Mistress By Mistake. Maggie Robinson

      “Don’t play deaf. Although I wouldn’t mind dumb. No man wants a shrew for a mistress. The nightgown, if you please.”

      With great reluctance, Charlotte pulled it over her head and handed it to Bay. He balled it up and threw it out the window into the garden, where it could have a late-night assignation with her boots. At least he hadn’t burned it. The room was only now beginning to smell fresh. She shivered again to be exposed to him so blatantly. She had never been naked with a man before, not even Robert.

      “Lie down on the bed, Charlie. I’m afraid I’m going to have to tie you up again.” The man had the effrontery to look regretful.

      Charlotte bit her lip. “Please don’t. I’ll be good.”

      “I have no doubt of that. You are amongst the best I’ve ever had.” He gave her a smug smile. Beast. Comparing her to other women. Hundreds of them probably, scattered throughout Europe. Everything was about sex to him. Just because he was so freakishly perfect and proficient—well, she would not succumb to his wiles, tonight or any other night. She would lie like a stick or a stone, completely insensate to his touch. She spread herself out on the white sheets like a pagan sacrifice, closing her eyes as he pulled each insidious knot tight.

      She would not look at him. She would not speak to him. She would not—

      “Oh!” Something cool plopped onto her stomach. If her breasts had not been so ridiculously large she could see what he had done.

      “I’m a fool for you, Charlie,” he said, his voice deliciously low. He bent over and began to lick the raspberries and whipped cream from her belly. She tried to lie still—she did, really, but when the tip of his tongue circled her navel, then dipped in, she jumped. Apparently finished with her stomach, he scooped more from the bowl and rubbed a dollop of pink on one nipple, then stood back to admire his handiwork.

      “This is outrageous! This is wrong!”

      “I quite agree. I’m missing something.” He decorated the other breast as well, heaping a mound of raspberry-streaked cream on her aureole. Charlotte knew her nipples were stiff with cold and decadence. Bay then proceeded to warm her up, suckling the sweet mixture from her bosom as one sticky finger traced a lazy curve down her stomach to her curls. When she realized where he was going to put the raspberry fool next, her mouth opened in protest. Surely he would not do something so scandalous.

      But he did. The wicked gleam in his eye matched the gleaming silver spoon as he dripped the tingly mixture between her legs. She gasped from the chill and knowledge of what would soon follow. Futile tugging on her bonds only resulted in his earthy chuckle.

      “Better. Much better. Pink on pink. Lie still. If you can.”

      He held the spoon, empty now, and traced a pattern on her inner thigh as the raspberry fool slithered downward. The edge of the spoon tickled as Bay wrote his secret message. What was he writing? What was he waiting for? She wouldn’t bother begging him to stop. She couldn’t beg him to begin.

      He took a step back, appraising her again from head to toe. She was open to him, splayed as wide as he could tie her without causing discomfort. She flushed, embarrassed that he would see just how anxious she was for him. There was no use in pretending she wasn’t interested—her nipples were as rosy and firm as fresh berries. She was dessert, a banquet of carnal pleasures.

      And then he bent to her. Finally. She had no choice but to accept his wicked ministrations, and she had no desire to do anything else. He parted her folds, slipping one long warm finger, then two, in and out of her passage as he laved her center. The cold of the cream, the heat of his mouth on her bud sent spirals of hunger deep within. And he was still dressed, denying her access to what she needed beyond need.

      She shut her eyes and let him take her over the edge, not that there was any other place for her to go. She was at the mercy of a master seducer whose patient skill wiped away the reality of the room. There was no point to looking at a painted heaven on the ceiling when Bay was escorting her to his own particular paradise. Charlotte was aware of every lick and stroke, every breath, every ripple. Her skin was on fire, her voice hoarse. And still he did not stop, when one would have to be blind and certainly deaf not to know that she had been flung off the earth too many times to count. Even if her hands had been free, she could not have pushed him away for all the ruby necklaces in the world. The exquisite tug and tingle on her most private place went beyond anything she had ever felt. His lips, his teeth, his fingers worked in wicked concert. The man was a fiend. A talented one who knew precisely how to unlock the prim Charlotte from her prison and set her free. Too free. She would drown and disappear in her freedom, swept away by forces she’d never imagined.

      The waves came hard, one after another until she lost her voice completely. How had she lived for thirty years not knowing such a thing was possible and so necessary? Two days with Bay had completely ruined her for her cottage and cats.

      Mrs. Kelly’s sister had made raspberry fool often when Bay was a boy, apparently using the very same recipe. He licked the familiar tart and sweet concoction from Charlie’s soft white skin, savoring her shivers and his memories of innocence. He was no longer innocent, of course, which suited the occasion, for he was going to brand Charlie Fallon with his teeth and tongue. She would not think to brain him with brass candlesticks again, or run away, or steal from him. He intended to make her his slave to passion, and from her quaking and quick breaths, he was halfway there.

      He shut his insistent erection from his mind, concentrating on her pleasure, lapping the cream from each fruit-stained nipple, drawing her flesh into his mouth, suckling. Her eyes were closed, but her lips were in their telltale position of transcendence. Little rabbit. He smoothed his hand down her body, combing his fingers through her springy black curls. The contrast between her midnight hair and pearl skin was totally erotic to him. She was a creature of extremes, going from governess to goddess. From rabbit to tigress. He spooned out more raspberry fool from the crystal bowl, coating her nether lips and her own berry within.

      And then he feasted. Her tang mixed with the taste of the dessert nearly unmanned him. He buried his nose in her fragrant curls, inhaling raspberries and her citrus perfume. His patient sampling of her swollen center was rewarded as she strained against her bonds, crying his name at each orgasmic jolt. This was the true torture, to keep her flying higher and higher until she begged him to stop. And he would not. Could not.

      When he was sure she had no more fight left in her, he cut the ropes, shedding his clothes before he disgraced himself like a schoolboy. She curled around him like a cat, every inch of her skin seeking his. His cock drove into her sweet heat and he kissed her, gifting her with her own essence. She shattered and he deepened the kiss, feeling that she was branding him now, making him a slave to her. He was plummeting, spinning, losing his bearings.

      But now she caught him. Ensnared him in her honeyed trap. Anchored him inside her, her legs wrapped around him, hips soaring up to complete the job he’d started. Control had shifted, and it was she who drove him in deeper, she who held him so tight. She who robbed his mind and rocked his body like the expert she was.

      Sex was supposed to be simple, elemental. But there was something about Charlie Fallon that complicated their coupling. She was everything he loathed—a manipulative woman—yet he couldn’t get enough of her. The taste of her, with or without raspberry fool. The feel of her. The orange-y scent of her, which made him hungry to kiss her everywhere all over again.

      She was a thief. A liar. A whore. And right now, those words meant nothing at all.