"The cross," he said. "You wanted to try it. But not where everyone could see you."
I gasp as a wave of red hot desire crashes over me, making me so wet I feel the slickness on my thighs. And it's not just the thought of being bound like that, teased like that. It's the realization that he remembered--and that he took the time to bring me this experience in a way that stayed inside my comfort zone.
"Riley..."
He presses a finger over my lips, then leads me to the glass door. It takes some machinations, but soon I'm standing with my arms and legs spread, as if forming an X. He has soft cuffs on my ankles and wrists and they are each attached to the hooks with a mechanism that he assures me provides for a quick release. My back is to the glass, and the drapes are open. And though I really, really don't think anyone is looking, some small part of me has to acknowledge that the possibility adds to the excitement.
When he comes forward, he has a single ostrich feather in his hand. "Close your eyes," he orders, and when I comply, he strokes my body with the feather, paying special attention to my nipples, my neck, my inner thighs, and my sex.
The teasing is merciless, the sensations as wild as he is relentless, and without thinking about it, I realize that I'm gyrating in my bindings, my hips moving as if that will provide some release.
"Christ, that's hot, baby. Do you know what you're doing to me?"
A memory rolls over me. The first time I saw him in the FBI office when I'd come to visit my dad. My certainty that one day he'd be mine. And then later--the morning of that horrible day--when he'd asked me out with those words. Tasha, he'd said. Do you know what you do to me?
I didn't then, but I do now. It's fire between us. It's heat and fire and life. It's passion.
And right now, it's driving me crazy.
When I hear the low thrum of the vibrator, I know it's about to get even crazier, and though I don't mean to, I actually whimper.
"You are so fucking sexy, Nat," he says, his palm caressing my ass. And before I even realize I've spoken, I say, "Call me Tasha."
His hand stills. "Are you sure?"
"It's who I am," I say. "Please, Riley. Call me Tasha, and make me come."
"Tasha." My name is like a prayer. A curse. An incantation, and as if the name has conjured it, he brushes the vibrator lightly over my clit, playing me expertly until I'm bucking and begging, unable to truly escape this brutal, beautiful torment.
He doesn't, however, give me release. Just takes me to the edge and then pulls me back, so that by the time he releases me from the bindings and carries me to bed, I'm so wet, ready, and desperate that I don't even let him finish undressing. Instead, I take his hand and tug him onto the bed with me. Then I shove his jeans down just enough to free his beautiful cock, straddle him, and take him so fast and so deep that I not only forget my own name, I swear I glimpse heaven.
He clutches my hips, and I ride him hard, a second orgasm rolling through me when he comes hard and fast inside me. I cry out his name, then collapse, sated and satisfied, beside him.
"Dear God, Tasha." He's breathing hard, his voice raspy with passion. "You break me like no other woman."
I turn in his arms, my own breath ragged as I look deep into his eyes, wanting to see his soul. His secrets. "No," I say. "Not broken. I think we make each other whole."
Chapter Eleven
Matthew Holt frowned at the photos that Riley handed him. "Considering I spend half my life looking at casting photos, you'd think I'd be better with faces, but honestly, none of these look familiar. You say they were all at the club the night we went on the research visit?"
"They were. These are from that night's security feed."
"I'm sorry," Matthew said. He passed them back across his desk to Riley, accidentally shifting the placement of a framed photo in the process.
From where Riley was sitting, he could see that it was a group shot, and though he only got a quick glance, something about it set his senses tingling.
"Do you mind?" he asked, though the question was for form only. He already had the photo in his hand. Now that he was looking directly at it, though, nobody jumped out at him.
"Is something wrong?" Matthew asked.
"I'm not sure. There's something so..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Where was this taken?"
"A company picnic," Matthew told him. "The woman in white is my ex-wife, but it's one of the few photos I have of my whole staff." He frowned. "I keep thinking I should Photoshop her out of the image."
Riley didn't respond. He was too busy looking at the woman with long dark hair and full red lips. Familiar lips.
He passed the photo to Matthew. "Who is this?" he asked as he stood and crossed to the giant dry erase board that covered the far wall of Matthew's office.
"Joanna Stein," he said. "She's one of my assistants."
"She a member of the club?"
Matthew's eyes widened. "Not as far as I know, but she went a few times with me."
"Interesting extracurricular to share with an employee."
"We went out socially a few times," Matthew admitted. "But after a while, I thought better of it. Told her that I couldn't date someone on my staff. But honestly, that was just an excuse. The truth is we didn't connect. She was too..."
He trailed off, obviously searching for a word.
"What?"
"I'm not sure how to describe it. I just felt that she focused on me--on us--too quickly. That she'd be clingy, except that's not right either. I guess I just had a bad feeling. Why? Surely you don't think Joanna knows who's stalking Natasha."
"She knows all right," Riley said, using the dry erase marker to draw a small mole above Joanna's lip. Then he passed the image back to Matthew. "She is the stalker. And I think you're the reason."
"Me?"
"You went to the club with Tasha. She saw you. And now she's pissed that you have a new girlfriend."
"Dear God."
"Is she here today? Can you call her into your office?"
"Of course." He pressed the intercom button. "Lisa, can you ask Joanna to step into my office?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Holt. She's already left with your delivery."
"Delivery?" He met Riley's eyes. "What delivery?"
"The one for Mr. Tarpin. The additional research material for the erotic thriller. She's on her way to his office right now."
I'm sitting on the floor with the laptop on the coffee table in front of the window and three boxes' worth of backlogged filing spread out around me. I'm determined to get through all of this before Lyle comes back, mostly because once he
does return, all of this non-priority work will get pushed to the background.
But Lyle insists on keeping old call sheets, fan mail, reviews, articles, interviews, the whole nine yards. Some of it I can save directly into our digital filing system. But some of it--like the stuff in these boxes--has to be sorted and filed. Do I scan it? Or is it cool enough that years from now, Lyle might want the actual magazine? Like the first time he made the cover of People. That's a no-brainer. But what about the other two times? Scan or keep a hard copy?
I sit back, scowling, and am rescued from the whole decision-making conundrum by the chime on my phone that signals someone requesting access to the lobby and the elevator banks. I check the image on the app, then use the intercom feature to confirm that the arrival is the woman from Matthew Holt's office. Joanna, one of his assistants, had called earlier to say she wanted to run by some material for Lyle to review upon his return--a sheath of research material for the new project and a revised outline.
I'd mentioned the material in my morning call with Lyle, just to be sure that he didn't want me to have her send the stuff straight to him in Europe, but he'd said to go ahead and review it myself. "You're sure it's Joanna?"
"Pretty sure, why?"
"The last time I was in, he'd mentioned that he was considering letting her go. He either changed his mind or I'm thinking about a different assistant."
I remember the conversation as I wait for the elevator to bring her up to the thirtieth floor. If she is the woman that Matthew's thinking about firing, I can't help but feel sorry for her. It would suck to be on the chopping block and not even know it.
Moments later, there's a soft knock, and I climb to my feet and open the door to reveal a woman with short dark hair and bright red lipstick. "Hey, you must be Joanna. I'm Natasha. Come on in."
"Thanks." She glances around. "Great office."
I explain how it used to be Lyle's apartment. "Thus the awesome security."
"Yeah, I wish Matthew had that. It's a crazy world these days."
"Tell me about it," I say, though I don't elaborate. "Come on. I have a pot of coffee in the sitting area if you want some. Cream, sugar, these cool little chocolate stir sticks. It's my afternoon treat. Just ignore all the papers on the floor."
She follows me in, and I pour us both coffee while she explains what she brought over. "The BDSM research is really pretty interesting. We can go over it if you want."