My Fair Lacey

Chapter 14

This Changes Everything

The room was dark, the thick curtains shutting out the dim light of the winter early evening.

Lacey's world had dwindled to the near senses of touch and smell.

She barely was able to get out a gasp when she felt his weight upon her and then he was kissing her. He was lying on top of her and she had automatically a primordial response shifted so that he was lying between her legs. And yes, yes, yes, he was so kissing her and it was really, really good. She wrapped herself around him, her arms and her legs, and began to kiss him back.

Within the confines of his billowing bed, she felt him, his hands warm against her skin, stripping off her clothing, removing her blouse first. He was slowly, between kisses, peeling off her clothes, next pulling off her skirt, leaving her only in her shoes, her panties, and her bra. Lacey hadn't been quite as successful with getting his suit off the man – it was like armor, fitting him snugly, made for him. She had managed to get the jacket unbuttoned and helped him slip it off his shoulders, but he was already so far ahead of her.

'Wait," she managed to gasp out, and he immediately stopped.

"Too fast? Am I going too fast?" he asked. "I can slow up." He seemed alarmed.

"It's not that, Professor," she told him, giggling. "I just want to get your clothes off of you."

He pulled back and ended up kneeling on the bed. "I do think, that in light of what we're about to do, that you should call me Rum or Rumple."

"But calling you 'Professor' is kinda hot, don't you think?" she asked with a grin.

"Perhaps," he agreed. He was sitting back on his heels. "Getting back to the matter at hand, do you want me to take my clothes off myself . . . or do you want to do it?" He gave her his slow, sensual smile that always made her insides twitch.

"Oh my," she pulled herself up to sit next to him. "I want to do it."

Her answer delighted him. He sat still while she fiddled with the knot of his silk tie, pulling it off from around his neck, all the while he trailed his fingers down her face. And then Lacey fumbled with the buttons on his vest, finally getting these undone and he helped her remove the vest, shrugging his arms out of it while now his fingers were entwined in her hair, stroking her head, massaging her scalp and Lacey shivered with how truly excellent he was making her feel. With an effort, she refocused and then began to fidget with the buttons on his shirt, her fingers nervous and shaking. His hands were on her arms now, tracing down and then ghosting over to her breasts. Eventually, finally, she got the buttons undone and she raked the sleeves down his arms and jerked the shirt off the man.

"I'm nowhere near as pretty as you," he told her, apologetically.

She looked at him and he caught his breath – her eyes were vibrant and glistening. "Yes, yes, you are," she assured him. "Pants?"

"I'll take care of them," he told her, his movements fluid in the heat and the darkness of the room and he slipped the belt from his waist and, not breaking eye contact, he slid the zipper down and then tugged off the offending garment. He was now clad only in his black boxers.

"Damn," Lacey breathed out.

"You owe a dollar to the swear jar," he told her as he reached around to unfasten her little brassiere. She caught it before it slipped off her body, crossing an arm in front of herself.

"Lacey," he said gently. "You must know I think you're beautiful."

She dropped her eyes. She felt his hand on her arm, pulling it gently, yet brooking no resistance, away from her body.

"You're perfect," he told her, and she had to close her eyes to protect herself from the heat of his gaze. He was touching her now, his fingers, his long, clever fingers tracing around her breast. He lifted her as he bent over to feed the nipple into his mouth. She felt the tug as he suckled and her entire body responded with tingling and a shiver. Now, he pushed her down so that he was lying nearly on top of her again.

He released her from his long kiss, and she felt his mouth drop down to her stomach, now pressing little butterfly kisses onto her. His hands were on her hips and were holding her still. He had stopped for a moment and she managed to open her eyes.

"There you are," he said. He was looking up at her. "You . . . you are on some sort of . . . uh . . . you have some protection? I know we didn't take any precautions when you first came to me."

She nodded, "I was. I am. When I was working as a masseuse, I got an implant, even though I wasn't . . . I wasn't . . . uh . . . involved . . . with anyone. I was afraid . . . in the job I was doing, I was afraid that something might happen and . . . I didn't want to end up pregnant."

"You were always a smart girl. You should know that I haven't been with a woman, well, since you . . . and before that, it had been a while. I've was checked after my last . . . uh . . . liaison and I'm clean."

"That's good . . . right? I guess . . . it sounds good. We're both good to go," she said breathlessly.

