Chapter 8 #3
Stepping into the room after he called out permission to enter, she frowned. He was just sitting there with a tankard of ale in his hands. Ilsabeth had the distinct feeling he had just been staring at the walls. She placed the small plate of fruit on his table and smiled at him.
Simon could not stop himself from smiling back.
There was something about the way Ilsabeth looked at him that made him happy.
He needed that at the moment, too. The king had demanded his presence in the morning and Simon had nothing to report.
That always left his liege displeased and a displeased king was not what Simon wanted to face early in the day.
The lack of news to give the king had made Simon all too aware of how little he was discovering concerning the true killer and the traitors.
Instinct told him time was running out. He could only pray that did not mean it was running out for Ilsabeth.
It was frustrating. All he needed was one hint, one misstep by the guilty ones, and he could unravel the whole twisted mess.
Killing Ogilvie had been a mistake but the killer had covered his trail very well.
“If ye are verra busy, I shall leave then,” said Ilsabeth.
Simon grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into his lap. “I am never too busy to see you. I was but thinking. I feel I am missing something but cannae grasp what it is.”
She turned in his lap and kissed his forehead. “Dinnae think on it so hard then. ‘Tis as if thinking on something too hard and long only pushes what ye search for further away. It will come.”
“So I should just clear my head then, should I?”
“Aye. Ye can but try.”
“I ken just the way to do that, too.” He cleared away the things cluttering the top of his worktable, picked her up, and set her on top of it.
Ilsabeth squeaked in surprise when he began to push up her skirts, kissing his way up her legs. “Simon, dinnae say ye mean to do that here?”
“Aye. ‘Tis one of the thoughts that was turning about in my mind.”
Simon decided that they had been lovers long enough for him to be a bit more daring.
He had not lied, either. As he had sat there staring at the walls and his worktable he had suddenly seen Ilsabeth there, her skirts up to her hips and his head between her thighs.
It was not something he had indulged himself in very often.
In truth, he could only recall one or two times.
Most of the women he had bedded had been with a lot of men and he had not been inclined to get that intimate.
Learning how to stroke a woman with his fingers had served him well enough.
Yet, just thinking of feasting upon Ilsabeth had made him as hard as a rock.
Ilsabeth was torn between desire and embarrassment as Simon kissed her thighs and pushed her skirts up so high she was fully exposed to his eyes.
It was foolish, for he had seen all of her in the bed they shared, yet that had never made her feel so brazenly displayed.
Then she felt his warm lips touch the heated softness between her thighs and she tensed.
“Simon?” She blushed when she realized she had squeaked out his name like some timid mouse.
“Hush, sweet Ilsabeth. Let me taste ye.” Before she could protest, he did just that.
It took but a few strokes of his tongue and she no longer cared what he saw or did so long as the pleasure he gave her continued.
She cried out his name as she felt her body tighten but he ignored her, bringing her to release with his mouth.
While she was still reeling from the force of it, he pushed her legs up and thrust into her.
Ilsabeth did not even have time to catch her breath before he was sending her spiraling up to the heights all over again but this time he joined her in that blissful fall into passion’s abyss.
Simon collapsed on top of Ilsabeth, still shaking from the strength of his release.
He could feel her body trembling beneath him, hear the way she struggled to catch her breath, and nearly smiled, feeling very smug and pleased with himself.
Ilsabeth was a very passionate woman and he reveled in her warmth, but mostly he liked the way he could drive her wild with desire.
When he was finally able to move, he helped her sit up. The way she blushed as she straightened her skirts amused him, but he struggled to hide it. He leaned forward and kissed her.
“Dinnae fret so, lass,” he said. “Ye are beautiful in your passion.”
Ilsabeth was not so certain she believed that.
She could not see how any woman could be beautiful splayed out on top of a table with her skirts up to her waist. Honesty compelled her to admit that she had found a lot of pleasure in what he had done, however, and was determined to overcome the uncomfortable bouts of modesty.
He also looked a little smug so she found it surprisingly easy to push aside her embarrassment.
“I just hadnae realized ye could do such things on a table,” she muttered.
“Ah, bonnie Ilsabeth, ye can do this in so many places and in so many ways. I shall enjoy showing ye.”
For a brief moment she wondered how he thought he could do that when she could not leave the house for fear of being grabbed by the king’s soldiers, but she shoved the thought out of her head.
Simon was looking far less troubled than he had when she had first entered the room.
She would not remind him that the future did not yet look secure enough for him to be making such plans.
Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
The fact that he was thinking of things that would require her to be in his future was enough to please her for now.
“Do ye think we can try one of your many ways in a common old bed next time?” she asked.
Simon laughed, picked her up in his arms, and headed for their bedchamber.