TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT
DALTON
I don’t know how long I held Lacy tight against me before succumbing to sleep myself. All I know is when I finally managed it, I slept fucking great. Some will say it was because we’d been up all that time, expending large amounts of energy in the name of pleasure, but I know it’s because I was holding her.
“Dalton?” I hear a whisper somewhere near my ear as I wake. “Dalton,” I hear again, realizing it’s Lacy’s sweet voice calling me from my dreams. That’s okay with me. In fact, that’s how I’d prefer it.
“Yes, love?” I say, blinking awake.
“I need food,” she says.
That’s probably a good idea, considering it’s been what feels like forever since we ate. I won’t blame the good sleep on the expended energy, but I will blame the hunger.
“Yes, we should eat.”
“Otherwise, we will be too tired to fuck,” she says with a giggle.
Her categorization of our time spent as “fucking” does something to me. I don’t think I like it. Technically, that’s what we were doing, but I don’t want her to think that’s all this has been about. I guess butt plugs and nipple clamps don’t say romance. I need to make love to her, want to make love to her. It’s probably a good idea to show her that side of me. Which just means I need to have the conversation with her—and soon.
Realizing we’ve slept well into lunchtime, we break the rules—set forth by The Man, capital T, capital M—and make breakfast instead. I make her favorite blueberry french toast with a side of bacon and home fries. Anytime I’ve ever seen her have a choice between french toast and anything else, the french toast has always won.
She does a cute little happy dance in her chair as she shovels bite after bite into her mouth. There’s something adorable about a woman who enjoys herself as she eats. I hate when anyone makes them feel bad about eating and finding pleasure in it. Seriously, fuck those people.
Lacy’s always been what people call a midsize girl, which I don’t understand. I don’t know who was in charge of all these terms for what sizes people are. She looks like a perfectly healthy, beautiful woman. But there’s been more than a few times she’s pinched at the softness of her stomach or bitched about it, and I absolutely hate that.
“This is so fucking good,” she says, chomping down on a slice of bacon.
“Well, I’m not just a master in the bedroom.”
My teasing makes her roll her eyes.“Okay, Mr. Perfect, we get it. You’re the saintly animal healer, the fighter of fires, the french toast champion, and the orgasm master,” she says without missing a beat. “Is there anything I missed?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, I think you covered it.”
“What are we doing today?”
“I thought we’d go for a walk?”
“You want to walk in this?” she asks, gesturing to the window behind her.
The snow stopped sometime last night, but not before giving us a good six inches or so.
“Well, less of a walk and more of an exploration close to the cabin. Maybe we can build a snowman or make snow angels?”
“I think I can handle that,” she says.
I’d originally intended for us to go on a hike of sorts, but the snow was having none of that. It didn’t care that I had plans—oh no. It flipped me the middle finger and dumped right on me.
“Oh, and I need to call my parents,” she says. “I want to say Merry Christmas to them.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” I say. “I’m sure Ryan and his wife are there, too.”
“Have you thought about what they think of this week?” she asks abruptly.
The truth is, I had thought about it rather extensively. I’d talked to Ryan about his sister years ago, confessed my feelings. As her big brother, he was skeptical at first, but by the end of the talk, we were cool and he’d given his stamp of approval for whenever the time came.
Of course, his parents were a little different. I have immense respect for them, as they’ve been very good to me, and I didn’t want to do anything to mess that up. So about six months ago, I told them how I feel and explained this bet as a romantic getaway to tell her how I felt. It was the truth at its core. I just spared them the naughty details. And to my relief, they’d approved, stating, “It’s about time,” which I took as a good sign.
“They’re okay,” I say. “I made sure everything was okay before I brought you here.”
Lacy nods slowly, her apprehension receding.
“How about you go call them while I clean up our dishes, and then we can shower?”I suggest.
The mention of a shower brightens her face like I had hoped it would. We’ve definitely earned one. Plus, I had a stipulation when searching for a cabin, which is why this one turned out to be so perfect.
I begin clearing the plates as she grabs her phone and snuggles onto the couch to call. I hear the call connect over the sounds of the water running and then familiar voices wish her a Merry Christmas. Then I zone out a little, letting her have her time while I focus on the dishes.
Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if my mom were still alive. I see the way Ryan and Lacy are with their mom, how nurturing she is. She’s that way with everyone really, but we all know there’s a difference. If she were still here, would I be as close to Lacy and her family? Would I have spent so much time with them? There’s no denying there’s a causality, but I can’t exactly be happy about it either way, can I? I choose to believe what is meant to be will be. So this time here with Lacy now—that’s what is meant to be.
I’m pulled from my suddenly serious thoughts by the sound of Lacy’s laughter. She’s saying her goodbyes and telling them she will see them next week after she leaves here. Then, there are a few moments of silence before she appears in the kitchen.
“Do you need help with that?” she asks.
There’s a quality to her voice I can’t place. Playful teasing, maybe. “I’m just about finished.” With two hands still in soapy water, I turn to make eye contact with her and can immediately tell she’s not in the mood to wait.
Lacy pouts her bottom lip out as her left hand glides over her breasts all the way to her belly button. All she’s wearing is a sweater and those damn Christmas socks. I know there’s nothing underneath, because I watched her put it on.
“Maybe I’ll go get started without you,” she says.
“You should,” I say. “I’ll be two shakes, I promise.”
She disappears from sight as I rush to finish what I’m doing. I can hear the water cut on in the other room, and I’m racing against no one except myself as I rinse the last plate and exit the kitchen at lightning speed.
Her back is to me when I reach the doorframe of the primary bathroom, pausing there to watch her. Her hand floats under the water, then back to the knob to make a final adjustment. Then the sweater comes off, and finally, the socks.
“Are you going to stand there and watch or are you going to join me?” she asks, looking back at me over her shoulder as she steps in. She adjusts her legs in such a way that her perfect ass sort of pops outward. It does things to me.
The reason this cabin was the one was because the shower is a very large modern style, with glass doors, a ledge to sit on, and a waterfall spout. And while I could definitely stand here and watch her shower as she runs her fingers through her hair, I can’t resist joining.
I slide out of my clothes, not really taking my gaze from her body. She steps aside to make room for me, allowing the hot water to run down my body. Glorious.
Lacy wraps her arms around me from behind, gliding them over my chest and down my stomach and back up. She presses her face to my back, inhaling deeply. For a moment, it feels like she might be as content as I am.
“Tell me the truth,” I say. “Is this what you expected this week with me?” I turn to face her, wrapping my arms around her waist as she works shampoo into her hair with her eyes closed.
“I think I had hopes rather than expectations,” she says. “I didn’t really think in terms of what I anticipated, only what I wanted.”
“And you wanted this?” I spin her into the water so she can rinse her hair, her eyes still shut as suds run down her face.
“Yes,” she says. “I wanted this.” She says it as soon as she’s done rinsing and can pull her face from the water. She opens her eyes, looking into mine like she really wants me to hear her.
I wish I could work up the nerve to ask her if she loves me or if she thinks she could love me and get the same immediate reaction from her. But I can’t bring myself to do it. She’s been a wild child all her life, and if this is just some holiday fun for her, I don’t want to mess it up just yet.
But it has to be soon.