Dallas was on edge, and it didn’t have a damn thing to do with the fact that he’d just bugged Peter Crowley’s office while the man himself stood only five feet away, sipping scotch and ogling the woman on Dallas’s arm.

It didn’t even have anything to do with the fact that the woman, a sweet girl named Nina who just landed herself a role in Chicago, had noticed his stiff cock, assumed he was thinking naughty things about her, and promised to give him a blow job as soon as they found a quiet corner.

No, Dallas was on edge for one reason and one reason only—his sister had just sent another text message. And he was going out of his mind until he could get to his phone to read it.

He said it again, hard and harsh in his head. Sister. Because if this little game of hers led to its obvious conclusion, then they both needed to understand what they were getting into. All of it. No pretending like it wasn’t fucked up. Like law and society and all its stupid taboos didn’t exist.

Like their parents would look the other way.

He thought he was on edge now? He was the picture of calm and cool compared to what he would be if the tabloids got wind of the dark and dirty Sykes family secrets.

And the real hell of it was that right then, right there, he didn’t fucking care. There wasn’t any room in his head to care. It was too full of her. Too full of Jane and her delicious mind fuck.

He was seated in one of the guest chairs in front of Crowley’s desk. His date, Nina, was in his lap, her hand lightly stroking his cock. And, just like Jane had predicted, he was imagining that it was her.

He knew he shouldn’t look right now. Jane’s name would be right there at the top of the text.

But goddammit, he had to see what she said, and so he reached into his jacket pocket, and then glanced at the phone as discreetly as he could while Peter Crowley continued to talk about the real estate market on the Upper East Side and Nina continued to stroke his cock.

I’m not wearing any underwear.

Oh, holy Christ.

He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and tried damn hard to gather himself. Then he tapped out a reply.

Prove it.

He’d told her he wasn’t going to play, but who was he kidding? He’d never block Jane’s texts. And he was anticipating them so much now that he got hard just from the chime that signaled her incoming messages.

She’d sent three yesterday. One had been a selfie of her in the shower, obviously done on a timer. The glass was steamed, so that he could make out nothing more than the outline of a woman’s form behind the fog.

He’d known it was her—and he’d jacked off to the image twice, then taken his own shower.

That evening, another text had arrived, this one a picture of the lingerie she was going to sleep in. A tiny babydoll gown and matching panties of the barely there variety. He’d imagined her in his bed wearing both—and then he’d imagined ripping them off her body and teasing her mercilessly, taking her just to the edge, but not letting her come. Not, at least, until he was ready.

The last text had done him in, and he’d gone to bed early simply so that he could fall asleep with his cock in his hand and his mind on Jane.

Changed my mind. Sleeping naked. Fingering myself. Thinking of you.

There’d been no image, but it didn’t matter. He could see the picture clear enough in his mind, and he’d thought about calling her and describing everything he wanted to do to her. Every reaction he wanted to elicit. Every pleasure he wanted to see played out on her face.

But that wasn’t the game, and he hadn’t called.

Now here he was at this party with a lovely and willing young woman who had made it perfectly clear that she would do whatever he wanted. Be whatever he wanted.

Except she couldn’t be Jane.

He exhaled and gave Nina’s hip a little squeeze, signaling her to stand. Maybe he couldn’t get his mind clear of Jane, but he could at least get his damn job done.

He’d placed the bug in the foyer as he’d arrived. Not hard. He’d just dropped a few coins, bent to pick them up, and attached the adhesive back of the small, round bug to the leg of the marble table right by the entrance.

The second one here in this office hadn’t been a challenge, either. He’d pressed it to the underside of one of the many shelves in the room, tucked into the back corner where it wouldn’t be noticed.

With luck, both would remain indefinitely. After all, with Noah’s tech, the bugs wouldn’t be found by any currently existing electronic surveillance sweep equipment.

The third was the trickiest, simply by virtue of the location. Liam had said either living room or bedroom, but Dallas knew damn well that the quality of the intel would be a thousand times better if he could get it in the bedroom. So that’s what he intended to do.

He stood, then curved his hand possessively around Nina’s rib cage so that his fingertips cupped her breasts.

“So if you’re looking for a place near the park . . .” Crowley was saying, still going on about the real estate market.

“You’ll be the first one I’ll call,” Dallas promised. So far the man had said nothing to suggest that he had any ties to Ortega’s criminal activities, and maybe he didn’t. But that was the point of the bugs. So that the team could listen and learn. And maybe, just maybe, kick-start an investigation that had stalled with Ortega’s death.

“In the meantime,” Dallas said as he pinched Nina’s nipple just enough to make her moan and Crowley’s jaw drop, “I was hoping for a little favor.”

