet corners were hospitaled.

“Wait here.”

He got up, and my eyes drifted closed again. It was euphoric, being in this bed that I imagined smelled like Chris, even though it hadn’t really been his bed since high school and I doubted he smelled the same back then. Feeling the soft jersey of his old t-shirt slip against my perfumed skin, awaiting his arms to settle into. Hopefully, I could convince more of him to settle into me.

Even if he didn’t want to... this night was still perfect. The whole day. I’d competently worked in the field, been the first person to handle the remains that were who-knows-how-many-years-old. I’d shared a meal with Decca and her friends, and now I was here.

For the first time, my future actually felt as bright as my teachers had always promised it would be. The prickle of anticipation was almost too much. My eyes grew hot as tears of gratitude pooled, leaking out the side onto the pillow.

“Hey,” Chris said, kneeling on the bed. “What’s the matter? I can sleep..."

I grabbed his hand. “Stay. I’m just grateful. Overwhelmed with it.”

He stared down at me with a curious expression, not daring to move a muscle, even when I squeezed his hand. “Daphne,” he said. It was a statement, like he just needed to say my name at that particular moment. Not to get my attention or change the subject. Just to feel the shape of it on his tongue.

“Water can only get so hot.” He smiled, breaking the moment of reverence. It was a relief. I was liable to feel too much. I already was. He was, too. Wonder and excitement, curiosity and lust poured off him in waves. I absorbed the feelings into my body, taking them in, using them to strengthen me. I could conquer anything like this.

Stretching out his long legs, he tucked me against his side. Heat ran down my back, my waist, my hip, and thigh. “Look up.”

With the flick of a switch, the ceiling transformed. The mural had been elevated from a pretty painting to a firmament. Tiny glittering lights—real lightbulbs—formed constellations and dotted paths across the trompe l’oeil night sky. I would have gasped if there were any breath left in my body. “Oh, Chris. This is heavenly.”

“I guess that’s the idea.”

“Is that the Big Dipper?”

“Uh-huh. And Orion. Ursa Major. Cassiopeia.” He pointed. “This was my nightlight. It’s not mapped out accurately. That used to bother me. Dumb to think about something like accuracy when you get to sleep under the stars every night.”

I turned my head to watch him. He’d removed his glasses. I’d never seen him with them off. The handsomeness of his face didn’t come as a shock. He was clearly a good-looking man, but without his tortoiseshell shield, he looked even more boyish. More vulnerable.

I moved a bit farther away, leaning on my elbow to see him better, and ran my hands through the damp tufts of his short, dark hair.

“I don’t think it counts as cuddling unless you’re on my arm.” He grinned.

“Are those the rules?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry to say you’re breaking them.”

“What if I want more than cuddling?” I asked.

He took in a breath. “You’ll have to be specific.”

“Kissing?”

“I wouldn’t mind kissing you again.” He made no move to do it, though.

“And maybe... touching.”

His eyes flashed. “I guess it depends. Touching who? Where?”

“Me. Touching you. On your chest... your arms... your thighs.” My hands followed the path my words had cut. Goosebumps erupted when I traced his biceps under the sleeve of his t-shirt. He let out a pleased breath when I got to the line that ran down the side of his quads. “You. Touching me. Anywhere... everywhere.”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded. “We can amend the plan to include kissing and touching. Is there anything else you want to add to tonight’s agenda?”

“Well, since we’re already here, sharing this big bed. Under the stars. And we have this chemistry. I think... sex would be nice.”

“It would be nice. As long as you’re sure you don’t feel pressure.”

“Chris?”

“Mm?” he intoned drowsily.

“I already know you’re a great guy. You can stop it with the power dynamics. It’s really hard for me to ask for what I want. This is me basically begging you at this point, okay? Begging. ”

“In that case..."

“Chris, I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay.”

“No.” He raised an eyebrow. His fingers threaded into the wet hair at the nape of my neck, scratching through my scalp, pulling me toward him until only our breath was touching. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

My eyes closed at the moment of contact. His full lips were hot on mine as he pressed me against him, softly but with enough pressure to let me know he was the one in control. He was the one guiding me.

I hadn’t expected him to be like this—without hesitation or doubt, just straight in for the kill—although the kitchen should have given me a clue.

His lips cradled mine, gently and softly, nestling in but going no further. He planted kiss after kiss, small and warm, plotting my mouth like a map, in no hurry and with no particular order.

I nudged his lips apart, in a rush to deepen the kiss and taste that strong peppermint of his industrial-strength toothpaste, but he held back. A low chuckle rumbled near my mouth. His tongue stroked my bottom lip before pinching it between his own and lavishing all his attention there. Still so in control.

