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Ethan stood in front of the mirror and checked his appearance, combing and sculpting his hair until he felt it looked perfect, which at times took a while. He washed his hands to remove the last remains of hair pomade from his palms and then grabbed a shirt off a hanger.
Ilsa gazed wide-eyed at the muscles flexing in Ethan's back as he threw it on, his arms straining against the fabric, his ass and thigh muscles tight in the black boxer briefs he wore. She felt a pang at her insides as desire brought a flush of heat to her cheeks.
Sensing her eyes on him, Ethan turned to face her, the front of his briefs filled with a bulge that made Ilsa beam. She bit her lip and offered him a grin. Then she pushed off the door frame and eased into the bathroom.
He watched every step, drinking in the motion of Ilsa's stride, the way that it was more than a walk, sensual and feminine, a slow tilting roll of the hips beneath her denim dress.
"How many times are you gonna do this today, love?" she asked. Working her hands under his shirt, Ilsa indulged in a playful growl as her fingertips tripped down the ridges of his abs. "Not that I'd mind."
Ethan's chest hitched with his low gasp at her touch. "I don't know, I just felt like changing again." He molded his palms over her hips and drew her closer. "I'm a little nervous," he admitted, chuckling.
"I know," Ilsa murmured against his lips. "But there's no need. They're gonna love you."
Her mouth came down hard on his, and she arched against him, her fingers digging into his skin. Cupping her ass, Ethan lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around him, pressing herself into him, her body aching for his.
"Maybe this isn't the right fit," she said in between kisses, rolling his shirt up over his chest.
"You wanna take it off?" he mumbled as he carried her to the wall and pinned her against it so he could raise his arms and let her get rid of his shirt.
"They'll be here any minute." A sweet, little laugh cut through Ilsa's words.
"We better hurry then," Ethan said, sucking at her collarbone as he tore just enough of the clothes out of their way for a quick entry.
Ilsa gripped his back, resting her head against his shoulder. Her teeth raked his skin at the feeling of him pushing inside. A cry rang out, then softened to a long, drawn-out moan as Ethan thrust deeper, forcing her back against the wall, the position allowing him access to the perfect spot. She fastened her ankles around his body and whimpered while his rough grunts and growls rained down on her.
Ilsa started to feel the beginning of her climax coming on. She closed her eyes, softly panting as she moaned. Ethan knew it was happening, so he tried a little harder to get her there, but still very gently. He felt his own climax building up in response.
But before either of them could reach the ultimate moment of true bliss, there was a ring. On the doorbell. A doorbell that was one of those Scotland Yard-type affairs that could wake the dead.
Ilsa's eyes snapped open. "No," she gasped restlessly, her body burning and aching for that release. "Make me come first."
Ethan tried to ignore the painful feeling of his cock, as stiff as a pike, inside her. "But your…" When Ilsa moved her hips, her inner walls clenching around his aching erection, he grunted loudly. "Ungh, I can't."
"Ethan," she cried out. "Please!"
He thrust into her again, deep and hard, keen on finishing what they had started, before the recurring sound of the doorbell finally made him accept defeat and withdraw.
"I'm sorry," he groaned in a whisper, his lips warm against her neck as he spoke. "I can't make them wait, Ilsa. I wanna make a good first impression."
"God, why do you always have to be so bloody kind?" she cursed.
Her legs fell from his hips as he let her down, his cock slipping from the clasping heat of her body, dragging a moan from both of them. It was still hard. Ethan knew it would soften in a moment, but she stood with a pouty kind of look on her face. She reminded him of a child about to cross their arms and stamp their feet for not getting what they wanted. Finally, she sighed heavily. He bit his lip so the laughter didn't break free.
"Oh, you think this is funny?" she asked, unable to hide a smirk as she watched him straighten his clothes.
"I'm really sorry, baby," Ethan said with a chuckle, looking at her apologetically. "I'll make up for it later, I promise." He smiled, approaching her, before gently kissing her lips.
As they passed through the door, Ilsa fixed her dress and hair again. Ethan couldn't bite back a snort. "You look lovely. Stop fidgeting. They're not gonna notice."
She laughed and slid her arm through his. "Clearly, you haven't met my mother yet."
Ethan's chest rose with laughter, and Ilsa let the low growl of his laugh sink into her bones. He had a funny laugh and a killer smile to boot. She knew her parents would love him because what about that man was not to love? Yet she couldn't help but be a little nervous about the moment now that it had finally come.
Ilsa's face erupted into a big smile when she opened the door and was greeted by her mother with bubbly enthusiasm as she hugged Ilsa like she was trying to squeeze out the creamy filling of a pastry. They hadn't seen each other in almost a year, so their reunion was heartwarming and tearful. Ilsa's father stood beside them, not moving a muscle, as if he had drawn a number and was waiting for his turn.