"Uh hum . . ." he muttered. "Good to go. Yes, good to go." He smiled at her, "I'm gonna show you so much about your body," he told her. "I'm going to make you scream."

"Is that a threat?" she asked, smiling back at him.

"It's a promise," he replied. "Now, relax, stay on your back."

"What if I want to be on top?" she asked.

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, "Another time." And he reached up and notched his thumbs into the sides of her panties, pulling them down her legs. He then let his hands trace up her legs – slowly, very slowly. Then he traced back down her legs, just as slowly.

"You're so smooth, so soft," he muttered his appreciation. "And you smell good." His hands were warm, his fingers sure and strong. Then she felt his lips on her ankle.

"Oh," she reflexively tried to pull back, but he held her in place.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Lacey. I'm going to give you pleasure," he repeated his promise.

"All right," she could hear her voice trembling. She knew she was giving herself over into his power, but she trusted him. He would take care of her.

She closed her eyes and allowed the darkness to again wash over her. Everything was about touch now, the sensations her body was feeling, the sensations he was giving to her. She could feel his hands, his fingers, his lips on her leg, slowly moving up her leg.

Now he was up to her thighs. There were sounds, his murmuring voice, letting her know how beautiful he thought she was, how sweet she tasted to him, how brave he believed she was.

She pulled back as he came closer to the juncture between her thighs.

"My Lacey, my sweet, brave woman, now are you going to be shy? I thought you the bravest person I'd ever met."

"I . . . this is just . . . I've never . . . " she had opened her eyes and was trying to explain to him that this might be too much. He was too much.

He stopped for a moment and in the dim light, she could see he was studying her, watching her, gauging her. She felt his hand on her mound.

"I'm going to touch you here, Lacey. I want to do this, very much and I . . . I think you will like it." And now she could feel his fingers, gently massaging her. "Now, close your eyes again. Trust me."

She heard herself as she breathed out a great sigh. "All right," she agreed and closed her eyes.

And once again she was devoured by the darkness, in a pool of sensation and tactile stimulation. Every nerve was alive, hypersensitive, open to tiny nuances. She felt everything . . . his lips . . . his tongue . . . his fingers.

And he was gentle, but she couldn't help but gasp and pull back when she felt a finger slip inside of her. His tongue was active, right in exactly the right place, flicking back and forth, then lapping, then flicking again. She had never felt anything like this. She thought he might have put a second finger inside of her, but it was now his tongue against her feminine nub that was claiming all of her attention.

This was more than she could bear. Her hands were caught in the sheets, pulling on the soft cotton weaving.

It was a tightness, a hard coiling within her, tightening, tightening and she had tensed her legs and knew she was lifting her body to him, to allow him greater access. His arms were now threaded under her thighs and his hands rested on her stomach as he lay between her legs.

She whimpered, then screamed, a very unladylike scream, as she abruptly and unexpectedly convulsed. He persisted with his attentions as she rode through the spasms of pleasure, licking at her, swallowing what he could of the sweet nectar that seeped from her. Things blurred for her and then, she slowly, very slowly, became aware that he was still resting between her legs.

As her vision returned, she caught his eye. He was smirking - she supposed he had earned the right to be satisfied with himself.

"Glad you enjoyed Act One," he told her and he reached down to divest himself of his boxers. And he slid up her body so that now they were face-to-face. He was lying on top of her, careful to support his weight on his elbows.

"That . . . was . . . fantastic," she managed to get out.

"For me, too," he told her. His fingers caught in her curls and strands of her hair seemed to twirl themselves around his fingers. He stroked the side of her face, pulling her hair off of her cheeks. "I still can't believe that you're allowing me to do . . . to do this."

"I told you. I'm in love with you," she reminded him.

"It's hard for me to believe that. I'm so not worthy of your love."

"Yes, yes, you are," she assured him.

He shook his head. "I can't even express how much I love you. You are . . . you are like this light in this ocean of darkness. I . . . you make me want to be a better person."

And he pulled back a moment, his hand dropping to position himself.

"Put your hands on my shoulders," he ordered her. "Hold on to me." She complied, and she felt his arms reach up under her arms and his fingers brace on her shoulders.

She sucked in air as she felt him surge into her and her hands, her fingers clung to his shoulder.

"Oh," she couldn't stop herself from crying out as the air rushed out of her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, stilling himself.

