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kelyon · 1 year ago

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Hot Cocoa and Stolen Kisses 5: Peppermint

After the Thanksgiving "date," Gold comes over to Lacey's apartment

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They did not have sex on Thanksgiving.

This was unexpected. It wasn’t like Lacey to wait for things. She’d been lucky enough to have a life where impulses and whims rarely had lasting consequences. Go to university on a different continent! Party on and hook up with whoever! Change your major! Change your schools! Give up on college to start a small business! Give up your business to live like a recluse in Bumfuck, Maine! Seduce your landlord by plying him with cocoa! Who cared about any of it?

What could possibly go wrong?

Being with Roald was the first time she had ever really worried about things going wrong. If something bad happened between the two of them, no amount of money or charm or cutesy arrogance would make it better. She couldn’t handle that. She couldn’t handle being so close to this man and then never being near him again. She couldn’t fuck this up.

So, against her worse judgment, she’d asked if they could hold off on sex for a while. Until they figured things out a little better. Until they got more used to all these beautiful, powerful, sanity-crushing feelings. Basically, until they couldn’t handle not having sex for another minute. God bless Roald, he seemed to think that was reasonable.

After a courtship that had existed mostly in private, they were happy to start “officially” dating while in the public eye. They had dinner at Granny’s on the Friday after Thanksgiving. The next day they split a giant muffin at Storybrooke Coffee, where Roald did not even glance at the hot chocolate menu. Then they walked along the docks, for the few minutes it wasn’t raining or sleeting. The closest they came to being alone together was on Sunday when Roald invited her to look at some antiques in his pawn shop. This was technically during business hours, so the store was open to anyone who might wander in and interrupt them. Lacey stayed on one side of the counter and Roald stayed on the other.

It was all painfully chaste, which was good. If nothing else, it eased Lacey’s fears that their physical compatibility would outpace every other connection they had. This way, they were actually getting to know each other. They were enjoying each other’s company. Since both of them had confessed to their bone-deep loneliness, it was nice to know that wasn’t the only thing that brought them together. Neither Lacey nor Roald was with the other just because it was better than being alone. They really, actually, liked each other.

When December first rolled around and Roald came by the apartment to collect rent, it would be the first time they had been alone together since Thanksgiving. Lacey wasn’t sure what to expect, but she did shave her legs and clean up her bedroom, just in case.

She also made a new flavor of hot chocolate.

At 4:08, she got a call.

“I should have told you this earlier,” Roald said. “I’ve rearranged the collection schedule a bit, to make it so that you’re my last stop of the day. We--” he hesitated. She imagined him licking his lips. “We can have as much time together as you’d like.”

Lacey grinned and shook her head. “Mr. Gold changing up his routine? You might as well put up a billboard that says ‘I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!’ in giant letters.”

He sounded as amused as she felt. “As if half the town already wasn’t gossiping about us at the diner together. The looks I’ve gotten today…”

“They just don’t know what I know.” She stirred the pot of hot chocolate on her stove. “Since you’re coming by later, do you want me to order something for dinner?”

“I was planning on cooking for you again, at your place. I stopped by the market this afternoon. Picked up a few essentials.”

“You didn’t need to do that. I really don’t run out of food all that often.”

“I know, sweetheart.” God, the warmth in his voice when he called her that! “Just let me take care of you, hmm?”

“Yeah, fine.” She tried to keep the smile out of her voice on the phone. “Just get over here so you can take care of me in person, how about that?”

“Oh, I intend to.”

They said their good-byes and Lacey hung up the phone. Then she let out a long, low whistle and decided to give her bedroom another once-over. It seemed very possible this could be the night they decided they couldn’t not have sex for another minute.

****

She was shivering outside the library when his car pulled up to the side door that led to the stairs to her apartment. She had thought her stylish camel-colored wool coat would be enough protection against the cold while she waited. Apparently a parka would have been a better choice.

“What are you doing out here?” Roald asked when he saw her. He wasn’t angry. There was a light in his eyes that was more than just the street lamps. “You must be freezing! Go inside.”

“I thought you might need help carrying the groceries.” Taking a wide step over a puddle of slush, Lacey made for the trunk.

Sure enough, when Roald opened the lid, there were three paper bags from the grocery store and a small white box with a bakery logo on the top. Lacey smirked. She was right. There was no way he could have carried it all in one trip!

“All this for one night?” she asked as she picked up two of the fuller-looking bags.

“No.”

Holding his cane in the crook of his arm, Roald shut the trunk with a definitive thud. The other bag and the bakery box were in his free hand. Carefully, he picked a clear path to the sidewalk. When he looked at Lacey again, he must have seen how confused she was. His lips quirked up. He leaned toward her and placed a hot kiss on her cheek.

“None of this is for only one night, sweetheart. Now let’s get you in the warm.”

****

She set her bags on the kitchen table, then took Roald’s. He took off his coat and gloves and looked around for a place to put them. Lacey hung his things up in the coat closet next to hers. When she turned around, he had taken off his suit coat and hung it over the back of her kitchen chair.

Lacey grinned at that. He certainly was making himself at home. He wasn’t wearing a vest today either, just a forest green shirt and a tie in dark burgundy.

“Why, Mr. Gold!” she played at being shocked. “Do I spy a hint of Christmas spirit in your wardrobe?”

He looked up from putting a carton of eggs in the refrigerator and smiled at her. “Well, it is December, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” She put a deliberate sway in her step as she sauntered past him to give the hot cocoa a stir. “Care to guess how I’m celebrating?”