"Welcome to our home, sir," Ethan tried to make conversation, offering the tall, gray-haired man a handshake. "I'm Ethan. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Faust. I'm a huge admirer of your daughter."
"Is that so?" James growled. "I've heard a lot of stories about you, Mr. Hunt. I'm hoping they're not all true."
Ilsa glanced sideways at the two men shaking hands, smiling from ear to ear. While Ethan looked like he was hiding a grin, her father didn't look impressed. He wore a dark-blue suit, white shirt, and plain tie. Always appropriate, never wanting to stick out. She could count the times she had seen him without a suit on with one hand. He'd always been that kinda agent. But she knew what to look for: it was when he rolled his sleeves up that he was being casual.
"Every single one of them," Ilsa intervened, breaking away from her mother and smirking at her father.
She rested her head against Ethan's shoulder, one arm moving around his waist, the other slipping down the side of his body where she clasped his hand and intertwined their fingers. She instantly noticed how hot and sweaty his palm was, and she smiled, squeezing it gently to calm him.
"He's a hero," she proclaimed.
"Ilsa…" Ethan chuckled nervously. "I'm not a he—"
"He's humble. I like that." James noted. "Confident but humble." He looked at his daughter and then finally offered a smile. "C'mere, kiddo."
Ilsa moved to throw her arms around her father. James kissed her forehead and inhaled the scent of her hair, hugging her tight against his body.
Ethan turned to Ilsa's mother with a smile. "Mrs. Faust, it's so nice to finally meet you. An honor, truly," he said, shaking her hand.
"Oh, Renée is fine, dear."
Ilsa's mother wore a navy dress cinched at the waist with a faux snakeskin belt. She had clipped on a pair of amber-colored tear-drop earrings, which swung in slow motion when she moved, sometimes touching the elegant curve of her neck. Her short, almost-white hair was stunning in the context of her somewhat darker skin, bronze eyeshadow, brunette eyebrows, and bitter-chocolate mascaraed lashes. It was easy to see where Ilsa's beauty came from—her mother was utterly magnificent.
He gave a half smile and stepped aside, inviting Ilsa's parents into their house. "How was the trip? Did you get here okay?"
"I don't know why you moved to the Scottish Highlands," James muttered. "We had to drive for hours. What's wrong with your London apartment?"
"Don't listen to him, sweetheart," her mother told her. "He loves it here. Your father just had a very rough week at work."
"I thought you quit?" Ilsa asked, confused.
"They kept me on as a consultant. But it doesn't sound like they even want my advice."
"Is that why you're so grumpy?" she said, gently bumping his shoulder. "Things aren't going your way, so you need to blow off some steam."
Ethan instantly noticed the slight curve in James's mouth when Ilsa gave him a smirk; how hard James tried to keep a straight face upon her teasing remark. It was funny to see she had the same effect on her father as she had on him. She probably had that effect on everyone.
"Mm, that woodsy smell…." Ilsa's mother expressed her delight as she took a minute to breathe the air in the cabin, enjoying the distinct and evocative scent of cedar that emanated from the interior. "Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside."
"You want a little tour?" Ilsa asked. "It's not much, but it's incredible." Her mouth widened into a smile, with her blue eyes sparkling like sapphire.
Their home was the healing antidote to an overly busy, always-on, stressful world, allowing them to step away into a place of retreat and sanctuary where they could do as much or as little as they needed to feel recovered, revived, and reconnected.
Sitting on a 600-acre private estate, the luxury eco log cabin was immersed in stunning natural surroundings, offering elevated and unspoiled views of the Scottish Highlands and pure and vast peacefulness. Ilsa and Ethan's home was unique and organic, with the natural elements accentuated within the cabin, blending style and comfort, and furnished with love and good taste.
A cathedral ceiling, exposed beams, and a spiral log staircase gave warmth and character to the open-plan living room, French doors, and large windows, while a wood-burning stove complemented the coziness of the cabin. A beautiful wooden log table with matching chairs separated the vast living space from the kitchen.
One double bedroom was on the ground floor, with a small bathroom next door. The other bedroom, featuring a stylish European-like canopy that draped a four-poster king-size wooden bed, was upstairs and opened to the eaves and below to allow a full spectrum view. On the opposite of the bed was a lounge area with giant bean bags and a hammock, each end secured to the beams. But the room's highlight was the luxury freestanding bathtub with a modern curved oval design that looked out to the hills.
To the back of the cabin was a hardwood decking area that seemed like a natural extension of the living space indoors. Boasting an outdoor kitchen complete with another stove, small fridge, farmhouse sink, and a wood-fired pizza oven, it was suitable for dining in nice weather, with views over the wild landscape—a perfect place to relax and soak up the tranquil atmosphere around their charming home.