"Yeah, it's a bit . . . strange, feeling you inside of me. Nice, but strange." And that was the truth. She felt stretched, almost uncomfortably so, but also close, so close to this man, as close as she could ever get to another person.

"It feels nice to me too. You're very . . . uh . . . Don't wiggle," he spoke sharply.

"I'm trying to get more comfortable," she told him.

"Well, stop wiggling. I won't be able to finish properly," he warned her.

Lacey suddenly realized how much power she had in their relationship. She could make this powerful, capable, fiercely intelligent man just completely, she cleaned up a vulgar expression she recalled from her masseuse days, she could make him lose 'it.' With just a smile or a touch or a little cry, she had power, even control, in their relationship. It was a heady feeling.

He lent himself to slow, leisurely thrusting, pulling almost out, then sliding back into her, making sure that he was hitting her in just the right spot, and damn, she realized that this time she was the one who was losing it. And now that she knew the path, it was a quicker journey for her. She somehow managed to plant little kisses along the man's neck, but each time he pushed himself against her, she whimpered, a soft groan. She was pushing against him as she could and closed her eyes again, the coiling starting, tightening, going so much faster this time.

She heard him whisper, "Come for me, Lacey. Come for me."

His voice filled her head, he was pleading with her, he was ordering her, and when she broke, it was far more intense than anything she'd felt before, like riding a wave that crested higher and hit harder than anything else that she'd been through. She might have screamed again.

Somehow in the flowing tide of passion, she felt him. He groaned and released himself into her. She could feel the heat of his spray as he spilled himself.

They both clung to each other, a bead of sweat trickling down his face.

"I don't want to leave you," he told her. "I want to stay like this, joined with you for the rest of the night."

"Maybe we can do it again?" she suggested.

"Oh woman, I will need a little time. As luscious and as attractive as you are, I will need, well a little while, before I can . . . uh . . . perform again."

"Well, can we cuddle?" she asked him.

He slipped out of her and he rolled to one side, pulling her up against him. "Oh yes, please, I want to hold you, hold on to you, so you don't disappear."

He kissed her along her neck. He felt her wiggling against him. Maybe it wouldn't take as long as he thought to . . . uh . . . perform again.

But, instead, they both dozed off, comfortable and comforted in each other's embrace.

Early Morning

It was early morning when Lacey pushed him from his side onto his back.

"I want to be on top," she told him.

Barely awake, even considering that this was perhaps yet another dream, he managed to murmur agreement and helped her position herself on top of him. He was ready – he'd already found her proximity kept his interest raised up to at least half-staff and with her eager efforts to further interest him, his body had responded with a full salute.

It took Lacey a moment to lower herself onto him, giving him a most delicious sensation of warmth and welcome. Then she started to move, up and down, up and down. Yes, this was very good and the view, for him, was the best – her body and her face visible in the dim red lights of the electronics that dotted the room. He dropped a hand between them, to give her more sensations as she began to grind against him. He began to push up as she dropped down. With his free hand, he would reach up to caress her, her face, her neck, her breasts, her stomach and then . . . and then, he would start again. Lacey's pacing increased, and she put her head back, closing her eyes.

God, he felt her spasm around him, tightening, teasing, nearly milking him and he let go, answering her beckoning, giving himself up to her.

She collapsed onto him and almost immediately dropped off to sleep. He wrapped his arms around her, one hand in her soft, silky hair.

"Lacey," he whispered, realizing that she probably was too far gone to hear him. "I love you. Please don't leave me."

He heard, barely heard, her reply, "uh hmm."

He was content to just hold her until finally sleep caught up with him too, and he dropped off.

Morning Light

Lacey woke first, the light insistently shining in through the gap between the window and the curtain. She found herself on her side, snuggled into the man's side, her leg draped across him and an arm thrown across his chest. She wanted to just lie there, cuddling and caressing, but she knew there was too much day before her. She stirred and immediately, he stirred.

"I guess we have to get up," he whispered. "Although I would much prefer to stay here."

"Me too," she told him. She sat up, suddenly shy in the morning light. "This . . . this changes everything, doesn't it?"

"God, I hope so," he raised his arms and put his hands behind his head. "I'd be devastated to find out that you were using me for a night a casual sex. I'm not that kind of guy."

"Good for you. I'm not that kind of girl."

