She released him with a ball-tauteningpop.
“Practice makes perfect,” she said.
Her demure reply was undoubtedly designed to make him wild. And it worked.
“In that case.”
Clenching his hand in her hair, he drove deeper and deeper, watching her face for any discomfort. He saw only a loving acceptance that made his heart thud as if he’d been running for miles. Running his entire life…to find this.
This woman, his love. His mate.
Feeling the sensual clinch of her throat, he grunted with bliss. She made a gagging sound but kept sucking. Her eyes, tearing with effort, beseeched him to take her gift. Mesmerized, he lost himself in his wife’s sweet, wanton generosity. Her tongue teased a groove that made his hips buck. Crazed for her, he gripped her head and fucked her lovely mouth. When her lips kissed his stones, he knew he was done for.
“Love, I have to pull out—Christ,” he bit out.
Her reply had been to shift her hands from his thighs to his arse. Her fingers dug into the flexing muscles of his buttocks, urging him on. Giving him permission to do what he’d never done before. With a howl of need, he let go. White-hot ecstasy forked through him as he gave himself over to her keeping. Shuddering, he spilled over and again, her soft gurgles vibrating against his pulsing flesh. In his goddamned soul.
He sprawled onto the bench, pulling Fiona onto his lap.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said when he could speak again. “You are bloody magnificent.”
“You’re welcome, but this is just my second go.” Her smile was saucy, and she looked adorably pleased with herself. “Wait until I really get the hang of it.”
Thirty-Four
The next morning, Fiona, Livy, and Pippa watched from the viewing hole as Charlie led their former client into her study.
“Thank you for coming today, Mrs. Fisher,” Charlie said.
“As your note said the matter was urgent, I made the time.” Mrs. Fisher swept into the office, a vision of female authority in a cerise pelisse and walking dress with black frogging. A matching chapeau perched at a rakish angle atop her ash-blonde curls. “I haven’t long, however. I have a meeting at the office.”
“I shall cut to the chase.” Charlie waved the other to a divan, taking the adjacent chair. “I wish to ask you about a man named Michael Wilkes.”
Fi sensed Mrs. Fisher’s formidable self-control at play as the lady regarded Charlie. The lines bracketing her mouth were her only sign of distress.
“Why?” Mrs. Fisher asked bluntly.
“I am assisting a mother to find her missing daughter. I believe Wilkes is involved—that he is abusing the young woman and using her for nefarious purposes.” Charlie was equally direct. “In my search for Wilkes, I have uncovered clues that suggest he was the man you were addressing in the letters we retrieved from Count von Essen.”
“Dreadful what happened to von Essen.” Mrs. Fisher’s mouth formed a thin slash. “Even if he was a blackmailing bastard.”
“My sentiments exactly. Now back to my request. Anything you can tell us about Wilkes may help us find our client’s daughter.”
Mrs. Fisher studied Charlie. “If I tell you what I know, do I have your assurance of anonymity? Your word of honor that my name will not be involved in any way?”
“You do,” Charlie said gravely. “You will also have my gratitude and that of a very worried mama.”
After a pause, Mrs. Fisher gave a brisk nod. “You are correct in that Michael Wilkes was the man I had an affair with. It was a foolish decision on my part, and one I have come to regret. In my defense, I can only say that I was lonely after my husband’s death…lonely, in truth, for a long time before that. My marriage had been a practical but not passionate union, and there was a part of me that had always longed for something more. Which made me ripe for the plucking where Wilkes was concerned.”
“How did you meet him?” Charlie asked.
“He was an employee at the shop. A junior baker,” Mrs. Fisher said tightly. “He was charming, seductive, and over twenty years my junior. I had never met anyone like him. He had a way of making me feel special and desirable, neither of which I had felt before. I fell under his thrall. I thought I was in love for the first time but, in retrospect, what I felt was…”
“Physical in nature?” Charlie’s tone held no judgement.
“Precisely.” Mrs. Fisher folded her gloved hands on her lap. “Strange, isn’t it, how difficult that is to admit? I own a company that has become a household name. I employ dozens and am about to receive the patronage of Her Majesty. Yet despite my success”—she shook her head bitterly—“when it comes to my own needs, I feel like an embarrassed child.”
“You are not alone. As women, we are taught to feel shame over the pleasure our bodies can give us. We are trained to be daughters and wives, roles convenient to men,” Charlie said matter-of-factly. “A passionate woman, one who embraces her own needs and power, represents a dangerous threat to the patriarchal establishment.”