Mainly powered by solar and a micro-hydro system, the cabin invited them to practice being ecologically conscious as well as sensually indulged. It became a challenge in winter when the sun was barely there and the river was frozen, but one they took on with ease. Although they used gas for the underfloor heating and hot water, they were always mindful of being more sustainable and enjoying the elements. That included burning wood to keep warm and showering together.
Since the previous owners had decided not to have chemically treated water, a spring on the hill served as the cabin's private water supply. Neither Ilsa nor Ethan minded the discoloration of the water, but the temperature control and water pressure could make a living off-grid a little harder at times. Due to the natural sediments that gave the water its brown color and made it taste bitter, it wasn't recommended for drinking, so a fountain provided them with plentiful fresh Highland spring water.
"Sometimes we have sheep traveling through the property," Ilsa told her parents as they walked out onto the patio, where Ethan had fired up the gas grill. The piping hot dinner looked so appetizing that she could hardly wait to tuck in.
"It must be nice living with wildlife," her mother said, settling in one of the chairs beside her husband.
"You should keep an eye out for the lovely little bats that flit about at dawn," Ilsa said, grinning.
"So, how do you like the house?" Ethan asked with a gentle smile. "Took us some time to refurbish it and build the upstairs, but we're pretty happy with the result."
"After all the renovations, it truly feels like ours," Ilsa added.
"I think your home is beautiful," Renée replied. "I just don't understand why on earth you chose to have a bloody rock-climbing wall loom over everything. It's hideous!" With eyes narrowed to a probing stare, she asked skeptically, "Was that your idea, Ethan?"
Her mother's lips quirked slightly as she gave Ethan the side eye, obviously not quite sure yet what to think of him. Ilsa trapped her lower lip with her teeth, seemingly trying to bite back a grin.
Squirming inside under Renée's intense gaze, Ethan cleared his throat, but before he could answer, Ilsa opened her mouth. "Bouldering is a fantastic full-body workout. But more importantly, it's a lot of fun."
While giving the old cabin a makeover, they had constructed a rock-climbing wall that was formed from a lumber framework and anchored into the living room wall, perfectly matching the cabin's interior. Then they had sheeted the framework with plywood to create the climbing surface. The mix of hold types—many different sizes and styles—kept things interesting, allowing them to switch out the holds and make new routes, not afraid to include sideways or even downward movements in their problems.
"What about safety mats? I didn't see any of those."
"I promise you, Mother, we're very cautious."
Maybe this wasn't the best time to tell her that they played drinking games sometimes: fall off, take a shot, climb again, or take a shot before climbing, then another one for every stone they slipped off of.
"Your daughter is an excellent climber," Ethan said, turning his back away from the pair so he could focus on the grill.
"I'm sure she is," Ilsa's mother replied. "What do you think, James?"
"About the house?" James took the freshly opened beer bottle Ethan had offered, raised it to his mouth, and swallowed. "I like it. I'd miss having a pub nearby and being around people, but if you're looking for peace and quiet, which I know you do," he said, looking at Ilsa, "it's the perfect place." Then he glanced at his wife. "I do agree with your mother about that bouldering wall, though. Wouldn't wanna have that in my living room." He took another sip of his beer, enjoying the taste and the coolness as it slipped down his throat. "But it's your home, so do as you please, sweetheart."
"Haven't I always?" Ilsa said, grinning.
He snorted, and beer sprayed out of his mouth. "You have, kiddo," James sputtered, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "You definitely have."
The face Ilsa pulled in reaction, her smug grin still stuck in place, caused Ethan to have a little silent, motionless chuckle to himself. When she laughed or smiled, everything near her smiled too. The bitterest feelings were chased away by the touching lines of her face, the way they curved around her teeth and eyes as they danced with the same shining laughter. Ilsa even managed to make her mother laugh.
Something about that woman made Ethan feel inadequate whenever she looked at him. It could have been her commanding presence, which was almost intimidating. Or perhaps it was the fact he had become so used to the idea of having to soften up her father that Ethan hadn't even considered the possibility that her mother could be the problem.
Usually, mothers loved him for his elegance, polish, and impeccable manners. Some may even have had warmer, more flirtatious thoughts. He had never met a mother who didn't like him. But Ilsa's mother looked at him sometimes as though she would see him as a scar across her daughter's face that might take some getting used to. It didn't make dinner awkward—Ethan still enjoyed himself. It simply became another thrilling adventure where the slightest misstep could have significant consequences.
Their conversation remained light and mostly impersonal. They discussed politics, arts, theater, and the state of the world, finding ground for common interest. Ilsa's father seemed impressed with Ethan's football knowledge, and her mother made appreciative remarks about Ethan's love for nature and different cultures. Ilsa smiled to herself while she sipped a glass of red wine, so relieved and so pleased that they finally seemed to warm up to each other.
"How come we weren't invited to the wedding?"
Her mother's words came so suddenly that when Ethan heard them, he almost choked on the mouthful of beer he had just taken, although he did manage to disguise his consternation.
