Page 61 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
Callahan barked out a laugh. “Now you’re taking the piss. Your turn, Mrs Ashford.”
“What’s Jamie’s middle name?”
His mind went blank. All the blood in his body had clearly been redirected south, leaving nothing for his brain.
“Tick tock, darling.” Isabel gave a slow roll of her hips, fucking herself on his fingers. “I’d like to climax sometime before the next century.”
“Winston.” Callahan called up the first pompous moniker that sprang to mind. “Jamie Winston Ashford, named for some great-uncle or other. Pillar of the community, I’m sure.”
“Edward, I’m afraid. After his maternal grandfather and some prized breeding bull or something equally asinine. I’m disappointed, Agent. I expected more from you.”
“Hard to remember trivial nonsense while I’ve got two fingers in your cunt.”
“Excuses. I want your mouth.”
He pressed against that spot inside her that made her thighs tremble. “Here?”
“No.” She arched her neck. “Here. Bite down. I enjoy a little pain with my pleasure.”
This woman would be the death of him.
He lowered his head, breathing her in. First, just his lips, testing the flutter of her pulse against his mouth, then his tongue, tasting the salt of her skin. When his teeth finally scraped against her throat, her whole body jerked.
She made a sound – half gasp, half moan – that shot straight to his cock.
He bit down harder, just shy of breaking skin. Marking her.
“My turn,” he growled. “Lydia’s parents. What are their names?”
“Helena and George,” she panted. “Hampshire Granthams. Textile fortune. Moved to America when she was three.”
Impressive. But he shouldn’t be surprised. This was Isabel. She excelled at everything she did – stealing, lying, making him lose his fucking mind with wanting her.
“Good girl,” he murmured again, loving her little shiver at the praise.
“Bite me again,” she whispered. A soft cry left her as his teeth sank into another spot. At this rate, every damn person at the symposium would know who she belonged to. “The name of Jamie’s prized stallion. What was it?”
Another blank. His brain wasn’t working. Not when she kept tightening around his fingers like that.
“Beelzebub.”
“Bucephalus. Named for Alexander the Great’s legendary charger. Jamie likes to say the beast chose to be reborn as his personal mount.”
“Where are you pulling this shite from? It wasn’t in the file.”
“I’m improvising. Now, my forfeit. Put your mouth on my tits while you fuck me with your fingers.” She patted his cheek. “There’s a good boy.”
Callahan didn’t need to be told twice. He yanked down the front of her nightgown and took one of her nipples between his lips. Isabel cried out, arching against him.
“Beautiful,” he murmured into her skin. “So bloody perfect.”
She squirmed. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths that made him want to tear the nightgown off. Ruin her. Mark her. A dark and possessive emotion clawed at him when she responded to his touch.
“I forfeit my question.” Her hands twisted in the sheets. “But I’ll give you a chance. What’s Jamie’s favourite thing to brag about at his club?”
“His rare book collection,” Callahan said, cupping her breast. The game was just an excuse now, a flimsy pretence to keep touching each other.
Isabel arched into his hand. “And what do you want from me?”