My body moved of its own accord, inching closer to his and grinding myself against him.

He reached down and found my knee, pulling my leg up and pressing his body down against mine, hard, exactly where I needed him to be.

Tearing himself away from our kiss, he moved his face back, trying to see me clearly without his glasses. His eyes were wide, almost crazed, nostrils flared, lips reddened and swollen from my bites and tugs. Oh God, he looked feral. For me. Ravenous and ready to plunge forward.

He rolled his hips against mine, tentatively at first, staring into my eyes as he did. I moaned. He did it again, stroking himself against me, feeding my desire. His teeth were bared and gritted, as if this was something primal.

Besides my shirt— his shirt—I wore nothing. I hadn’t wanted to dirty my last pair of clean undies before the drive home tomorrow, and I’d really hoped we’d be doing exactly this, so I hadn’t bothered with the boxers he'd lent me. Only, I didn’t think he had any idea how close we actually were. How the friction from his cotton jammie pants was rubbing directly against my wet clit. How any minute now, his erection could slip free and we’d be skin to skin.

We needed a condom. Like now. Damn, this escalated fast. It was exactly what I wanted, but he seemed more like the third-date type.

Whatever. We’d fuck after our third date, too.

I brought my hand between us, squeezing his cock through the soft cotton. He thrust slowly into my hand. Lust-drunk eyes held my gaze.

“Can you even see me without your glasses?”

“W-what? Uh... a little.” He squinted.

I smiled. “Do you have a condom? There’s some in my bag. I don’t care if you dig.”

He stilled, seeming to need a moment to understand words. How had this brilliant man been reduced to this? Had I done this to him? Or was this just how he was with sex? Did he go feral for every woman?

I didn’t want to think about him with other women.

He swung off the bed and put his glasses back on before rifling through my overnight bag.

“This is a big box.”

I shrugged. “Have you seen you?”

“You bought these for me? For... us?”

“I had a feeling.”

He looked... I couldn’t tell if he wanted to throw up or hit something. He rocked back onto the balls of his feet and stood effortlessly. Staring at it like it was evidence instead of contraception, he precisely placed the box on the nightstand before looking at me.

And that was all he did. He looked. And kept looking. As if trying to solve me.

Just as I was about to check in with him again—at that point, buying a box of condoms just in case felt like more of my typical wishful thinking—he came back to himself.

“I don’t know where you came from,” he took a deep breath, “or much else about you. But I feel like there’s something...” He paused and looked away, as if trying to find not only the right words, but the right sentiment, the right ideas to express, “…happening here. I know this sounds like a line; I don’t even know you at all yet, but I feel like I’ve known you forever. I’ve never felt more myself with anyone than I have today. With you. Do you—you feel this too, right?”

I nodded, unable to say anything. He’d already said it. The uncanny knowing that this was... something.

“Chris.” I reached for him, needing him close the way I’d never needed anyone before.

He crawled onto the mattress and pulled me on top. His fingertips burned as he gripped my waist, just feeling my skin under the shirt. I straddled him, reaching forward to pull off his glasses.

“No.” He shook his head. “I want to see you. I want you on top so I can see every face you make. Every breath that flutters the hair around your temples.” His hands skated under my shirt and cupped my breasts, rubbing my nipples with his thumbs. “Every wrinkle on your pretty nipples as they harden.”

I rocked against him, arching my back until my boobs filled his capable hands. Delicate, elegant hands that fixed kids’ teeth and expertly stretched across the piano keys, not twisting greasy bolts of an old car, like mine.

Slowly, I lifted the hem of my shirt and drew it up over my head, tossing it onto the floor.

He sucked in a breath. “God, you’re beautiful.”

I wouldn’t have believed him except he’d said those words with such awe.

I leaned forward to kiss him, gaspingly deep.

“You’re a succubus. That’s what you are. Stealing my soul. I’m undone with you. I’ve never..." I rubbed my pussy over his erection that was peeking out from his open seam, and a sound escaped from the back of his mouth. “Never felt like this. Out of control. Owned. I apologize in advance if this isn’t going to be good tonight. I have no idea what I’m doing with you.”

“You think I have any clue? I’ve never been so turned on. Just promise you’ll be honest. Tell me what’s happening as it’s happening. Even if you don’t know what’s happening.” I moaned into his kiss. “I will too.”

With his help, I shimmied down his pants and rolled the condom on. He sucked in a breath, bracing himself. I laughed at the monumental feeling of it all. “We’ve got to stop this. Both of us. It’s just fun.”

I tweaked his nipple hard to punctuate my point. Then I leaned over and soothed it with my mouth, staring up at him while he bit his lip to stifle a groan.