Ilsa sighed softly, closing her eyes for a moment. She knew that question had been destined to come up eventually. She'd just hoped her mother hadn't addressed the issue in front of Ethan. Even more so, making it feel like she accused him of being responsible.
"Mom," she groaned, looking at her.
"What? I'm allowed to ask, am I not?"
Ethan cleared his throat before he spoke. "We wanted an intimate wedding, so we—"
"It's what I wanted, Mother," Ilsa quickly came to Ethan's defense. "I told him I wanted it to be just us, and he made it happen because he'd do anything for me." Even die, she thought. "And it couldn't have been more perfect."
"All I care about is that it made you happy," James intervened, giving a gentle smile.
"I care about that too. But I never thought our daughter would even get married, so it would've been nice not to hear about it over the phone." Renée looked at Ilsa, sighing. "Do you at least have any pictures?"
Ilsa sneered. "Of course. You wanna see?" She got up from her seat and slowly moved to where Ethan sat. "Do you know where we put it?"
"Bedroom. Top shelf," he answered with a smile.
"Thank you." Ilsa smiled back. She rubbed her cheek against his, feeling the rasp of Ethan's whiskers like the most sinful touch she could imagine. Murmuring into his ear, she said, "Sorry about her."
Ethan chuckled. "It's okay."
Ilsa brushed her lips against his temple, softer than anything he'd known. "I love you."
"I love you too," he echoed.
"I think I'll stay here," James said. "Keep your husband company."
"You don't wanna see our daughter in her wedding dress?" Renée’s gaze shot to ilsa's. "There was one, right?"
Ilsa laughed. "Yes, there was a dress." Then she turned to her father. "I'll show you later, Daddy."
As the two women left, James cleared his throat. "You know, Ethan, she hasn't called me that in… Oh, I don't even know. In forever."
"I was wondering what that look was about." Ethan grinned slightly. "The one on your face."
"She must be really happy."
"She is," he said, smiling now. "I've seen to that."
James chuckled. "Let's not even go there, please."
"No, I mean…." Laughing, Ethan emptied his beer before continuing, " I love her, James. So much, I'm even willing to put up with your wife."
His words could've been an insult, but James took them as a joke—exactly how they were meant to be understood. He laughed so hard that he bent at the waist and grabbed his sides. It made Ethan laugh too. That was when he knew they were establishing a genuine connection.
•••
Ilsa found the box with mementos from their wedding high up on a closet shelf. Gingerly, she took it down, placed it next to her mother, who sat cross-legged on the bed, and opened it. Lifting out a framed picture of her and Ethan in their wedding attire, she saw piles of other snapshots below it and instantly smiled as the memories of that day lingered.
"Our friend Benji took this," Ilsa said, handing it to her. "The others are Polaroid photos we took during the day. You can have a look at them too if you like." She paused. "Just maybe not all of them." Ilsa's smile turned into a smirk, and she shrugged both shoulders innocently. "We got a bit carried away."
"Yeah, right. You look about as innocent as a rattlesnake poised to strike, darling," her mother replied, making them both laugh.
Ilsa sat with one leg tucked under the other, which dangled freely over the edge of the bed, and watched her mother examine the photograph. She twined her hands in her lap, absentmindedly pushing her wedding band in circles around her finger.
"I like that white mini dress with the layered fringe skirt. What shoes did you wear?" She looked up. "The portrait shows you both barefoot."
"Who needs shoes," Ilsa said, grinning.
"You didn't wear any?" Renée was confused for a moment, but then she smiled. "Well, I guess that suits you." She chuckled. "Apropos of that… Ethan's blue suit… Such a fine-looking fella!"
"Mm, he didn't wear it for long," Ilsa hummed, earning herself a light slap to the back of her head from her mother, whose grin stretched ear to ear. Ilsa gave a laugh but then quickly became rather serious. "Can you please stop looking at him like you wanna kill him? Please, Mom…" she urged, sighing. "I know he can handle it, but it's not fair. Ethan is a wonderful and kind soul, and he treats me like you always wanted me to be treated, so can you at least pretend to like him?"
"I adore that man, Ilsa."
"Sorry?" Ilsa's eyebrow arched in surprise.
"I'm just teasing him, honey," Renée chortled. "And you asking me to stop means I'm finally getting to him, eh?" When Ilsa just sat there with her mouth wide open, her mother continued, "Come on, you can't deny how funny it is to see him squirm when I'm giving him the look."
"So all these questions, making Ethan feel uncomfortable…."
"A little game, sweetie," she said, wearing a smug smirk fixed across her mouth. "I'm just trying to see how much he can take before he finally gives up." Slowly, as Ilsa began to understand what her mother had been doing all along, her face relaxed. "He must really love you for putting up with all of that for hours," Renée joked.