He stood behind her, his hands on her hips. Burying his face in her hair, he murmured into her ear: “You know I could smell that peppermint from outside.”

There was something in his voice that made the observation sound absolutely filthy. Like he was telling her he could smell how wet she was. The hunger in him, the growling demand for what he wanted, it absolutely melted her.

“Do you want it now?” she asked in a breathy voice.

He chuckled darkly, pulled her even more tightly against him. “Whichever it you mean, my dear, I assure you the answer is yes.”

She turned around, snaked her arms around his neck and brought him down for a kiss. He followed her easily, returning the kiss and wrapping his arms around her waist. He bent himself to her desires as completely as she did to his.

After a moment, she stepped away, softly breaking their embrace.

“Let’s be adults and put the groceries away before we do anything fun.”

Roald swooped down for a quick peck, then went back to the bags. Lacey stayed by the stove for a minute. She was close enough to the low heat that she knew the shiver that went down her spine had nothing to do with the cold.

He’d laid out dry goods on the counter instead of going through her cupboards. She put them away haphazardly, surprised how much room she had in this kitchen. Room she’d never bothered to use until now. When was the last time she had bought anything that wasn’t booze or hot cocoa supplies?

From the bottom of the last bag, Lacey pulled out a box of condoms. Chuckling, she held them up for Roald to see.

“Hopeful, were we?”

He glanced at the box, then looked away. “Prepared.” He cleared his throat. “Hopefully not presumptuous?”

“No,” Lacey said. “I’m actually glad you brought your own. I wasn’t sure if any of what I had here would be the right fit.”

Now he let a little light come into his eyes. “You were prepared too?”

“Safety first,” she shrugged. “I’ve done some reckless shit in my time, but I take STIs and pregnancy very seriously. And some guys ‘forget’ to have any on them, so it’s easier to keep my own supply. ”

Roald nodded, and put the last of the fresh vegetables in the fridge. Lacey held the box of condoms in two hands in front of her. Her fingers tapped against the plastic wrapping.

“So what do you want?” she asked abruptly. “I mean--what do you want to do first? Looks like we can choose between eat, drink, or, uh, be merry.”

He crossed the distance between them, staring at her with that hunger again. Lacey’s breath caught and didn’t release until he had enveloped her in his arms and covered her mouth with his own. Only when he released her did she start to breathe again.

“Eat,” he whispered. His lips brushed against her forehead. “And drink.” He kissed her again. “And please you until you can’t move, my sweet Lacey.”

She shuddered. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. He held her.

“I don’t think I can wait.” Lacey breathed. “I want you so much.”

“Good.”

He took the box of condoms from her unresisting hands and made his way to her bedroom door.

“Wait a sec,” she blinked out of her haze of horniness. “You just said you wanted to eat first.”

“Yes I do.” He kissed her deeply. “More than anything else in the world.”

“So--”

“Dinner will take less than twenty minutes. I trust the cocoa won’t be ruined by an extra hour or two on low heat. We can enjoy all that later, when we’re ready for a break.”

“But you said--”

“Lacey.” He turned her to face him, held her shoulders in both hands. He smiled at her. His voice was so warm, so gentle. “I want you, sweetheart. I want to eat you out, and drink you down, and bring you so much pleasure you don’t believe it’s real. Does that sound good to you?”

Her mouth had fallen open at some point. She shut it.

“I’m sorry, my brain stopped working somewhere around the phrase ‘eat you out.’ I’m not used to hearing that from a guy on a first time.”

Grinning, Roald opened the door for her. “Not to question your past choices, my dear, but it’s possible that you’ve been going to bed with the wrong men.”

“Let’s fix that.”

****

Before he’d arrived, Lacey had gathered up every candle in her apartment and strategically placed them around her bedroom. They’d been burning for about an hour now, so the room was warm and heady with contrasting fragrances: Sandalwood and cinnamon, fresh linen and eucalyptus, white sage and smoked cedar. Every scent played in interesting ways with the peppermint cocoa wafting in from the kitchen.

In the candlelit warmth, it was easy to take off her clothes. She’d intentionally worn an oversized sweater with a button-down underneath. She undid the buttons as suavely as she could while Roald lavished kisses on every new inch of exposed skin. When she was down to her pink lace bralette, his breath moved hot and wet over her breasts. Lacey shivered, and held him closer.

“I would have worn a skirt.” She almost laughed when he started fumbling with the button and fly of her corduroys. “If I had known you’d be giving me oral, I would have worn a skirt and thigh highs and no panties.”

Roald made a noise in the back of his throat. “You would have frozen,” he chuckled. “That’s the sort of stunt you should save for springtime.” Another noise, this one thoughtful. “When it’s warmer, perhaps the two of us can go on a picnic. I have a cabin out by the lake, very private. That’s when you can wear a skirt with no panties. I’ll lay you out on a blanket and make you scream for all the forest to hear.”

She heard the promises in that fantasy. When it’s warmer, in the springtime, at his cabin. None of this was for one night. Lacey had never had a boyfriend last longer than six months. If Roald stuck with her until spring, that would put him in the top two for putting up with her.

A sliver of panic sliced through her at the thought of fucking this up. She couldn’t keep away the thought that he might get sick of her once he really knew her, once the high had worn off, once it was too warm for hot cocoa. But Roald already knew her as well as anybody ever had, and he’d kept coming back. Lacey didn’t want to fuck this up. Lacey cared about not fucking this up. She cared about him.

Maybe that would be enough.

