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Their days off were usually spent in the comfort of their own home, a charming one-bedroom mews house located within a cobbled mews close to London's Grand Union Canal. Upon entering the ground floor, a double bedroom and modern bathroom with storage under the stairs could be found. On the second floor, there was a very characterful open plan kitchen and living area, benefitting from high ceilings and wooden floorboards. The small terrace was the perfect place to relax over a glass of wine in the evening or bathe in the sun while enjoying a morning coffee.
Although the size of the house was relatively small, only about 30 square meters, Ilsa and Ethan didn't feel like it lacked anything. They didn't need a big house for those few weeks, maybe just days, when they weren't on a mission. Their tiny home was all they needed. It was a place that anchored them whenever a job had taken more from them than usual, emotionally draining them. It helped them prepare themselves for their next assignment by letting them recharge their batteries. They felt utterly at peace inside these walls. For a while, at least, until they missed the action.
Ilsa was out for a run, which she often did before going to bed to clear her head and be able to sleep better. Usually, Ethan joined her. Tonight, though, he preferred to stay in and keep working on the new deck for the terrace—the wood had become brittle with too many cracks. Ilsa rarely complained about a nasty-looking injury but had cursed like crazy when a splinter stuck in her foot. She had hopped around and leaned on him to pull it out. Then a few days later, it happened again, so Ethan had decided to restore the deck and use a cover that didn't splinter so easily.
As darkness fell, making it nearly impossible for him to see anything, he showered and went straight to bed. Propping two pillows behind his back, Ethan grabbed his book off the nightstand and lay back. His mother had loved to read and instilled in him a love for all kinds of books. He remembered one time as a kid there was a big thunderstorm with lots of lightning and thunder. He was too scared to be alone in his room, let alone close his eyes, so his mother read something to him, instantly calming his mind. Then, growing up, Ethan had developed this uncanny ability to retain most, if not all, of what he'd read.
"Hey, baby," Ilsa called down the hallway, making him look up from his book.
"You're back already?" he asked, surprised.
Ilsa chuckled. "It's been two hours, Ethan." She stood in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe as she gazed at him. "Did you miss me at all? Or is that book you're reading such a gripping page-turner that I could've gotten kidnapped and you wouldn't have noticed?" she complained jokingly.
"No, I…" He smiled apologetically. "Yes, kinda."
Ilsa smirked at him, then disappeared into the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the night before joining him in bed.
"Has it really been two hours?"
She nodded and lay on her side, facing Ethan, her elbow on the pillow, her head resting in her palm. She lapsed into silence as she stared at him, and a slightly crooked smile came to her lips. Her face was so lovely that its beauty sank deep into Ethan's heart.
"What are you looking at?" he said, a little flustered.
"Have I ever told you that those reading glasses make you look bloody handsome?"
Ethan's lips tipped up into a grin as he adjusted his glasses and leaned over. His vision was still good enough to read without them, but they helped him prevent a headache when reading too much. "You think?"
"You look a bit like a nerd. I fancy that." Ilsa's voice was stern, but her face betrayed her, her eyes full of delight. "You're a very sexy… old man." She bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying not to laugh as she emphasized the last words.
"Are you teasing me right now?"
"Only a little," she answered, smirking. "But, you know, if you keep looking at me like that, I'm gonna have to…" Ilsa moved her hands to tangle them in Ethan's hair, pulling him to her and kissing him, a hard, open-mouthed, hungry kiss.
Even knowing it was coming, the force of the kiss took Ethan by surprise and he drew in a sharp breath. Letting the book slip out of his hand, he threaded his fingers through Ilsa's hair. His thumbs caressed her face, trailing fire in their wake. Ilsa put her hand on his chest and shoved. He fell back into the cushions, and she crawled on top of him, meeting his green eyes through his glasses. Ethan touched her lips with his fingers and Ilsa kissed them in response, moaning softly.
"Thank you for always making sure they're clean." He looked at her, and his eyebrow went up slightly. "What? You think I wouldn't notice?" Ethan set a hand to the side of her face to stroke her cheek, then let it trail over her shoulder. "Whenever I put those glasses on to read a book, they're clean. I rarely clean them myself, so unless we have a ghost living with us, it can only be you." His fingers glided along her bare skin, pushing the strap of her silk camisole top down her arm. Ilsa smiled, no sign of protest.
"Are you gonna thank me?" she asked, her voice loaded with sexual innuendo.
"I think I just did?" Ethan laughed, his broad face opening into a wondrous smile.
"Maybe I expect a little more," she said softly, cupping his jaw with her hands as she pressed her lips against his once more.
"Define more," he teased, his breath hot against her skin.
Ilsa slowly reached up to take his glasses off and put them on the bedside table. "You were off to a great start, darling," she said with a smirk, a sweet, provocative invitation, and simply drew her tank top over her head so that he could see her body, the full, lush curves, the darker peaks.
"I just want you to know, Ilsa, that I appreciate it a lot." He halted, staring at her, realizing he hadn't felt so foolishly happy about such a small thing in life for a long time. Not since before Ilsa had entered his life. That's why he appreciated her so much. "If there were a list of the little things I love about you, this would be on it."
"Me making sure your glasses are always clean? Hm, that's sweet!" Her grin was so big that it filled her face to the edges. It was infectious. He laughed softly and nodded. She bent down to catch his bottom lip between her teeth, giving it a soft tug before setting it free and looking at him. "What else would be on that list?" she wondered, smiling.
Ethan slowly raked his gaze over her body, lingering on her breasts. Her skin—it was perfect, every inch of it. His eyes fell to her panting mouth, and he licked his lips, a rush of adrenaline coursing through his system. "How good you are in bed," he rasped. Ethan's grin was a lopsided affair that had mischief dancing in his eyes. Her heart gave a giant kick.
"Is that so?" Ilsa said teasingly, circling her hips in a way that had him gasping for air. "Or should I remind you how good I really am?" She smirked and kissed Ethan's chest, her lips brushing his nipple, and she heard him swear hoarsely. "I think I should," she whispered as she moved lower to trace the well-defined muscles of his abdomen while running her hand down his thigh.
"I agree," he replied, letting out a pleasant moan when the silken heat of Ilsa's mouth closed around his sensitive tip, and she began playing on the most delicate nerve endings in exactly the right way.