A wide grin got hold of Ilsa's lips. "One thing to know about Ethan is that he will never give up. He'd take your crap for months if it means making me happy."
"Show it to me," her mother insisted, smiling.
Ilsa held out her left hand with the glittering diamond wedding band adorning her ring finger. "I take it off for work or sometimes wear it on a chain around the neck. I've grown quite fond of it, actually."
Her mother grasped her wrist for a closer inspection. "Look at you walking around with the Rock of Gibraltar on your hand. That stone could cover your nephew's tuition costs."
Ilsa laughed. "How is he?"
"He's fine. An exceptional student and, more importantly, a very kind young man."
"And Nellie?" She tried not to let her voice quaver on the words, but Ilsa's voice mirrored her compassion, expressing the deep sorrow flooding her whole being.
"She's still recovering but doing much better than the last time you two saw each other," her mother assured her. She gently squeezed Ilsa's hand and smiled softly at her, a smile that set Ilsa at ease. "Don't worry, honey. She's a fighter, just like you. She will get through this."
"I know," Ilsa said, returning the smile. "I just wish I could've—"
Her mother gripped her hand harder and ran a slow finger down the side of her face, sliding it across Ilsa's temple until she held her daughter's chin in her hand. She bent and kissed the top of her head the way she had when Ilsa was a toddler. Ilsa curled her fingers around her mother's wrist and closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh.
"Does she know about Ethan?"
"She hasn't met him yet."
"I think she should," Renée said, having another look at the framed picture resting in her lap. "He really is wonderful." She put it back in the box, then picked up the stash of Polaroid snapshots.
"You sure you wanna do that?" Ilsa grinned.
Her mother halted. "Yeah, you know, maybe you should take out the ones I shouldn't see," she said, chuckling.
What was left was a set of eight photos—less than those tucked in Ilsa's hands. Renée shook her head at her daughter's face, who was cocking a brow as the end of her lips curled into a suggestive smirk.
"Oh, to be young and in love," she sobbed playfully, causing them both to laugh.
•••
"So, Ethan, what's it like being with my daughter?"
"Pure hell upon earth," Ethan joked, smirking.
It made James snort with laughter.
"You know her… She's vibrant, strong, confident." He leaned back and ruffled his hair, sighing contentedly. "Sometimes, she's delightfully prickly. A bit challenging. But she's just unapologetically herself, and I love that about her."
"Are you religious?" James asked, finishing his beer and popping open another.
"No, but I believe in marriage," Ethan replied, smiling. "I wasn't sure how she'd feel about it, though. I'm glad she said yes."
"She's just like her mother," James said with a sigh. "She's gonna tell you it doesn't mean much. It's just a piece of paper, a legal connection. And then she'll use it against you if you disagree on something or if she wants you to do something for her, like you signed a damn contract."
Ethan spat his drink out of his nose, trying to hold the laughter in. "Sounds like you got the short end of the deal," he chuckled, watching James with a grin.
Ilsa's father smirked and clinked his bottle against Ethan's, shrugging. "Sometimes it feels like I did, but that's what you get for loving a Faust."
"Your wife doesn't seem to like me much," Ethan pondered. "Any advice?"
"I can see that you're a good man, Ethan. Don't worry. She'll come around. I actually saw her smile a few times... I think," James quipped.
"I must admit, I was more worried about us not getting along," Ethan said, grinning slightly. "Ilsa and I had our fair share of complications, and I know how much you love your daughter."
James smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of pride and amusement. "When I first heard she's involved with the IMF, I wasn't too happy. And you…. Well, let's just say your reputation precedes you." He chuckled. "All I want is for her to be safe. And if that means working with you, then so be it." James paused, sizing Ethan up with a quick glance. "I only hope this new arrangement between you two… your marriage… won't cloud her judgment when you're on a mission. I can't have Ilsa's feelings for you get in the way of her safety. If she risks her life without thinking about the consequences, I—"
"I get it, sir," Ethan said, appreciating James's honesty. "I can't let that happen either." He knew that he couldn't promise Ilsa's safety. But he also knew that he loved her with every fiber of his being and would do whatever it took to protect her. "Trust me, James, you and I want the same thing for her. I'll always have her back." He halted. "Even if it means following her headfirst into danger."
They looked at each other, laughing out loud together.
Ethan had been wary of meeting Ilsa's father, knowing that the man was a former field agent for the British MI6. But as they talked, he realized they had more in common than he had initially thought.
James regaled him with stories of his time in the field, telling him about the adrenaline rush he felt during his missions and the sense of pride when he successfully completed them. Ethan listened intently, knowing all too well the feeling of being in the thick of a dangerous mission.
He also learned a bit more about Ilsa's upbringing and how James had tried to shield her from the harsh realities of the world of espionage. He talked about how proud he was of her and how much he still wished to protect her from harm, even now when she was a grown woman.
