by Sahara Kelly
Spurred on by these sounds, she explored further, finding his balls hard beneath the root of his cock. Cradling them, knowing they were fragile and not to be damaged, she moved down and licked them, tasting the salt from his skin and surrounding herself with the scent of hot man.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
She nearly stopped and asked if that was an appropriate exclamation for a Vicar during sex, but thought better of it. Besides, she wanted to taste more of his cock. Why interrupt such pleasure? She could ask later.
When she opened her mouth to take him in, she knew she’d made the right decision. He was…it was…well, words deserted her. The sensation of velvety skin covering such hardness, sliding over her tongue—how delicious. How could one possibly describe it?
She discovered small grooves and hills and beneath the head a little spot that seemed to set off a variety of responses from Simon. They ranged from sighs to groans, so she paid particular attention to it, returning there several times.
It wasn’t long before strong arms reached for her shoulders and pushed her back. “Tabby. I can’t take much more. I want to be inside you. Now, before I explode.” He slithered down on the sofa, lying flat on his back. “Sit on top of me, Tabs. It won’t hurt your arm and I want to watch you ride me. Please love…” He offered his hand.
Love. He’d called her love. How could she refuse?
She took his hand, watching him as the storm highlighted his aroused body and his half-closed eyes. He was as ready as he’d ever be—and she was eager to feel him fill her empty places.
It was but a moment’s effort to climb onto the sofa and straddle him, and only a moment more to position them both for maximum delight.
Sliding down onto his cock while they watched each other…it was beyond anything.
“Simon,” she muttered, “Simon.”
“Yes, I know.” His eyes drifted shut.
Tabby’s body told her what to do. Gently, she began to ride him, slow at first, rising and falling, losing herself in the exquisite ecstasy of his cock rubbing against her most sensitive flesh.
He seemed to understand, lifting up to meet her downward thrusts, and then withdrawing a little as she rose. Surprisingly, after a few blissful and delirious minutes, she found an urgency growing again within her. She widened her stance, gasping as this openness abraded all the deliciously sensitive places inside her sex.
Simon must have sensed it as well, since he moved more forcefully, making sure their bodies ground together more often, exciting her and urging her on.
They rode together, faster and faster, her breaths coming in short gasps, Simon with his jaw clenched. The room echoed with thunder and the sound of their bodies slapping hard, a fierce desire drowning them, a savage need blinding them to the lightning, the storm outside and the entire world.
It was all leading to the edge of the cliff…and Tabby rode over.
Her vision clouded and lights sparked in the tempest swirling around her. She screamed his name, her thighs clamping his hips, and her hands clawing at his chest. He yelled, lifting her clean off the sofa, buried so deep his release flooded her and the pulsations of his cock pushed her even further into the whirlwind of orgasm.
Her mind emptied of everything but Simon and her own fulfillment.
It was soul-shattering.
It was also sofa-shattering. The elderly piece of furniture groaned, cracked, and collapsed beneath them, making Tabby squawk and Simon catch her around the waist, holding her steady against the rapid descent.
They looked at each other—then started to laugh.
Chapter Twelve
Simon awoke the next morning, aware of a few aching muscles, and the warmth emanating from the body snoring next to him.
She was naked, soft and tucked into him, his knees beneath hers, arranged like spoons for maximum contact. He marveled at the miracle of her, and the even greater miracle that had united them in a night of such passionate lovemaking.
After the poor sofa had passed on to its reward, they’d eaten a little, shared an ale, and by mutual consent retired for the night—to do it all over again. Thankfully, his bed was built of sterner stuff and it had survived the bouts of desire indulged in by its occupants.
He had taken her while she lay beneath him, slowly this time, making sure she was comfortable and relaxed. By the time she came, she was melting, writhing and whimpering, and he watched the contortions of her orgasm roll through her before he allowed himself his own release.
She was an astounding woman, his Tabby.
There was no self-consciousness or prevarication; no shame or reluctance. She wanted him as much as he wanted her and made her desires plain.
Just lying here next to her, he was hard all over again. So he shifted, and tucked himself into the most comfortable spot he could find—at the upper notch of her thighs. Her buttocks pressed against his groin and her hot flesh snugged around his length, while he delicately filled his hand with a convenient breast. Could there be anything better?
She snuffled and he grinned as her arse wiggled a little.
“Good morning.” He squeezed a nipple.
“Mmmm. It certainly is.” She rubbed her softness over his cock.
“I wish we could do this all day, Tabby. But I have duties to attend to. And I haven’t set foot inside the church for two days.”
“Tsk, Vicar. How naughty of you.” She wriggled again, making Simon groan.
“Tabby. Lift your leg.” He tapped her upper thigh.
She obeyed instantly, a little chuckle escaping from her throat even as she remained on her side.
It was simple for him to move into the correct position and slide into her sleep-warmed and relaxed body. Neither moved for a minute or two, and for Simon it was bliss. He was inside his woman, they were warm and safe, and she was sighing with sleepy delight.
Could life hold anything more wonderful than moments like this?