He watched as she wrapped the sheet around herself. "You know, if we'd lived hundreds of years ago, and I had seen you on the street, I think I would have stolen you away from your father and locked you in my dungeon."

"Oh, you would have had a dungeon?" she had to ask.

"Well yeah, I would have lived in a castle. So, yes. I think I would have had a dungeon."

"And would you have pressed your advantage with me, an innocent maid?" she asked, curious.

He thought a moment. "I think . . . I think I would have wanted to, but I would have seen you as too precious, too perfect, too valuable to sully with my baser attentions." He shook his head, "But I think it's so much better this way, how we are now. This way we're together and I know you want to be here. And that is so much better. You know, Lacey, I don't just want you in my bed. I want you in my life," he told her soberly.

Lacey smiled at him. "I want to be here, you have to know that. I love you so much – that's why I decided to come back – to give you one more chance, one more opportunity to let me in."

"Thank you. I don't know that I deserved another chance," he had to smile back at her. He spoke hesitantly, "I . . . I don't want to rush you into anything else. I mean . . . I . . . " he looked away. "Let me know when you want . . . when you need more from me, please."

"Well, I think . . . not rushing, going slowly, is a good idea . . . for both of us," she told him.

"Well, my mother already thinks I'm shagging you. I don't want to add any more fuel to that fire," he told her.

"My friend, Ruby, thinks that too," Lacey confirmed. "It's not that I'm ashamed of being with you or anything . . . . It's . . . it's . . ." she struggled to find the right words.

"It's private," he told her. "It's our business and no one else's."

Lacey nodded. "Yes. It's intimate and personal and . . . private."

"And no one else's business," he repeated.

Lacey reluctantly got out of his bed, the sheet wrapped around herself. "I'm going to grab a quick shower and go down for breakfast. You'll come and join me . . . for breakfast?"

He'd thought, at first, that she might have been asking him to join her in the shower, but then realized this might be moving too fast – after all, she wasn't even comfortable walking around naked in front of him. He had to squelch all the ideas that came to mind when he speculated on showering with her, her luscious little body wet and slick and soapy and . . ." He took a deep breath. Another time, yes, another time.

"Yes, I'll join you for breakfast," he told her.

Disappointed

Lacey was disappointed that he didn't ask to join her in the shower, but recognized that he was being overly-cautious and likely thinking of her tender sensibilities. But it was pleasant idea to contemplate.

Perhaps another time.

Breakfast

Jefferson was sitting in the dining room when Lacey came downstairs. He watched her drop a couple of dollars into the swear jar as he buttered his toast.

"Viktor has got the surgery shift again?" she asked him, fixing her plate from the buffet and sitting down.

"Oh yes. It really puts a kink in our love life, but we survive. His work is very important to him and I . . . I have to respect that. It's part of who he is."

Lacey looked at her friend. "You two make adjustments for each other, don't you?"

"You want a love affair, a marriage, even a friendship, to work, you have to. Compromise is the name of the game. Viktor certainly cuts me some slack on some of my mad habits."

"You have mad habits?" she asked, amused.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on now, Lacey. How long have you known me? I'm overly fussy about my clothes and my wine . . . and my friends, for that matter."

"I would have said those are all endearing personal quirks, Jefferson, not mad habits."

"You . . . are a jewel," and Jefferson toasted her with his orange juice. "To be able to accept people for who they truly are – it's a gift. Rumple has that, well, whenever he actually gives a damn about a person, he accepts them for who they are."

"Yes," Lacey had to agree. "Rumple is able to do that."

Lacey lent her attention to her plate, to her eggs, grits and hash browns and didn't catch the sharp look that Jefferson gave her at her use of Rumple's first name. He saw her look up when Gold came into the room, failing to suppress her gentle smile when she saw the man.

"Morning, all. Jefferson, I take it that you're joining us because Viktor is doing slicing and dicing this morning," Gold spoke to his friend.

"Yes, yes, he is." Jefferson looked closely at his good friend and then looked back at Lacey. He watched them, his gray eyes catching every aspect of how the two communicated, how they looked at each other, how their bodies would lean in and then pull away from each other.

Gold fixed himself a hearty breakfast, instead of his usual buttered toast, and sat down. Without speaking, he handed Lacey the puzzle section from the newspaper. Lacey gave him a murmured thanks and took the paper without looking at Gold. Gold took a drink of his tea.

"You two had sex," Jefferson announced.