"I understand that feeling," Ethan said, thinking about his own team and how they had become his family. "But you and I both know you can't protect the people you love from everything. Had to learn that the hard way."
James nodded, and for a moment, there was a shared understanding between the two men. They may have come from different agencies, different countries, but they both knew what it was like to put everything on the line for a cause and for the people they cared about.
Ilsa's father understood him in a way that few others did, and Ethan couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and respect for the man, who had spent his entire career chasing down spies and thwarting terrorist plots.
As the conversation went on, they found themselves laughing and joking like old friends, swapping more stories about the missions they had been on and the close calls they had experienced.
"I never asked you how old you are," James said. "How long have you been doing this?"
"He's way too old for me, Dad," Ilsa chirped as she returned, followed by her mother. Instead of sinking into a chair, she slid into Ethan's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Happy to see you're still alive," she said, smirking.
Ethan gave a sharp, startled movement, clearly surprised by Ilsa's direct attention. He hadn't expected her to become that physical in front of her parents. But then he smiled gently and wrapped one arm around her waist, his hand settling on her side, as he held his beer with the other.
"We're all good," he replied, raising the bottle to his lips.
"Perfect," Ilsa murmured. Slowly she moved in, kissing his shoulder and neck. Then she bit him teasingly.
Ethan stopped in mid-drink, his eyes bugging out of his head, and almost did a spit take. "Ilsa," the soft rumble he said her name in warmed her further.
"Mm?" she hummed, closing her eyes as she rested her cheek on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of his musky cologne.
"Your parents," Ethan mumbled. His skin tingled when she touched him. The tingles increased as Ilsa threaded her fingers into his hair.
"Oh, it's fine. They don't mind," she said, chuckling softly. She felt the tension in his body—a mix of desire and hesitation—and almost laughed out loud. "Relax, Ethan." Pulling back, Ilsa stared at him with a big grin. Then she turned her head to look at her parents. "You're scaring him," she teased.
"I-I'm not scared. I just…" Ethan had to laugh at himself and the silliness of the situation. "I just don't wanna be rude to our guests." He glanced over at Ilsa's mother, who gave him a blank stare as if her emotions had yet to come to the surface of her face.
"You could make up for your bad table manners with some dessert," she said in a voice that left Ethan wondering whether she was really offended.
"Yes, sure, Mother," Ilsa said, laughing. "Let me just clear the dirty dishes first."
"I checked the water pressure earlier. It should be fine," Ethan pointed out.
"Do you have problems with that?" James asked.
"Sometimes we do, yeah," Ethan answered. "Nothing major, but our old dishwasher can't handle low pressure, and then the dishes look… Well, you know, we have to clean them ourselves." Ethan chuckled.
James stared at Ilsa. "Remember what I told you about how to make sure your dishwasher does its job? Avoid overcrowding."
"Here we go," Ilsa groaned, rolling her eyes a little. When she saw the confused look on Ethan's face, she explained, "My father disagrees with the order I load up the dishwasher. If I'd let him, he'd take everything out and reorder it. That's how much it bothers him."
"I see," Ethan smirked, looking over at James.
Ilsa's father shrugged his shoulders, taking a deep breath. "You're familiar with the addition-by-subtraction principle, Ethan? I know my daughter is. And yet, she doesn't believe me when I say the results would be much better if she reduced the load. It's not like you guys can't afford to let that thing run twice."
"She's gonna get as much in there as she bloody can," Ilsa replied, almost hissing. She wanted to laugh it off, but her father's stubbornness was one of her biggest pet peeves. She couldn't help but become agitated.
"No, I gotta say I agree with your father, Ilsa," Ethan objected, staring at her. "Maybe the issue's not even the water pressure. Maybe you've just been doing it wrong."
"You did not just say that to me," Ilsa huffed, with her mouth slightly ajar.
"Appears I did," Ethan said nonchalantly. He knew he was pushing her buttons, just like he wanted. "James is right. You should separate items so the spray arms don't get trapped. Just think about it for a minute, alright?" He gently slapped her knee. "If you leave some space, you optimize the water flow, and those dishes will look brand new afterward."
"Exactly," James concurred with a satisfied look on his face. "Your husband gets it, sweetheart." He showed Ethan a smile. "Thank you, Ethan. My daughter's stubbornness can be—"
"Excuse me?" Ilsa scoffed. "M-My stubbornness?" She raised both eyebrows at her father. That's when Ethan could no longer stifle his laughter. "Don't you dare," she warned, smacking him against the arm.
"What?" he chuckled. "What did I do?"
"I've seen how you load up the dishwasher... It's even worse."
"Are you calling me a hypocrite?" Ethan's smugness was all over his face. He was bathing in his smugness like a pig in slurry.
Ilsa knew he only sided with her father to mess with her. He wanted to tease her, and unfortunately, it was working. More than that, she was becoming really annoyed. Annoyed with herself mostly for letting both men get under her skin so quickly in this situation.