His body felt so good under mine. Lean but strong and every bit as warm as the scalding shower I’d just taken.

Wrapping his hands around my waist, he rocked me against him, robbing me of the strength to stay upright. I was already close by the time I rose up onto my knees and took him inside, agonizingly slow, swallowing his cock, inch by inch, allowing us both to adjust to the thrill of our joining.

The muscles in his stomach and chest rippled as he breathed and fought to hold himself back.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “Look at me.”

He looked so different beneath me, inside me, than he did on the scene, standing in the cold, reluctantly taking care of everyone around him. This morning he’d immediately struck me as a handsome man. Now, like this, he was mine. Like he’d always been mine. There was never a time before when he wasn’t; we’d just been waiting until now to find each other.

His face was so familiar; the angular cut of his prominent zygomatics, the plump lips that widened into a lopsided smile over perfectly straight, white teeth, his large warm eyes shadowed by a strong, straight brow ridge. I’d already memorized his face.

One hand came up to cradle the back of my head, lacing his fingers into my hair, tugging me where he wanted as he rocked his pelvis against me. Oh, God, it felt good being controlled by him. His pubic bone rubbed my clit just right. Sparks shot off all over my body, running down my arms into my fingertips. I felt the pleasure down to my toes as he repeated the motion.

There was no rhythm, no repetition. No propulsion toward a pinnacle experience. It was quiet and profound as both of us sank into the feeling of our bodies joined together.

He kissed me softly and reverently. I rocked my hips and he moaned into my mouth, his enjoyment deepening my own. Already, I felt my pussy growing heavier.

"Jesus Christ, you feel good." He said, through gritted teeth. It was clear he was holding back, but I didn’t urge him to let go. I selfishly enjoyed the way he tortured himself. For me.

His fingers trailed down from my head, lingering for a moment on the outer curves of my breasts before gripping my hips, fisting the flesh, urging me deeper onto his cock, rocking me harder against him.

His painful grip was enough to pull my attention to the sensations of my body, and I let myself go, chasing the pleasure as it built.

“Yes, sweetheart, come for me. Use me. Get yourself off.”

Words hitched in my throat, caught between grunts and hoarse moans. My head whipped back as I arched, leaning away from him and using his thighs to bolster my momentum.

“You’re a fucking goddess, Daphne.” His hands came back to my breasts and he teased my rock-hard nipples, sending more sensation to my clit. A low wail escaped from deep in my chest as my orgasm built and built. It wouldn’t stop. The pleasure came in waves, until all at once, it exploded out of me from every nerve ending.

My body shook, crumpling like a dried leaf, pulling him down with me. He kissed me hard as he pumped into me with a jerking, shuddering motion, and came with a grunt right along with me.

He stroked my hair as his cock pulsed inside me, telling me sweet words I couldn’t quite understand. Fucking beautiful. Something about watching me come over and over again.

The mattress jostled, and a few seconds later, I heard the click of the bathroom door. I could still feel Chris inside me, filling me so completely, giving me his tenderness and compassion and admiration with every thrust.

I could barely move. I didn’t want to move. My celestial view was all I needed. They could bury me here, naked and splayed on his bed under these incandescent stars.

When the bed dipped again, Chris was moving me, pulling me against him. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. It was proprietary. I was his now. I belonged to him.

“I wish I could feel this forever.”

“Feel what?” His voice was deeper, gravelly in the aftermath of his orgasm.

“I don’t know. It’s just... good. Right.” Perfect was what I wanted to say, but that was jinxing it.

I’d never been more in tune with my body and at peace with my soul. It was like I needed him to become fully myself. Maybe he did too.

“Maybe..."

He lifted his head off the pillow as he absentmindedly traced my nipple with his middle finger.

“Maybe we could stay here for Christmas,” I said quietly, my head resting against Chris’s chest. I felt his deep breath.

“We have the skull.”

“One more day? Please, Chris? I’m not ready to leave this bed yet. The stars are too beautiful. Let me see what it’s like to be old money for a day.”

He chuckled underneath me, but his silence made me nervous. I had two choices; I could let myself be dulled, wondering if I was overstepping somewhere; or I could continue to be my full, unapologetic self and pretend not to care what he thought of me.

I chose the latter. Better to show my true colors, even if they were a manic pixie rainbow, than try to live in black and white for a man and still fail at it.

“You’ve spent every holiday working your tail off in a soup kitchen somewhere. I got to watch my brother and sisters celebrate Christmas from the sidelines. We’ve got a lot of work to do, Chris.”

“Work?”

“Yeah. From now on, we’re making our own holiday traditions.”