While she was working through her issues, Roald was kissing her. He held her jaw with one hand and had gotten the other down her pants to cup her ass. It occurred to Lacey that there was a real disparity of clothing going on so she began to pull at his belt buckle.

“No, no,” he whispered, catching her wrist. “Not yet, sweetheart. Let me focus on you for now.”

“At least take your shirt off,” she murmured.

He backed away to obey her, sitting up on his knees on her bed. There was a silken swish as he took off his tie. Lacey was sure that would become one of her favorite sounds in the world. He undid his buttons while she watched, propped up on her elbows. Sneaky bastard tried to leave his undershirt on, but Lacey pulled it off once he was close enough to grab. The candlelight caught the image of a tattoo on his bicep.

“Is that a lizard?”

He made a face, half-grin, half-wince. “When I was younger, I had a girlfriend who always called me cold-blooded.” He kissed her. “I got the tattoo after some risky investments fell through and I lost a lot of money very quickly. That was when she left me.”

“Yikes.”

He kissed her softly. “I dodged a bullet. I would have married that woman, if she had waited for things to improve again. At least she showed her true nature before we’d done anything permanent.”

Lacey pressed her lips against the ink. “Have you been married, ever?”

He shook his head. “I always idealized it. Having a wife, children, the kind of home I never got growing up. None of it ever happened for me. I never… lived a life that allowed for anyone to come close. Not anyone worthwhile.”

She pulled him down to her for a kiss. His lips were so soft, so full of yearning.

“I never want to hurt you, Roald,” she whispered. “If I fuck this up, it’s my fault. Not yours. You’re so good, you really are. You’re so much better than people around here think you are.”

“Sweetheart…”

The word hung in the air between their lips, hot and full of meaning. Too much meaning for either of them to say more. Roald kissed his way down Lacey’s neck again, pausing only to push up her bralette. She pulled it up over her head then lay back down. He stared at her naked breasts with a need that seemed to verge on obsession.

“You are so beautiful.” He rasped out the words just before falling onto her flesh. Frenzied, he kissed her and sucked at her, flicked his tongue over her nipples, grazed his stubble against her tender skin.

Lacey cried out, both at the physical sensation and the deeper meaning behind it. For the first time in her life, Lacey French was making love to someone. Roald loved her, even if he hadn’t said it yet. Had he even thought it yet? Was he aware of what he was doing? Did the closed-off, buttoned-up Mr. Gold understand how he was revealing himself by ravishing her?

His kisses trailed down her stomach, down to the line of her underwear and her open corduroys. His hands gripped at the fabric, but he stopped himself just long enough to ask:

“Off?”

Lacey nodded. “Off.”

Now her skin was naked and exposed. Her pale knees bent up, framing Roald’s tan face and his smooth, dark hair. The only things whiter than her legs were his eyes. He pressed his mouth against the side of her knee, but kept his gaze focused on her face. He was watching her. Reading her. Just like she was reading him.

“Please,” she whispered.

She raised her hips off the bed so he could pull off her panties. He knelt between her legs while she opened herself up for him. His nostrils flared and his beautiful eyes slowly closed as he prepared to take the plunge.

Propped up so she could see him, Lacey let out a single burst of laughter. The sharp noise was harsh in this room of breaths and whispers. She put her hand over her mouth, as though that could erase the disruption.

Roald’s eyes opened, but otherwise he didn’t move. At least he knew her well enough not to get mad about her making an idiot of herself.

“Yes?” he asked dryly.

“I didn’t mean to kill the mood,” Lacey half-apologized. “But I was totally fucking right about you.”

He pushed himself up onto his arms, so he was at her eye level. “Concerning what?”

Pulling her legs back, Lacey moved forward. Now they were face to face.

“The first time I gave you hot cocoa,” she said in a low and husky voice. “I knew that was the same face you’d make when you were about to go down on someone. I knew it!”

Lunging forward, Roald kissed her back down onto the pillows. She was on her back, her legs spread, her whole body laid out for him like a feast.

“What can I say?” he murmured as he kissed his way back down her body. “I like to indulge in delicious things.”

She had a quip ready, but then his mouth was on her mound and every thought flew out of her head. He kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. His tongue glided over her clit, then dove down between her folds.

“Fuck!” Lacey gasped. “Oh, fuck, Roald!”

His eyes looked up at her from between her legs. His eyes, black and white in the flickering candles, locked onto hers. His tongue stilled. He waited. Waited for her.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, keep going!”

That was all he needed to attack. To pull her up into his mouth and consume her. His large hands gripped her hips, squeezing her skin so hard she thought she’d bruise. His nose pushed against her clit with relentless pressure. His mouth…

His mouth!

His mouth never stopped moving. He sucked and kissed and licked and probed every part of her that he could find. God, how was this man breathing? His quick gasps seemed almost panicked, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he ever came up for air.

Lacey moved her legs from at his sides to over his shoulders. She dug her heels into his bare back and threaded her fingers into his long hair. The better he ate her, the tighter her grip got on him. By the time she started coming, she was squeezing him so tight between her thighs she was half-afraid she’d pop his head off.

It only seemed to encourage him. Roald pushed himself deeper and deeper into her cunt, rocked his head against her to match her frantic thrusting. He stayed between her legs as her first orgasm crested. The wave crashed over his body, and he drank down every drop of her.

Panting, loosely collapsed on her bed, Lacey placed a limp hand on the back of Roald’s head. His hair was damp with sweat and other fluids. He rested against one of her thighs. Pillowed on her soft flesh, he caught his breath.