She sighed, then he sensed her inner muscles twitch, which was enough to tip him into a whole barrel of need. He shifted, pressed himself into her fiery and slick body—and let it happen all over again.
Within moments she was on her back, moving to accommodate him, clutching at him with both hands.
“Be careful…” he warned.
“No,” she rasped, her breath already quickening and her muscles tightening. “Not this time…”
He took his weight on his hands and followed her lead, their bodies slapping together, the bed bouncing as they pounded against each other.
It was fast, fierce and wonderful—and over within minutes.
Tabby’s legs clamped around his hips and she held him so tightly…both of them exploding, lost in the abyss and whirling together through the storm.
A final sigh from her and a long satisfied groan from him…and it was done.
“If I have to die, let it be now,” he mumbled, exhaustion thickening his voice.
She disengaged herself and tucked herself into his chest. “At least the bed held up.”
“Good point.”
His eyes wandered to the sunlit window, and then to the clock on the small mantel. “Oh dear God.” He sat bolt upright, making Tabby flop away from his chest in surprise.
“What?”
“The time. Look at the damn time.” He scrambled out of bed. “It’s past eight o’clock already, and I have a nine o’clock meeting with the Fosters about their baby’s christening.” Pulling his robe on as he spoke, he hurried to the door of the little bath closet. “Give me a few minutes to freshen up.”
And so his day began with a very hurried wash, a quick cup of tea made by a careful Tabby, and a deep, lingering kiss as he said goodbye.
“I’m only going to the church, Tabs,” he said with a grin. “Not off to fight in Europe.”
“I know.” She grinned back. “But you kiss rather nicely. So I’m going to take shameless advantage.”
He opened the door and glanced back at her. “You have my full per
mission.”
He was smiling as he closed the door and walked through the garden toward the small path leading to the church.
The smile faded as he noticed something odd…and looked up.
Bollocks. The storm had ripped off more than a few tiles from the roof of St. Simon’s, and they were littering the ground where he stood.
Just what he didn’t need.
*~~*~~*
Tabby stared upward, watching the local roofing expert carefully clamber around, cursing now and again and trying not to cause any more damage.
St. Simon’s wasn’t a particularly distinctive building; it followed the traditional design of a cross, with the aisles and nave leading from the door to the altar. The transepts were modest, and there were two smaller rooms at the rear, behind the altar, that functioned as sacristy and general storage.
Tabby viewed the latter as a home for aging rodents, since they seemed to be attracted to incense, torn and damaged pew cushions and other musty things. She’d peeked inside as part of her overall assessment of the church itself. She’d sneezed twice, and then backed out, closing the door firmly behind her.
The other room, the sacristy, was more functional, and taller, since there was a small spiral staircase leading up to a second level. Once again, up there the centuries of miscellaneous documents provided a comfortable home for mice, and possibly the occasional squirrel. The parish records themselves were kept down in the Vicar’s cabinet, a solid block of hewn oak. Not even the most industrious of mice could breach the walls of that piece of furniture.
“Is the steeple in danger?” Simon called to the roofer.
“Don’t believe so, Vicar,” he called back. “But ye got a leak or two o’er this side.” He gestured toward the roof over the storage room.
She heard Simon’s whispered oath, and neared him, offering her presence as comfort.
“I’m not sure what I should do,” he said quietly. “This might be the end for this parish.” Not waiting for her to respond to his statement, he crossed the grass to where the man was descending. “Right, John, give me the bad news, if you please.”
The man jumped down to the grass and wiped his hands on his breeches. “Well, Vicar, storm’s took a dozen or so tiles, an’ there’s gotta be mayhap a dozen more loose ‘uns.” He looked up again and shook his head. “Now, I can fix ‘em, but ye gotta unnerstand—’tis only temporary, like. Next good storm an’ ye’ll be losin’ more, I’m thinkin’.”
Simon nodded. “Well I suppose it could have been worse.” He held out his hand. “Thank you, John. We’ll have to replace the ones that fell. That’s definite.”
They spoke for a few minutes and John turned to leave. Then turned back. “Oh, Vicar?”
Simon looked over at him. “Yes?”
“Ye got someone stayin’ inside, ‘ave ye?”
Tabby’s heart stopped for a moment, then started up again, faster. She neared the two men, anxious not to miss a word.
“No, I don’t Tom. Why are you asking?”
“‘Cos that there tiny window…” he pointed at an octagonal frame just beneath the eaves and tiles. It was barely noticeable from the ground, but it matched the one on the second floor of the sacristy.
“What about it?” Simon craned his neck to see it as well as he could.
“It’s ajar. Looks like someone might have gone an’ pried it open.” Tom shrugged. “Saw a bit of a shirt inside, mayhap. Summat that didn’t oughta be there, like.”
“We’ll certainly take a look, Tom. Thank you for noticing.”
“’Tis me job.” He turned to leave, walking over to his little cart.
“Tom? Your ladder…” Simon pointed at it.
“’T’ain’t mine, Vicar. Found it round t’ side there. Figured it was your’n, like.” And with that, Tom hopped up onto the cart seat, picked up the reins, and drove off.
