Krystal
By the time we get back to the cabin, I can barely walk in a straight line.
I’m not the only one; it seems we’ve all had a bit too much to drink.
Gayle offers to put something together to help soak up the champagne, to Jiraiaya’s disapproval.
I’d left to use the bathroom, and upon my return, I see Nick’s left a place for me next to him.
My cheeks burn. The question he asked earlier floats in the back of my mind.
I didn’t think it was appropriate to tilt my head back and scream, “Yes, I want this to last forever and ever!” In the middle of the party, so I didn’t.
Tomorrow, we’ll discuss what ‘after Christmas’ would look like for both of us. Tonight, I’ll let my body do the talking. Instead of taking the seat beside him, I sit in his lap, draping my arms around his body.
Gayle and Jiraiya return with two hastily made charcuterie boards.
An array of breads, fruit, and jams sits haphazardly on the two large trays.
She reaches under the cabinet, exposing the storage of dinnerware, which I don’t think they intend for guests to know about.
We don’t feel so much like a group of random guests anymore, though. We feel a bit like family.
“Please, dig in,” she says before leaving.
“Come on,” Nick mentions, his deep voice wraps around me, squeezing all the places I want to feel his touch.
He assembles both of our plates as I stand behind him with my arms wrapped around his middle.
I imagine how ridiculous I must look with the feet of my pants sweeping the floor, attaching myself to Nick’s large body — I don’t care.
When we return to our place at the table, I pop a cherry in my mouth and ask, “Are you leaving on Christmas Eve or the day after?”
“Christmas Eve, after the brunch,” he answers.
My answer is the same, but my heart still drops.
Silence covers us as we finish our small plates.
When doubts about whether or not he wants this as much as I do creep into my mind, I remind myself that he wants what I want.
My eyes drift up to his as I take a bite out of the last crostini slice on my saucer.
He’s staring at his empty plate with a solemn expression on his face.
“You alright?” I ask.
A gentle smile graces his face when he looks over at me. “Seems to be the case when you’re next to me,” he says.
It feels like all the air is stolen from my lungs, and I have to look away to breathe again.
We let the silence marinate, even as we walk hand in hand to his room.
Sweet relief floods me when I strip tonight’s outfit from my body.
“Fuck,” Nick mumbles, “you’re so gorgeous.”
My cheeks heat, and the awareness of his eyes lingering on my body makes me want to hide. As if he hasn’t seen me like this for the past week and a half. As if I won’t bask in his attention for as long as he’d like to give it to me.
He steps toward me, eyes stuck on mine even though all I’m wearing is a thong.
His hands barely touch my heated skin as he skates them up my sides.
They cup my breasts, teasing my nipples.
His mouth is wet when we kiss, like he was salivating at the idea of touching me.
The thought heightens my arousal, and my needy moan rings across the room.
He pulls away, his chest heaving as he assesses me. “We don’t have to tonight, if you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk anymore,” I say, wrapping my arms around my shoulder.
“You sure?” He confirms.
I want to be annoyed by his delay, but how can I? I roll on to the tips of my toes and press a soft kiss on his lips. “Promise.”
He peels the sweater over his head, tossing it on the ground before cupping my face and kissing me deeply. The warmth of his body seeps into me, and my nipples feather his skin. Goosebumps cover my body, chased away by the heat of our connection.
He pulls his wallet out of his pants, checking the pockets. “Shit,” he mutters, kisses my cheek. “Give me a second.”
While he rummages through his duffel, the old school camcorder in his camera bag catches my attention, calling me like a light in the night. I walk over, not fighting the temptation that guides me.
I press the little button on the side and a compartment flips out, ejecting a tape. A devious smile blooms on my lips. When I turn to face him, his smile mirrors mine as he leans against the dresser, looking like a dream with his shirt off.
“Does this work?” I ask, my voice hushed.
“It does,” he hums, slapping the condom against his palm as he holds my gaze. The energy in the room crackles.
“Is the tape empty?” I confirm.
He wets his lower lip. “It is.”
I press the tape back into place, take the lens cap off, and hold it on him. He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. His boyish smile makes my heart skip a beat as he stalks toward me. “Let’s make a movie, filmmaker,” I say.
He takes the camera, turning the lens onto me. “Only if you get to be the star,” he says, his voice low and raspy.
I drop to my knees, never breaking eye contact.
His mouth falls open, his pupils dilate.
He’s watching me through the camera, and by the way his dick springs from his pants, I can tell how excited this is making him.
His arousal feeds mine, the emptiness in my middle screams in the quiet of my body.
I look straight into the lens as I open my mouth around the head of his length. His mouth widens with anticipation, and when he looks away from the viewfinder and our eyes connect, I close my mouth and suck.
He mumbles a string of garbled curses as he rests his hand on the top of my head, gathering my hair in his close fist as he works my head back and forth.
His head falls back as I pleasure him; he grows impossibly harder in my mouth.
When he finally looks at me again, my heart stutters.