“I haven’t done that in ages,” he sighed.

It took Lacey a moment to string some words together. “I… could not tell,” she managed. “You seem very well practiced.”

He chuckled at that, rubbed her calf up and down. “I’ve never believed that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps it’s more true for actions than it is for people.”

“I dunno.” Slowly, Lacey’s heart rate returned to normal. “Not to be too whatever about it, but I’ve received my share of oral sex, and that was… yeah, that was better than anything… ever? Yeah, I’m gonna commit to it: That was the best cunnilingus I’ve ever had in my life.”

Lifting his head, Roald placed a lascivious kiss on the swell of her inner thigh.

“So far.”

Before Lacey could say another word, he was licking her again. Gently this time. He seemed to be aware of how tender she’d be. Her flesh was so hot it verged on pain, but his touch was soothing. He lapped up the juices he’d wrung out of her. The sound of his tongue was punctuated with murmurs and half-stifled moans.

After a few minutes, Lacey was able to prop herself up again. She looked down at him, her lover, her boyfriend, her Roald. For once, he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were closed, he was just enjoying himself. He was just enjoying her.

He liked to indulge in delicious things.

Gradually, he added fingers into his tool kit of pleasure. He opened up her folds, traced the outline of her outer lips. His hands exposed the core of her, so his tongue could explore with quick, delicate licks.

Still sitting up, Lacey brushed his long hair away from his face. God, he was so beautiful. His dark eyes flicked up at her. He smiled, even as most of his face was buried in her cunt.

“Fill me,” she murmured. “I want to feel you inside of me, Roald. Please.”

He raised his head. For a moment, the skin of his lips clung to her sticky, swollen pussy. Like their bodies wanted to be together on a molecular level. Threads of clear fluid ran from his mouth to her cunt, connecting them.

A jolt of white-hot desire went through her. Fuck wanting--she needed him inside her.

“Please,” she repeated.

“Patience.” He kissed her leg, which left a stamp of wetness on her skin. “I want to make you come again first, just one more time.”

“Oh is that all?” She lay back again. “Just two mind-blowing orgasms before you’ve even got your pants off, is that it?”

“I could do more,” Roald smirked. “But since you’re in such a hurry to be full--”

His words cut out when his hand covered her cunt and he slid a finger deep inside her.

“Fuck!” he hissed.

Quickly, the subtle niceness of one finger inside her was overtaken by the welcome stretch of another. Maybe three, it was hard to tell. Roald’s hands were so big, he filled her up to the brim. For a second, he didn’t move. Lacey clenched around him, moaning weakly. She’d never come from just being penetrated, but this… This might change things.

Maybe later. For now, Roald was not about to let her quietly savor the feeling of him inside her. He sat her up, holding up her back with his free arm. She leaned against him, nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Whenever she had a moment of stillness, she ran her lips along his collarbone, his jaw, his pulse point.

He didn’t give her many moments of stillness. Every movement of his fingers in her cunt was repeated and exaggerated in the rest of her. Every jerk, every twitch, sent her reeling. He had to hold her down, hold her against his chest to keep her from flailing. She wrapped her arms around his neck, dug her fingernails into his back. His thumb began to play with her clit and that was when Lacey started to scream.

“Oh, fuck!” she cried. “Fuck, that’s so good! Fuck me, Roald. Fuck me hard.”

“Not yet!” He groaned through gritted teeth.

His hands worked, faster and faster. Slipping over her clit, crooking up to push her g-spot, ramming into her cunt over and over. Lacey shook and shook and it felt like she’d been coming for so long there would never be an end to it.

When he was done--when he determined she’d had enough--he laid her down gently on her bed. She was too blissed out to do anything but lie there, boneless and spent.

“You’re incredible,” Roald told her. “I’ve never met a woman who comes like you do.”

Eyes closed, she shook her head. “I’ve never come like that before in my life.”

He bent down and kissed her. His face was drenched in the smell of her pussy. It lingered on his hands as he touched her.

Normally, Lacey didn’t really feel one way or another about that smell. It was tangy-sour, a little ripe sometimes, but nothing to be ashamed of. Now, smelling herself on Roald was almost enough to make her start coming again. She wanted her sheets to reek after tonight. She wanted to touch herself and know that her hands smelled like his hands. She wanted him to catch a whiff of her somewhere and get hard in the middle of the day. She wanted to linger on his clothes, on his skin, in his hair.

She wanted to be a part of him forever.

He had gotten off the bed. Distantly, Lacey registered the sound of a belt unbuckling, of clothing dropping to the floor and being hastily picked up and folded. She heard the sound of plastic wrap being torn off a box of condoms.

Then he was back, naked at last. Lacey rolled onto her side to get a better look at him.

“Wow,” she whispered. “So it’s not just Big Dick Energy, huh?”

“What?” He sat down next to her. He put his hand on her ass, then stroked down to the curve of her waist.

“I mean you walk around Storybrooke like you’ve got the biggest cock in town, and yeah… I guess that’s not just attitude.”

He shook his head, chuckling. He didn’t believe her. Well, that was alright. She’d tell him again. Over and over, for as long as he’d let her.

“You know, I can give oral too, not just receive.”

“I’m sure you can,” he said as he rolled the condom on. “And I absolutely do want to see your pretty mouth stuffed with my cock. But right now, I need to fuck you properly.”

He crawled on top of her. Lacey opened her legs wide for him.

“Hard,” he whispered. He was still outside her body. “Isn’t that what you said earlier? That you wanted me to fuck you hard?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Yes, please.”