"I think Ilsa is old enough to know what she's doing. Let her be," Renée told her husband, amused.
"You're never too old to learn something new," James stated. "I'm only trying to help."
"You're not helping. You're annoying," Ilsa said, letting her words sink in momentarily before turning to the side. "So are you, by the way."
Ethan grinned. He could see that she was fuming, even though she tried her best to hide it. But he knew she loved his teasing as much as she hated it sometimes. He only had to make a little peace offering to defuse the situation. Something she couldn't refuse.
Lifting his knees, he slid her more snugly into his lap, the smile in his eyes as cheeky as the maneuver. One of his fingers traced her collarbone, giving her chills. Ilsa could already feel herself melting into him—God, he really knew what he was doing.
"Let me take care of dessert," Ethan quietly said as he ran his fingertips across her temple and brushed Ilsa's cheek with the back of his hand. "I'll clean up, load the dishwasher…" He looked her in the eyes, grinning broadly. "The right way, of course." Then he laughed softly. "And you just stay here and…"
He tugged Ilsa against him as his mouth skimmed over hers in a whispered kiss. It didn't matter that the kiss was brief. The effect on Ilsa was instantaneous, providing her with all kinds of shivers. Her breath expelled on a sigh, and she caught Ethan's face between her hands, gazing at him lovingly.
"You know, you're still annoying," she said in a hushed tone, smirking. "Sometimes, I just wanna be mad at you for a while."
"You'll get another chance tomorrow," he replied with a grin. "And the day after." Ethan cackled. "You're stuck with me for eternity, baby, so plenty of chances."
Ilsa loved how he could make her laugh. He was an idiot, but he was her idiot. "Lucky me," she quipped, sliding off his lap. She studied Ethan closely as he got up from his seat, collected the dirty dishes, and walked back inside. "You should take my mother with you," she called after him, making Ethan stop dead in his tracks. His reaction was so comical Ilsa almost cracked up.
"Y-Yeah, sure," Ethan stuttered. "If she—" He glanced at Ilsa's mother. "I mean if you don't mind."
"I think I can handle a little housework," Renée answered.
Ilsa smirked as she watched them disappear into the house. Then she walked to the cooler, submerged her hand in the ice, and yanked out a beer. She popped the tab and took a long drink before she sat down opposite her father.
"I can't believe you just forced him to deal with your mother," James remarked, chuckling.
"He'll be fine," Ilsa said, wiping the foam from her lips with the back of her hand. "She loves him."
"She does?"
"Yeah, Mom loves Ethan. She's just teasing him," she disclosed, having to grin.
"Did she tell you that?"
Ilsa nodded.
"Wow, I had no idea." James laughed. "She's doing a great job at hiding it." He eyed his daughter. "You enjoy this, don't you?"
Ilsa's lips tipped up in a smug grin. "Watching him suffer is bloody hilarious. I love how he tries to pretend it doesn't bother him."
"You two are quite a pair," her father said, amused.
"So you like him?" Ilsa's voice turned soft, her grin morphing into a sweet smile. "I wanted you to like him 'cause I know you had your reservations."
"I like him, honey," James assured her. "We actually have a lot in common. Most of all, our love for you."
"Oh, shush!" Ilsa giggled.
•••
As Ethan whisked around in the kitchen, Renee's silent gaze bore into his back. It made him feel like he was about to be dropped into the mouth of hell. Although the judgment he sensed was probably just concocted by his own mind. Ilsa's mother had no reason not to like him. But as much as he tried to shrug it off, it slowly drove him crazy. And he knew tiptoeing around the elephant in the room would no longer help either of them.
"You know, I try really hard to be the best man I can be for your daughter," Ethan said, facing her. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for her." Talking about Ilsa made him emotional. It even showed in his eyes. "But you're… " He gave a nervous chuckle. "You're not making it easy on me, Renée. I gotta be honest." Relief washed over him as he finally admitted that to her. "I can read Ilsa like an open book. But with you, I'm drawing a blank."
"Are you saying I'm good at hiding my emotions?" Renée asked, her voice calm.
"I-I guess, yeah…." God, he had never felt so silly. "I'm sorry. I don't wanna judge you. It's just… I'm trying here, okay? I need you to know that."
"Oh, Ethan, honey, you really are a wonderful man," she said with a smile.
Ethan's face demonstrated the confusion he felt. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head slightly to the left as his mouth dropped into a bewildered O. "I-I'm not sure I understand," he uttered.
Renée laughed out loud and stepped closer. "I was just messing with you, my dear," she told him. "I'm sorry." She put her hand on his arm.
Once his brain had caught up with his body, one corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. "I seriously thought you hated me. "
"Not at all," Renée reassured him. "Besides, I trust my daughter's judgment. If she loves you, who am I to tell her she's wrong?" she said, smirking.
