Page 18 of A Lady’s Handbook of Espionage

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. You take . 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. Dripping fucking wet . 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.”

“No,” she moaned.

His eyes narrowed. “ Yes .”

Then he thrust two fingers into her.

Isabel cried out. Another thrust, harder this time, curling his fingers to stroke that spot inside her that made stars burst across her vision. If her hands were free, she’d grab him by his hair and force that smug mouth exactly where she needed it and ride his face until she came.

But she was trapped. Bound and spread open and completely at his mercy. He worked his fingers faster, mouth closing over her clitoris again, and Isabel felt herself spiralling higher. She was close.

Callahan pulled away.

She made a ragged sound. “Please, I need—”

He nipped at the skin of her inner thigh. “You need what? My fingers? My tongue? My cock? Be specific.”

“Fuck me.” Pride was a distant memory. All that mattered was the ache between her legs and what this man could do for her.

“Say you’re sorry,” he murmured with a soft kiss to her stomach. “That’s all it takes.”

Isabel turned her face away. Apologies were for the weak.

For people who had something to lose. If she gave him even that tiny piece of herself, there’d be nothing left.

No walls, no armour. Just her bleeding heart exposed for him to crush.

He’d see everything – all the ugliness, all the damage, all the reasons she wasn’t worth the trouble.

She’d rather die.

Instead, she wanted to shatter him open and strip him down to raw nerve until his composure fractured.

Didn’t he understand what she needed? His mouth on her, his cock inside her, distraction and distraction and distraction until all those ugly memories receded like the tide.

His body was useful. She could manipulate it like a tool until it yielded and gave her what she wanted.

“Ronan.” She used his first name in a calculated move.

His pupils expanded, swallowing the grey of his irises, and his lips parted on an exhale.

Yes. There we go.

“Give me my apology, Isabel.” He was fighting fire with fire, using her own tactics against her. Rearing back and sinking his claws in. “Three words: I was wrong. And then I’ll give you what you need. Come on, little thief.”

She searched his face for any crack in his resolve, any hint that he might give in. But all she found was that same stubborn determination that made her want to fight him or kiss him until they both suffocated.

“ Va te faire foutre. ” The metal dug into her wrists, a sting she scarcely felt over the roaring in her blood. “You’ll get an apology over my cold, dead corpse.”

His eyes flashed.

That’s it , she thought. Break for me, damn you.

But then his expression smoothed out – a mask sliding into place. “Have it your way,” he said with a shrug.

Before she realised what was happening, he was off the bed, grabbing his clothes from the floor. Bored now. As if she were of no consequence.

“What are you doing?” Her panic disgusted her.

Callahan shot her a look as he buttoned his trousers. “Going out for a smoke.”

“A smoke?” Her voice rose an octave. “You can’t just leave me here like this!”

“Actually, I can.” The calm in his tone was gone, replaced by something hard and sharp.

“I gave you a choice, and you chose your damn pride over what you want.” He yanked his shirt over his head and reached for his coat.

“So get comfortable. Think about your sins. I’ll be back when you’ve had enough time to reconsider. ”

“Agent!” She thrashed against the restraints. “If you do this, I swear to God I’ll—”

The door slammed shut.