“So formal, Miss French.”

His breath ghosted against her ear at the exact same moment he sank into her. Lacey arched her back and took him in. A soft, satisfied, “Oh,” escaped her lips.

Roald grinned at her. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

“I love you.”

She hadn’t meant to say it. The thought had hardly been in her mind at all. He seemed to draw the reaction straight from her body.

Straight from her heart.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t known it before she said it. She had said it and it was true. She wouldn’t take it back. She loved him. Lacey French loved Roald Gold.

She looked up at him. For a second, his face was stone, stunned. She had a terrible flashback to their first cup of cocoa. The stupid impulse that had made her kiss him. The stupid kiss that had made him run away. Would he run away now? Did he think she was trying to trap him? Had she fucked up everything again?

But then his eyes went warm and misty. His whole face broke into a smile. He leaned down to kiss her, which pressed the whole of his body against the whole of hers. Their hearts really were as united as their bodies. He kissed her, long and deep, slowly thrusting as he did.

He broke away only long enough to say, “I love you too.”

****

They didn’t have supper that night. They didn’t leave the bedroom, except for a hurried minute when Lacey rushed the pot of peppermint cocoa into the fridge.

The next morning, Roald didn’t open his shop. Lacey didn’t buy a newspaper and do the crossword puzzle at Storybrooke Coffee. They stayed together, in her little apartment over the library. Roald made omelets and opened the bakery box full of pastries. Lacey made a fresh batch of cocoa.

It took them all day to drink it down--drop by delicious drop.

#hot cocoa and stolen kisses #rumbelle #golden lace #lacey french #mr gold

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kelyon · 1 year ago

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Hot Cocoa and Stolen Kisses 6: Orange

Lacey and Gold spend Christmas together

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“You don’t happen to have a zester, do you?” Lacey looked down at the bag of oranges sitting on the counter of Roald’s kitchen.

Without missing a beat, he pulled open a drawer and took out a long microplane. He presented it to her with a showy wave, like a juggler.

“Do you think I’m some kind of amateur?” he teased.

Lacey crinkled her nose. “Next you’ll be telling me you’ve got a fine-mesh strainer I can use instead of half a two-liter bottle and a coffee filter.”

“It’s called a chinois.” His hand lingered on the small of her back as he passed her to get to another cabinet. He retrieved a large, cone-shaped sieve on a long handle. “We can line it with cheesecloth, if the expert thinks it’s necessary.”

She shrugged, mildly amused at him calling her an expert in anything, much less cooking. In the weeks since they’d started dating, Roald had proved his prowess in the kitchen over the course of a dozen extravagant meals. Lacey had nothing to her credit except hot chocolate.

It was Christmas Eve and it was the first time Lacey was making cocoa at his place. As well as she knew her recipe, it was a little odd to make it here. Uncomfortable, like brushing your teeth using the wrong hand. She kept having to ask him where he kept utensils and ingredients. This kitchen was pristine, so she was hyper-aware of spills and other messes, along with how many dishes she was dirtying. Ways of doing things that were fine in her apartment suddenly seemed below par for a real kitchen.

Roald had no idea, of course. He spent the whole evening being lovely. He fetched whatever she needed or told her when it was close at hand. He asked questions and offered suggestions--not as any kind of dig or to prove how much better he was at cooking, but because he was genuinely passionate about this stuff. He wanted her take on things. He listened to her ramble on about her ‘process’ while she tried to make her actions look natural and sophisticated. Like this Julia Child chef he kept referencing--she probably never made a mess in the kitchen. Roald was so sweet, so patient. He deserved the world. All Lacey wanted was to impress him.

Prove to him that she was worthwhile.

Aside from her ridiculous nerves, it was a beautiful night. Storybrooke was the kind of American small town where it was legally mandated that it snow on Christmas Eve. Earlier in the month, there had been honest-to-God carolers roaming the streets. Every house had a wreath on the door and lights in the windows. None of them compared to all three stories of Roald’s pink Victorian mansion.

He had hired decorators to fill his house with fresh pine inside and out. There were miles of lights and red velvet ribbons and garlands of real cranberries strung up all over. The tree in his living room was eight feet tall, trimmed with bulbs in every color. There was a turkey in the fridge for tomorrow, to be served with mashed potatoes and oyster stuffing. It was more food than the two of them would be able to eat, but it meant something to him to have too much.

He told Lacey he had always wanted to go all-out for Christmas, but never had before. This was the first year he had anyone to share it with.

She scraped an orange across the zester over a ‘mise en place bowl’--which was just a fancy name for a regular small bowl you could put ingredients in. Frowning, she eyeballed the small mound of orange zest against the dutch oven full of lightly-steaming cocoa on the stove. Should she zest another, or would that overpower the chocolate?

“How much do you like orange, anyway?” she asked Roald. This flavor had been a special request, once she’d finally broken him down to ask for what flavor he really wanted, and not just take whatever nonsense she thought up.

“At Christmastime? I like it quite a bit.”

He was standing next to her at the counter, close enough that she could see his wistful smile. She knew that look by now, the look of him wanting something but being afraid to have it.

He used to look at her like that.

She reached for another orange. “Then I’ll make sure there’s plenty.”

After stirring the zest into the chocolate, she set a timer for half an hour.

“Don’t wanna risk the orange turning bitter if we leave it in too long,” she explained. “We’ll give it a taste when the timer goes off, and if it’s good I’ll strain it out with your shin-wah.” She exaggerated the French word. “Then a quick reheat if we need it, and Christmas cocoa will be yours.”

