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The sun peeks through the blinds, casting stripes of gold across the bed, making her look even more angelic. I can't resist planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, careful not to wake her.
Then, out of habit, I reach for my phone. A text from Jessie catches my eye.
"Hey, just letting you know Grace and I are safe and sound at the Montfaire hotel. The coffee game here is strong. Grace says 'hi'.
It always makes me smile, knowing she and Jessie are doing well.
Scrolling past Jessie's message, I find one from Marcus - his timing for SOS signals is impeccable. Just a string of emojis and, "Call me, bro."
I sigh, thinking, Marcus, your crises can wait until after I've had my coffee.
I chuckle; some things never change. I'll deal with it later.
First things first, breakfast.
I throw on a robe, careful not to disturb Lacey further, and make my way to the kitchen. There, a breakfast spread worthy of a five-star hotel awaits, courtesy of the yacht's crew, I assume. Smiling, I gather a tray of goodies—fresh fruits, pastries, some kind of fancy scrambled eggs—and head back to the bedroom.
Just as I walk in, Lacey's stirring, rubbing her eyes like a child on Christmas morning.
“What's all this?” she mumbles, sitting up and looking amused at my attempt to balance the tray.
“Oh, you know, just a little something I whipped up,” I say, barely keeping a straight face.
“Sure, Chef Aidan. And here I thought your culinary expertise was limited to burnt toast,” she teases, eyeing a croissant. "Hmmm, how many shirtless sunrise runs are you going to need to offset this feast?"
I take a bite of the eggs. "I'll take that as a compliment. And don't worry about the runs. I'm conserving energy for the more... challenging activities.”
"Speaking of burning calories," Lacey says, popping a piece of croissant into her mouth, "we never did plan our day, did we?"
I swallow my mouthful and lean back against the headboard. "We could start with a walk around the yacht, get some fresh air, and explore a bit."
Lacey nods, sipping her coffee. "Sounds perfect." The sheets slip around her, revealing a hint of cleavage. "But that's not what I meant."
My gaze steadies. "Oh?"
"We never finished what we started."
"Darling," I say, cupping her jaw, "you finished, and it was incredibly sexy."
"I did." She rises, sheets pooling at her waist, and straddles my lap. "But I want more."
I grin, pulling her in for a kiss. “You’re insatiable.”
“And you love it,” she whispers against my lips.
I can't argue with that logic, so I give in to her demands, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. Heat courses through my veins, pooling at my very core.
My body responds to hers, every touch with a yearning so potent, it's nearly overwhelming. And as the kiss deepens, as we lose ourselves further in this dance of lips and tongues, I can feel the weight of my own hard-on, pressing insistently against the fabric of the terry-clothed robe, seeking escape.
Seeking Lacey.
Especially when she dips her head lower, her lips traveling to the opening of my robe, past my chest and lower as she unties the sash that keeps the robe closed.
"Lacey..." I start.
"It's your turn, Mr. Sullivan," she says, glancing up at me, green eyes burning with desire.
Tossing the sides of the sash aside, her fingers trace the edge of my boxer briefs. My erection presses against the fabric, begging for attention. And she gives it all the attention it could want.