Tabby immediately headed for the church, hearing Simon right behind her.
“Wait…” he said, grabbing her arm. “Together. We go in together.”
She nodded. “Thank you for not suggesting I stay outside.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Tabby, I’m a quick learner. And since I’m quite fond of, not to mention attached to, my balls, I wouldn’t dream of asking any such thing of you.”
She shot him a surprised glance. “You astonish me, Vicar.”
“One tries.”
The ancient carved door was open—Simon had already done a cursory check of the interior. He could see no immediate damage, which was a blessing, but hadn’t thought to check the small rooms behind the altar.
They thrust out behind the church; small stone arms that protected St. Simon’s finest feature—a beautiful and very old stained glass window.
As Tabby stepped inside, the sun shone through it, casting a myriad of rainbows and colors onto the worn slabs of stone that comprised the floor of the church. Their carvings were almost indistinct, but that didn’t mean they failed to catch the light and reflect it away. She saw a Madonna and Child, an angel and a star, each highlighted in a different color. It was quite lovely.
Since, like so many other churches, St. Simon’s faced in an easterly direction, Tabby wasn’t surprised. But she made a note to herself to come in at this time of day and enjoy the gentle beauty more often. “How pretty,” she breathed.
“Indeed.” Simon looked up at the brilliantly shining window; a triptych of arches depicting the Ascension.
“Is that the original St. Simon?” Tabby pointed to a small figure to one side, kneeling in supplication with head raised. A tiny circle haloed the head.
“We always like to think so. But of course there’s not enough detail to count his toes.”
Tabby chuckled at that, following Simon up the nave and then turning to the right, and the small door leading into the storage area. Any thought of laughter died away as she realized that they might find something to tell them who that dead man had been. It was the only logical conclusion she could come up with.
“Do you suppose it was him? Living here all the time and we never knew?”
Simon understood immediately. “It would make sense. But let’s not jump to any conclusions yet. Urgh…”
An overwhelming air of must and dust and other less than pleasant odors greeted them, making Simon wrinkle his nose and cough seconds after opening the door. He waited for a moment, then pulled it wide, allowing a little light within, and eventually taking a breath before walking in.
“Lord, it smells terrible in here.”
Tabby followed, and agreed. It did smell awful. “I don’t see anything, Simon.” She frowned, looking at tall piles of disused history, still covered with dust. “And I don’t see any signs that this mess has been disturbed, other than our footprints. No shirt or any kind of out of place item…” She looked carefully around, trying not to touch anything.
Simon looked up. “Here’s the thing. That window…you know, the one you can see from the outside? The one that matches the one in the sacristy?”
“Yes,” she answered, puzzled.
“You can’t see it from in here. There’s no second level.”
Tabby looked up once more and swiveled around. “Good lord, you’re right.” She thought furiously. “So that can only mean…”
“That there is another level, but you can’t get to it from here.” Simon finished her thought for her.
“This gets increasingly curious, doesn’t it?” She stared upward. “How does he access that hidden space?”
“That is something we will have to find out. And I’d prefer it was sooner than later”
Chapter Thirteen
It seemed like a garden party, thought Simon, as he looked at the assembled group the following afternoon. The good weather held, the sun shone, and everyone seemed in an enthusiastic frame of mind. He sighed. He did love his family, but he had to try and impress the seriousness of this endeavor upon them.
“Right,” he called out, drawing their attention. �
�That is the window under discussion. The room onto which that opens must be accessible from somewhere out here. No known way in exists, since Tabby and I have looked into some old plans and found nothing.” And that had been an incredibly frustrating afternoon, lightened only by the hour they took for themselves, and the long walk deep into the shade of the silent woods…
He smiled as he recalled those stolen moments of passion. Then tore his mind back to the faces staring at him.
“The most logical course of action is to divide ourselves into groups and each take an area to investigate. So…” He looked around. “If you, Letitia, would take James with you and walk the perimeter of this grassy area. There are shrubs, trees, a few plants…” he waved his hand expansively, “any of which might conceal an entrance to a tunnel, perhaps. Examine everything. Look for the unexpected.”
Letitia nodded. “Very well.”
Simon then turned to Edmund. “I’m going to ask you, brother, to look inside the church. That will satisfy me that I haven’t missed anything in there, and also give you an excuse to make Rosaline sit down where it’s cool.”
Edmund grinned. “Good lad.”
“What about me, Simon?” Hecate stepped forward.
“I haven’t forgotten you,” he hugged her. “How could I? You may be the only person who can really help. All I want you to do is use your amazing gifts to see if you can find what we’re looking for. A hidden way into a hidden room. What do you say?”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I will, Simon. Give me a little time to clear my thoughts.” She wandered away to sit on a small grassy mound.
Thus directed, the Ridlington family split up and began their search.
“What about us?” Tabby moved closer. “What are we to do?”
“Since we’ve done most of what I’ve asked the others to do, I’d like to go upstairs in the sacristy. Perhaps there’s some way to cross over the chancel and get to the other side of the altar and enter the room that way.”