Then, he adjusts the camcorder’s angle, watching me through the viewfinder again.
“You look so pretty in front of my camera, Snowflake,” he grits. “So fucking pretty.”
His praise sets something profane off in my body.
“You’re my favorite muse,” he says, rocking his hips in time with my movements.
I hold him in my hand, still working him as I stand. My eyes flicker between his lips and his eyes. “I want to be your only muse,” I whisper.
His need for me leaks onto the back of my hand, and I look down for just a moment when the wind is knocked out of me.
He picks me up, sitting me on the dresser.
The camera is lying on the bed now, pointed at nothing.
He squeezes my cheeks between his fingers with just enough pressure.
“Don’t say shit you don’t mean, Snowflake,” he says, his voice gruff with emotion.
I hold his gaze captive, kissing his palm. “I have never said anything to you that I don’t mean, Nick.”
He releases my jaw, running his hand down my naked body and testing my center.
“Fuck,” he mutters, resting his forehead in the crook of my neck. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” His fingers are slick with my desire when he puts them in his mouth and sucks.
“We’re supposed to be making a movie,” I remind him, scooting off the dresser and grabbing the device from the bed. It’s still recording when I turn back to him. He walks over, and I’m forced to fall backwards as he towers over me.
As I watch him bring my knees up, watch him kneel before me, eyeing my dripping core like it’s his last meal — I understand why this turned him on so much.
Anticipation wracks my body as he slowly dips his head.
His tongue falls out of his mouth, thick and flat as he drags it across my sensitive sex.
My hands fall to my side, and my back bows off the mattress.
When I calm down, he guides the hand holding the camera back to its rightful position.
“Just like that, Snowflake,” he says.
I try my best to keep my arm in the same position as he makes a meal of me.
My eyes are closed, my tortured moans filling the room around us.
He flicks my clit with his tongue, sucking gently and sticking two fingers inside me.
My brows knit together, and tears form in the corners of my eyes.
My body doesn’t know what to do with all this pleasure.
It forms a ball at the top of my pelvis, expanding with each tender taste — ripening with each wave of ecstasy that rolls through me. My free hand finds a place in Nick’s short curls, gripping what I can as he drives me over the edge.
The bubble of bliss explodes in my body. My back arches off the mattress again, and I cry his name as I release the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.
My eyes are barely open when he crawls over me.
He takes the camera, turning it in my direction.
“Beautiful,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion.
He’s not looking through the lens; he’s looking over the flip-out screen, his eyes locked on mine.
I wonder if mine looks like his does, like if he’s not careful, the next words out of his mouth will be ‘I love you.’
When he slides into me, I almost wish the thin layer of latex wasn’t there.
I want to feel him, as naked and raw as my feelings are for him.
Each stroke is perfect, with every slap of his hips on mine, it feels like we’re tying ourselves together.
I’m not sure if he was made for me, or if my body is molding in real time around his girth.
Maybe it was supposed to happen like this all along.
We were supposed to love and lose so we could understand the gravity, the scarcity of this kind of connection, this perfect chemistry.
He tosses the camera somewhere on the bed, crashing onto me. Then, he takes my mouth with a desperate kiss, grinding into me at a slower, more tender pace.
I’m at my limit with euphoria, so high with pleasure, it’s the only thing I’m capable of feeling. He buries his face in my hair, groaning as he increases his speed. His grip tightens when his movements become jerky. I wrap my legs around his waist, kissing down his neck and across his shoulder.
He tilts my hip, hitting a spot I didn’t even know existed.
The sound of his skin slapping mine, combined with this new, intense pressure building inside me, makes me want to scream.
My moans get louder, and he groans into my hair as I tighten around him.
My legs begin to shake, and at the last minute, he eases onto his elbow and presses his thumb into my clitoris.
I scream his name as I pulsate around him.
“Fuck, Snowflake,” he grits, bucking his hips into me one more time before he stills. I feel him throb inside me, and the passion of our synchronized release hangs on every heavy breath we exhale.
He props himself up, kissing me tenderly. His eyes shine again with that unnamed emotion, the one I’m sure shines equally in mine. He doesn’t need to say the words for me to feel it, but we’re both too sensible, hold too much reverence for them to say them out loud.
“Yeah,” I say instead, kissing him again and knowing he’ll understand exactly what I’m affirming.
“Yeah,” he responds, sighing with relief and collapsing onto me.
I chuckle under his heavy body as we allow the moment to pass, neither of us wanting to rush its ending. Eventually, he rolls out of me. “Do you want the bathroom first?” He asks, discarding the used condom.
“Thanks,” I say, wanting to fall asleep but knowing better.
By the time I’ve finished washing up and removing my makeup, his soft snores are filling the room.
I climb in next to him, smiling against his body when he lifts his arm so I can snuggle into his side.
I’m not sure if I’d choose to go through all I did to end up here.
But I’m as certain as the sleepy heartbeat under my ear that I’m exactly where I belong.