“Ours.” Roald’s hands were at her waist as he stood behind her. He nibbled on her ear lobe. “I want to share it with you, my Lacey.” His lips traveled down to her neck. “None of this would happen if it weren’t for you.”

She pushed back against him, grinding her ass against his body in a way she knew drove him wild.

“That’s just as true for me, love,” she whispered. “If it wasn’t for you…”

“Shh.” He turned her around in his arms, held her close and kissed her. “We’re here now, sweetheart. We’re together. We have each other. I love you.”

In the twenty-three days since she’d first heard him say that, it still hadn’t gotten old.

****

The timer was loud enough to interrupt their impromptu make-out session. Lacey shooed Roald out to the living room while she wrangled the hot chocolate.

She hated to admit it, but it was easier to do things without him in the kitchen. Her head was clearer. It wasn’t embarrassing to poke around in cupboards looking for things. She’d get there, she knew it. Once she understood the layout, she could feel like she belonged in Roald’s space. She wanted to be as comfortable in the kitchen as she was in his bedroom. Lacey grinned to herself at the thought. That would be very comfortable indeed.

After a bit of rummaging, she found a pot to drain the cocoa into. She put the pot into the sink and set the chinois inside. Then she took a deep breath and braced herself to pick up the hot cocoa off the stove.

At her apartment, she cooked in a dinky aluminum spaghetti pot, but Roald’s kitchen was equipped with a five-and-a-half-quart dutch oven imported from France. It was sturdy, which meant it was heavy. Even heavier when it was full of a steaming-hot liquid that was currently the most precious commodity in Lacey’s life. She could heft it up, but wouldn’t be able to rest it against her abdomen while she walked, like she would any other bulky weight. This mission would depend entirely on the strength of her twig-like arms. But she could do it.

Slowly and carefully, with a potholder covering each hand, she made her way from the stove to the sink.

It was unnatural, how happy she was to succeed in pouring the cocoa into the chinois. She didn’t spill a Goddamned drop! That proved it. She knew what she was doing. She was strong and she was responsible. She could be trusted with the thing that meant so much to the man who meant so much to her. When Lacey set down the dutch oven, she was relieved of more than just the weight of enamel-coated cast iron.

Earlier, Roald had gathered up supplies for serving the cocoa. Lacey put together a plate of his shortbread biscuits and set it on a breakfast tray. He never ate with her cocoa, he said it didn’t need any accompaniment. She mostly agreed, but buttery homemade shortbread was worth an exception.

Next on the tray was an eighteenth-century porcelain hot chocolate set. Apparently cocoa had been a big deal back in the day and it needed its own servingware. Details were hazy as to whether Roald had always owned this set or had taken it home from his shop just for tonight. Every piece was glazed dark green and hand-painted with purple thistles. He must have chosen it because it reminded him of Scotland.

The hot chocolate set was distinct from the bone china tea set that was prominently displayed in his dining room. That teapot was squat and round, where the chocolate pot was much taller. More elegant, Lacey thought. The cups were also taller than most teacups. The proportions were more like normal mugs, though made of much finer stuff. The porcelain was so thin and delicate you could see light shine through them.

She was exceptionally careful as she poured the strained cocoa into the tall pot and arranged the cups and saucers around it. She tried to tell herself that she was being silly. At this point in the relationship, Roald wasn’t going to call everything off if she accidentally chipped a cup. It would be fine.

Still, she wanted to be careful with his stuff. Because being responsible was important. Because he was important.

Fortunately, the cocoa tray wasn’t half as heavy as the dutch oven had been. Lacey made it from the kitchen to the living room with no mishaps.

She wasn’t fucking anything up.

****

Roald was sitting on the floor in front of the fire. He had arranged an ungodly number of pillows and blankets into a kind of nest with the couch as a back. He turned around when Lacey came in. His eyes were practically twinkling.

“Hey,” he smiled. “Come sit.”

She set the cocoa tray on the floor by his feet, then snuggled in next to him under a plaid wool blanket. Since they were at home, she had gotten him to put on a sweater instead of a suit. The burgundy cashmere was soft against her cheek.

“This is very cozy.”

“That’s the idea.” He draped his arm over her shoulder, pressed his lips to the side of her head. “The tree looks so big from down here.”

“It’s a big tree from any angle.”

“Yes, but this makes it feel larger than life. Like…” He looked down, suddenly closed-lipped.

At this point in their relationship, Lacey could practically see inside his head. Every time he stopped talking like that, it meant he was thinking of something he didn’t want to talk about but desperately needed to. It had happened a few times since they’d started dating.

“Like?” she prompted.

“Like when I was a child,” he finished, still looking away. “We--the women who raised me after my father left--they had an artificial tree, probably less than three feet high. It had to go on a little table in the front room. There wasn’t a lot of space for storage in that house and real trees were expensive, even then…” He sighed, shook his head.

She waited. His past was hard for him to reminisce about. From what he told her, it had been hard for him to live through.

“It was the first Christmas tree I ever had,” he said at last. “I was… seven years old, maybe eight when he left me there, and I had never lived in a place with a Christmas tree.” He gave a laugh, dark and bitter. “God knows Malcolm Gold wasn’t going to sober up long enough to be festive.”

She squeezed his hand, then leaned forward to reach for the cocoa. “Your father is such an asshole.”

“Was,” Roald corrected while she poured. “I have that much to be grateful for.”