Ethan let out a long breath and laughed, relief cresting over him at the break in tensed emotion. He wondered why he had found it so difficult to see through her—she would've made a great spy.
"So you really do like me?" he said as he pulled an apple crumble out of the oven and scooped vanilla ice cream from a local creamery on the top. His eyes were transfixed on Ilsa's mother as he spoke. She held his look, and for the first time that day, Ethan found her eyes were filled with love and warmth.
"I can tell you're delighted to hear that," she noted, clearly enjoying herself. The amusement made her face more alive. Brought a hint to her eyes of the kind of sparkle Ilsa had too.
Ethan's smile brightened his face into something beautiful. "You have no idea," he said with a chuckle.
"Sorry again," she apologized, laughing. There was a brief moment of silence. Then she added, "I'm also sorry about that other thing, Ethan."
"Other thing?" He frowned.
"Ruining your moment," she hinted, noticing his bewilderment and evidently enjoying it.
"Moment?" In his confusion, Ethan put more scoops of ice cream onto the dish than anyone could handle. "What moment?"
He halted as if gathering himself, staring at her intently—then it hit him. Instantly, Ethan felt his ears go red and his cheeks flush hot, just as though he were a small boy caught stealing from the pantry by his mother. Renée's lips twitched and she grinned, seeing his face mirror his embarrassment. Her eyes shone with gentle amusement and she tried hard not to laugh.
"I can see why Ilsa's so happy," she said, giggling softly.
She stepped away, allowing him some space, and grabbed two plates of dessert to take outside. Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, just the sound of his parched and saliva-free mouth opening like a door completely void of lubrication around its hinges.
"Don't worry, love," Renée chirped, "We're leaving soon."
Turning her back on him, Ilsa's mother left to rejoin the rest of her family. Ethan needed a minute to recover. Noticing the huge amount of ice cream on top of the dessert, he had to laugh as he shook his head at his own foolishness.
He hadn't thought he'd get to know her better by getting to know her parents—Ilsa. He'd thought he knew it all. But suddenly, she appeared to him in a new light. Unexpectedly, he loved her even more now.
•••
About an hour later, Ilsa's parents were ready to leave.
"Are you sure you wanna drive back to the hotel? You can stay in the guest room," Ilsa offered, but her mother declined.
"Thanks, darling, but we wanna head back to London early in the morning. We don't wanna bother you." She smiled, hugging her. "You two enjoy the rest of the evening."
Ilsa smiled back at her. "Will do."
"You're a great mother-in-law," Ethan said to Renée as she came to stand before him.
She laughed. "And you're a great liar." Renée hugged him tight, running her hands over his back. "Welcome to the family, Ethan. We're happy to have you." She glanced up at him with a smile, then turned around, joining her husband, who had already said his goodbyes.
When the door fell shut, Ilsa pushed Ethan hard against the wall. Her small hands fumbled to get under his shirt and touch his skin. He trembled slightly at her touch, aroused immediately.
"Whoa," he gasped, "What's—"
"That was so hot," she murmured, nibbling hard on his lower lip before kissing him.
"W-What?"
"You, getting along with my parents," Ilsa said in-between kisses.
"That turned you on, huh?" He chuckled.
"Fuck, yes," she moaned into his mouth.
They sought each other in a clash of lips and teeth. Ilsa's tongue was hot and eager as she drove it against Ethan's. Ethan groaned under the onslaught, dropping his hands to her ass to pull her up hard against him. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the couch and laid her on it, staring down at her with fire in his eyes.
"You were right," he told her, smirking.
"Of course I was right," she smirked back. There was a moment's pause. Then— "About what exactly?"
"Your mom heard us."
"Did she?"
Ethan nodded, grinning.
"I hope you let her know that it wasn't very motherly of her not to let me finish," Ilsa joked. "I really needed it."
"What do you need now?" Casting her a suggestive grin, he put his mouth against her neck and kissed her there.
"Make me come this time," she panted.
"How often?" Ethan whispered.
Ilsa threw her head back when he started sucking on her delicate skin. His hot breath was like a ball of flames burning fervently, causing her to moan deeply.
"All night," she purred, arching against him.
Ethan's groan was more like a gurgling laugh, and she knew desire was already pushing him to the edge, just as it was pushing her to touch him everywhere, to feel his cock driving deep within her.
"As you wish," he said with that deep, slightly raspy rumble that never failed to spark a reaction from her.
Ilsa pushed him off, rolling over so they landed on the floor with a thud. Ethan gazed at her, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and desire.
He watched her undress and almost forgot how to breathe because of how beautiful she looked, with the rays of the evening sun slanting through the windows, making her naked skin shimmer.
"We should invite your parents more often," he hummed, chuckling softly.
Ilsa responded with laughter as she bent down and gave him a long, sensual kiss. "No more talking," she whispered, smiling against his lips.