Page 42 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
“Should I tell you how beautiful you are? Scars and all?”
Part of her wanted to shut her eyes against his words. Tell himnoandstop. That his tenderness wasn’t what she needed from him when the ocean waves were so loud, and Favreau’s voice kept whispering in her memories.
But he stared up at her like she was a goddess, and she hadn’t felt beautiful since Hong Kong.
Something splintered deep in her chest, the fissures spider-webbingoutandout.
“I was expecting you to promise to slay my demons,” she said. “Track down the monsters who gave me these marks and make them all bleed.”
His fingers flexed. “But you don’t want me to slay your demons, do you? You want me to fuck them out of you.” A pause, heavy and charged. “So kiss me.”
Something inside her snapped. She lunged forward, crashing her mouth against his. Her teeth caught his bottom lip, hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to make him grunt. Her nails raked down his back, drawing red lines she wished would scar. Let him carry her marks for once.
“Christ,” he hissed, hands digging into her hips.
Callahan yanked her into his lap. His cock pressed against her, hot and hard, and a whimper escaped her before she could swallow it down.
Isabel ground down against him, desperate for friction. For release. For anything to drown out the screaming in her head. He kissed like a conquering warlord. Devouring, consuming, taking her apart and demanding her surrender even as he stole the air from her lungs.
He tasted like whiskey and sin. Like salvation.
“I need—”
His grip tightened in her hair. “That’s right. You need. You want. Youtake. But not tonight. Tonight, it’s my turn to take.” Then his hand pushed between her thighs, and he plunged his fingers inside her. “Just as I thought.Drippingfuckingwet. It’s honestly shameful how much I’ve thought about this cunt. How it feels. How tight it is. Even after you stole everything and left me stranded with no clothes, no money, and no way home.” His words were punctuated with another slick thrust of his fingers. “So tell me something, Trouble.” His voice hardened. “Between us, who really deserves the punishment here?”
His fingers disappeared suddenly. Before she could protest, he grabbed her wrists in one large hand and slammed them above her head. Cold metal kissed her skin.
Click.
“What—” The fog of arousal cleared enough for Isabel to realise what had happened. Her eyes widened as she tugged at the restraints.
The bastard had cuffed her to his bed with darbies – which he’d obviously brought along for her.
“Something wrong?” He smirked.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Taking my vengeance.”
Isabel’s expression darkened. “When I pick the lock on these—”
“Oh, little thief. That’s not going to happen. Because these beauties?” Callahan flicked one of the cuffs with his finger. “I made these myself, patented and everything. Thought of you with every design modification. The nested locking mechanism with multiple tumblers.” He kissed down her jaw. “Secondary internal locks in case of tampering . . .” A nip at her earlobe. “And a specialised fucking key, sweetheart. Because I want you to stay right where you are. No more running.”
“Agent.”
His teeth caught her bottom lip. “When my mouth is between your thighs, you call me Ronan.”
Callahan began kissing a slow path down her body, as if he intended to torture her all night. Touching her everywhere. When he reached her breasts, he lingered, drawing one nipple between his teeth until she arched up, wanting more. But then his lips brushed over the scar beneath her left breast, the ones along her navel. All the little marks that existed as reminders of the things she’d done. All the ways she didn’t deserve him.
“Look at me,” he growled.
Her eyes snapped to his. Callahan shoved her legs apart, hooking her knees over his shoulders. The position left her completely exposed. Nowhere to hide, nothing to bargain with. Then his tongue licked up her pussy.
Isabel’s head slammed back against the pillow. “God!”
Her hips bucked. The bastard just pressed her down harder, pinning her in place until she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Could only feel his mouth working against her, his tongue circling her clitoris with teasing, gentle pressure when she needed more. The soft licks made her strain against the cuffs until the metal bit into her skin.
“I think you owe me something,” he murmured. His rough palms slid up her inner thighs, pushing them wider apart. “An apology. For Hong Kong.”