She handed him a cup and saucer, then poured some cocoa for herself. She scooted back until she was next to him again. Roald looked down into the chocolate, but didn’t taste it.

Oh, he was in a bad way.

“But the Christmas tree?” she asked softly.

At the sound of her voice, his shoulders relaxed. His face lost the grave lines the memories had brought out of him. He brought his cocoa close to his chest, up to the level of his heart.

“That Christmas tree.” His smile was almost too small to see. “That stunted, re-used, five quid, plastic Christmas tree--was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I was… dazzled by it. I’d kneel at the table in the window like it was an altar and look up into a world of blinking jewels.”

His gaze shifted to the tree they had now--the tree he’d never put up, before Lacey had come into his life. Multicolored lights washed over his face. For an instant, Lacey saw the little boy he’d been. A boy who had spent his whole life afraid and unloved but was now, for the first time, coming into a home where he’d be cared for and cherished.

Lacey had already loved Roald for what he had brought into her life. Now her heart blazed with a fierce determination to bring something into his. She had to protect that little boy, had to give him everything he had ever lacked.

“I want to kiss you,” she told him. “But I don’t want to spill the hot chocolate.”

He laughed at that, deep and hearty, actually happy. “At least you’ve finally started to ask.”

With one hand, he held his saucer out to the side. She did the same thing, but wished they had put the cups down altogether. As she kissed him, she wanted to press against him fully, get as close as it was possible to be. Not just sex--they’d done that plenty. Lacey wanted to crawl inside Roald’s skin, to burrow into the very soul of him and envelop him with her love.

He seemed to know. He kissed her on the forehead when they broke apart.

“Thank you, sweetheart. It’s easier to speak of these things with you.”

She sniffled, then tried to pretend that she hadn’t. She straightened up. “You--you’ve got to drink that while it’s still hot, you know.”

He kissed her again, soft and sweet. “As you say, my love.” He raised his cup, and clinked it against hers. “Merry Christmas, Lacey.”

She drew her knees up to her chest to watch him drink. As he inhaled the scent of chocolate and oranges, the years seemed to melt away from his face. All the worry, all the heartbreak, all the loneliness was gone. Lacey’s heart filled, not only with compassion, but with a kind of possessive pride. She had done that, no one else. She had helped him. She made him feel good, feel safe, feel loved. And she was gonna keep doing it, for as long as he would let her.

His lips parted and he let the cocoa wash over his tongue. Then his eyes shot open and his body jerked a little. He covered his mouth with his hand.

Shit.

“Shit, what’s wrong?” Lacey took his cup and put it to the side. “Is it too hot, or did I--”

Without a word, Roald grabbed her by the arms and pulled her in for a kiss.

It was so abrupt, so unexpected, that Lacey spent half a second completely rigid. Then she sank into him. Her arms went up over his shoulders. Roald held her waist, pressed her tight against him. Even when they broke apart to breathe, he didn’t let her go.

His body shook, and it took Lacey too long to realize he was laughing.

“This is perfect,” he said softly, his arms wrapped around her middle. “You’re so perfect, Lacey.” He kissed her again, covered her face with kisses.

When he looked at her, his eyes were large and moist with tears. His smile was almost too big for his face.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispered.

“Oh, Roald,” she murmured.

Holding his face in both hands, she kissed the tears away from his eyes. She’d never had a boyfriend brave enough to cry in front of her. She’d never met anyone who had as much passion in his heart as Roald Gold.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He held her hand, brought her fingertips to his lips. “I love you more than my own life.”

She had to laugh at that, a short chuckle that would have been a scoff if it wasn’t sincere. She shook her head. “Considering your life, baby…”

“It wasn’t all bad.” He held her in one arm and reached for his cocoa with the other. “I had a few happy years. With oranges and hot cocoa at Christmas.”

“So that’s what it is.” Lacey grabbed a shortbread biscuit off the plate. “That’s why you wanted this flavor.”

“We never had much for extras,” he said. “Though even having the necessities was more than I was used to with my father.” He sighed. “But at Christmas, oranges were cheap. Both my foster mothers had grown up in poverty, so stockings full of oranges and apples were as much as they’d ever gotten as far as presents.” He gave a small smile. “In a gray Scottish winter, having an orange is like carrying the sun in your pocket.”

“And the cocoa?”

He shook his head ruefully. “It was the smallest extravagance in the world. We didn’t have presents or parties, we didn’t go out on the town--but we had cocoa. And we had each other.”

He took a sip, then sighed. It seemed like a piece of his world had been made right.

“What happened to them?” Lacey asked. It seemed obvious, but she wanted to hear it how Roald wanted to tell her.

“They died.” He said it simply. “When I was twenty, just before I’d earned enough money to set them up in comfort. I lost them both within six months of each other. First to heart failure, then to heartbreak. You know how it can be with old couples.”

“A couple, huh?” Lacey bit her shortbread consideringly. “So they were elderly Scottish lesbians in--what, the seventies? Eighties? I bet they had stories to tell.”

Roald nodded, but said nothing. Still holding her, he stared ahead into the crackling fire.

“And since then you’ve had no one else in your life?”

“Just heartless girlfriends and shady business associates.” He took a drink, a long one this time. “No one worthwhile--until you.”

Lacey’s face went hot. She pulled away from him. The blanket they shared was covered in crumbs from her shortbread. A mess. Of course she made a mess. She brushed the crumbs away, into the fire.

“I--I don’t know if you’ve thought that part out yet. I mean, sure I make decent cocoa, but--”

“Sweetheart.” He put a hand over hers, to still her anxious cleaning. “Trust me. You’re worthwhile.”

