“Th,” she coaches me. “This. There.”
“Dis. Dere. What? I said it perfectly.” I grin at her and pick a piece of grass from her hair.
Lacey giggles and props her chin on my chest, her eyes lighting with amusement, and then something else. She presses her lips against mine in a soft, tender kiss. Heat flashes through me and my arms wrap around her, English phonetics forgotten.
“Would you like to go inside?” she whispers.
I glance at the house. There are fresh sheets on my bed. We have hours and hours and I’ve barely let myself even think about making love to Lacey while we were parted. It was too painful, and too much like tempting fate. “It’s such a nice evening. We could stay out here for a little longer.”
Lacey walks two fingers up my chest. “Or we could go upstairs. You’re not avoiding being with me like that, are you, daddy?”
“No, I’m just…” I trail off, seeing how she’s looking at me.
“I won’t break, you know,” she says solemnly.
I clear my throat. “I know that. It’s just that the last time we slept together—”
“The last time we slept together, it was beautiful. This time it will be even more beautiful because we know for sure what we are to each other now.”
The expression on Lacey’s face reminds me of when she would persuade me that her way of doing something at the museum was the most efficient way, and she was always right. “You make excellent points, Miss Petrou.”
She grins at me. “Thank you, sir. You always did take my good ideas into consideration.”
I pull her tightly against me, but I’m still uncertain. I’m just happy to have her with me. I don’t need anything else. “Only if you want to. We don’t need to today.”
Lacey stands up and tugs me to my feet. “I want to like crazy.”
We don’t make it upstairs to my bed. In the living room, we undress each other quickly and then fall onto the sofa. I feel high from the sensation of her skin against mine after so long.
Lacey climbs up onto me and straddles my hips, holding onto the back of the sofa. I cup her hips in my hands, rubbing one of my thumbs in slow circles on her clit. She moves slowly back and forth along my cock, her slippery sex coating my length. I reach up and take a firm hold of one of her breasts, groaning.
“You feel amazing.”
She takes a shuddering breath, her eyes closing. “I don’t think I can wait.”
Taking my length in her hand, she angles me against her sex and moves her hips, working my cock into her. She watches me questioningly as she slides up and down, as if wanting to know if she’s doing it right.
“Perfect, älskling. Just like that.”
As her confidence grows, her movements grow bolder. I start thrusting up to meet her, and her cheeks flush pink. One by one, I take her hands and place them on my chest.
“Hold on to me.”
Grasping her waist, I pound up into her, fast and greedy. Lacey moans and tips her head back, her body turning pink. Her cries increase in pitch and I know she’s going to come. I reach up with both hands and wrap them around her throat. She looks at me desperately as her peak approaches, pleading with her eyes. Pleading with me not to let go.
She orgasms, and I squeeze her pretty, slender throat. Her inner muscles ripple along my length, and I burst beneath her, thrusting up hard into her tight little pussy.
Lacey collapses onto my chest, breathing hard. Then she starts laughing. “I think we both needed that.”
I kiss her damp cheek. “You’re not fucking wrong, älskling.”
She untangles herself from me and lies flat on my chest, tucked under my chin. She peers up at me. “You always used to call me sharasta.”
“Käraste.” I correct her pronunciation. “It means darling. But now you are älskling. Beloved. You are loved by me.”
“How do you say I love you in Swedish?”
“Jag älskar dig,” I whisper slowly, letting her hear the long, soft vowels and the gentle consonants. “I’ve said it to you before. Do you remember?”
She looks puzzled for a moment, and then she opens her eyes wide in realization. “At the hospital. You were there after my surgery, and you said something. I wasn’t sure if I dreamed it or not.”
I pull her close to me, resting my chin on the top of her head. So she did hear me. “It wasn’t a dream. I said it then, älskling. Jag älskar dig.”
Lacey whispers it back, and her eyes close. My poor girl is utterly exhausted, and she falls asleep within a minute. I lie quietly beneath her, watching her sleep, until it’s time to wake her for dinner.
She eats in the greenhouse while I make scrambled eggs for myself in the kitchen. After, we both wear pairs of my joggers and my T-shirts as we sit on the sofa and watch a Louis Theroux documentary. Lacey curls herself into my side, hugging a cushion. It’s incredibly mundane, and absolutely wonderful.