“How do you know? We’ve been dating for less than a month.”

“The happiest month of the last thirty years.” He squeezed her hand, looked into her eyes.

He meant it. God, he really meant it. What had she done to him?

Lacey sighed. “What if you’re just getting carried away? Swept up in the rush of emotion?”

“Me?” His eyebrows raised. “Lacey, I thought it was understood: Of the two of us, I’m the one far less likely to act on impulse.”

Her lips twitched in involuntary amusement, but she didn’t say anything.

“If anything, I’m sure I’m too deliberative,” Roald went on. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about for days and I haven’t determined the best way to start.”

She rubbed her face. “So you’re doing it now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” Lacey took a drink of her cocoa. It really wasn’t bad. She had never thought to put oranges and chocolate together before. “What’s going on?”

Roald cleared his throat. “The lease on your apartment is up at the end of the month.”

She gave her boyfriend a look. “Landlord talk? Now?”

“It’s important, I promise.”

She rolled her eyes, but sat up straight and looked him in the face. Apparently this had turned into a business cuddle.

“I thought my lease was set up to automatically renew. I was gonna go month to month.”

Actually, her original plan had been to leave Maine after a year. She had wanted to see what other states had to offer or maybe head up to Canada. That idea had gone out the window as soon as things with Roald had started to get interesting.

“I don’t…” He cleared his throat for the second time in five minutes. “You don’t have to rent month to month if you don’t want to.”

Lacey smirked. “Mr. Gold, are you trying to get me to sign another contract?”

“No,” he said. A smile flickered at her attempt at a joke. “Actually, I think it’s bad business to rent to someone with whom I’m romantically involved.”

At those words, some irrational spirit of indignation flared up in her belly. She jerked away from him, started to stand up.

“If you’re going to break up with me on Christmas Eve, it had better be for a better reason than--”

“Move in with me,” he cut her off. He was still on the ground. His hands reached out to her. “That’s what I’m asking for, Lacey. I would like it if you lived here. With me. As my girlfriend. No contracts, no rent, just… us.”

Lacey plopped onto the couch, so quickly it was almost a fall.

“Us?” she whispered. She looked down at him. “You want us to live here. Together?”

It wasn’t a totally new concept. They had been dating properly for a month now. They’d spent almost every day at one or another of their places, and just as many nights. And it wasn’t like he was asking her to marry him. This was just a solution to the problem of him being her landlord.

She stood up again.

“Wait, no. Roald, I’m rich. If this is just about business, I can buy the apartment from you for a fair price.”

“That apartment comes with the entire library.”

She shrugged. “My parents always wanted me to read more. They’ll pay for it.” Her parents would pay extra just to see her with a permanent address.

“Lacey, it’s not just about business.” From his place on the floor, he took her hands. “I want to live with you. Every day. I hate every time I say good-bye to you, even when I know I’ll see you in a few hours. I want you in my home. I want you in my life, sweetheart.”

“Me?” She sank to her knees, overwhelmed. “Roald, honey, I-- You know I’m a hot mess.”

He smiled. “And you know I’m a cold mess,” he said. “We’re people, sweetheart. We’re messy. Now, I don’t expect you to fix all my problems, and I know you don’t think I can fix yours--but we can still help each other. You know how much you’ve helped me already.”

She squeezed his hand, shifted from her knees to her butt so she was sitting next to him again. “Yeah,” she said. “And I do love being around you. I do love you! You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“But I don’t want to fuck it up,” she whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” He leaned in close and started to kiss her. “I know you, Lacey French.” Kiss. “I know you’re adventurous.” Kiss. “And dedicated.” Kiss. “Inventive and intelligent.” Kiss, kiss. “I know I want to have you by my side.” Kiss. “For as long as I deserve you.”

“Shut up,” she nibbled on his neck. “You deserve me. You deserve better than me. You deserve someone like you: Classy and sophisticated. Smart--”

“You are smart, I already said that.”

Lacey chuckled. “And funny. Does anyone know how funny you are, Roald?”

“No one in this town knows my first name.” He kissed her. “You’re the only one that cared. You’re the only one I want. Just tell me that you want me too, sweetheart. Tell me you want to be with me.”

“I really do.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, straddling his legs. “I do want to be around you. Day and night. For as long as you’ll put up with me.”

“Forever then,” he whispered.

“Or at least til the cocoa runs out.”

“Or you get tired of my cooking.”

“Or the sex stops being interesting.”

“Or you meet someone closer to your age.”

“Or I have a baby and get fat.”

For just a second, he pulled away. He looked at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Now who’s moving too fast?”

She shrugged. “You still want a family, don’t you? You said you used to want that. I bet you’d love to have a little kid to spoil rotten at Christmas. If I move in with you, that’s only going to be more possible. We’ll have to talk about it.”

“Well, I’d like to be married before I have children.”

Lacey nodded. “We’ll have to talk about that too. We’ll have to talk about laundry and taxes and my parents in Australia and all kinds of dumb, boring, important shit. You know that, right? If I move in with you, it’s real life. It won’t be all hot cocoa and stolen kisses. Do you still want it?”

He didn’t hesitate for an instant. “Yes, Lacey. I want all of it. All the mundane tedium of life. All of the highs and all of the lows and all of the nothing and everything in the middle. I want all of that with you.”

“Good,” she kissed him. “Because I want it too.”

#hot cocoa and stolen kisses #rumbelle #golden lace #chirstmas in july

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