“Of course.” Crowley’s eyes were glued to the girl’s tit. “Anything.”

“I’ve got a . . . cramp. My lovely friend Nina’s going to help me work it out. Perhaps we could continue this conversation in a few minutes?”

“I—what? Oh. Well, of course.” The man was stuttering, which didn’t surprise Dallas. It wasn’t the way polite business chats normally concluded.

“Pleasure talking with you,” he said as he released Nina, then moved across the room to shake Crowley’s hand. Then he turned and headed for the door. Just for show, he actually snapped his fingers as he said, “Nina, with me.”

A flicker of envy bloomed on Crowley’s face as Dallas strode out of the study, the petite brunette hurrying after him.

He’d gone only a few steps into the living area where the party was in full swing when he saw her.

Jane.

He actually stopped and stared, acknowledging to himself that she’d truly scored points with this move. He’d had no idea she was at the party, and yet there she was, talking with a woman who’d almost certainly given Dallas a blow job in the back of a limo a few years prior.

Jane had noticed him, too, and now she lifted her head, looked right at him, and smiled very slowly. A second later, she lifted her phone, tapped the screen, and winked at him.

An instant later, his phone chimed. He tugged it out of his suit pocket, opened the app, and just about lost his shit.

It was a photograph—and not the kind of photograph he would ever have expected of her, although after their moment on the beach, he wasn’t as surprised as he might have been.

It was a photograph of her pussy, slick and wet. And of her finger teasing her swollen clit.

It was dirty and hot, and the camera flash made it clear that this was the kind of shot that skewed toward porn, not art. And Jane had sent it. Jane.

He almost came right then.

And it was clear from her smile that she knew it.

He’d always assumed she’d be shocked by the way he liked to play. That the Jane who was willing to get fucked up with him lived only in his imagination.

But she’d turned his perception around, and he couldn’t deny that he liked this new reality.

He didn’t know how far they could go—how far he could go—but he was willing to find out. Because there was one thing Dallas knew better than anyone. And that was how to satisfy a woman in the most creative of ways.

And that’s when it clicked. When he knew what he wanted.

He’d continue to play her game all right. Hell, he looked forward to it. But from now on, he was going to be the one in charge.

You’re being a very bad girl.

I read Dallas’s text and smile to myself, feeling both powerful and turned on.

I am, I text back. But not as bad as I can be.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond, and in that time, I realize that he’s no longer standing by the door to Crowley’s office. I frown and look around for him, then see him heading down the far hall with his hand on his date’s ass.

I tell myself that’s part of the game, but that doesn’t stop the jealousy from curling inside me.

I excuse myself from the woman I’m chatting with and go to the bar, because right now I really could use a glass of wine. But my phone buzzes on the way, and I step into a quiet corner and eagerly retrieve it.

Did you see the woman I was with? Do you believe me when I tell you that I’m imagining she’s you?

I answer immediately: Yes.

I wish you were here.

Yes, I text. So do I.

Go into the bathroom. Pull up your skirt. Sit your bare ass on the toilet seat and touch yourself. Don’t stop until I tell you to. But don’t you dare come.

I read it twice. I’m pretty sure I moan both times.

I look around and see the powder room. I hurry that way, step inside, and lock the door behind me. I lean back against the door and breathe hard. I’m aroused—so damn aroused. My nipples are hard, my pussy is aching for release.

I want Dallas. Hell, I need him. His hands, his mouth.

But at the same time, I want this, too. This game that we’re playing—and the way that he’s shifting it around, telling me what to do now. I don’t want it to stop because I like the way it makes me feel. Like I’m falling into him. Like I’m surrendering to him, but it’s not scary and it doesn’t make me crazy. Instead, it makes me feel safe.

I do as he says. I put the toilet lid down, then pull up my skirt. I’m not wearing panties—he already knows that much—and the porcelain feels cool against my skin. I close my eyes and slide my finger over my clit, then bite my lip as a flurry of sparks shoot through me. Just a tease for now. Just a promise of better things to come.

I’m so wet that my inner thighs are slick, and I’m throbbing because I want him so much. I’m getting close, too, and so I slow down.

He told me not to come, and I’m determined to obey.

Finally my phone pings, and I use my free hand to answer it.

Are you there? Does it feel good?

I tap the microphone button so I can dictate my answers because he told me not to stop. “Yes,” I say, and my words print in the text box for him.

My phone rings, startling me. It’s him, of course, and I answer immediately.

“Dallas?”

“She’s sucking my cock right now.”

I suck in air, his low, sensual voice doing a number on me. But it’s his words that have me thrusting two fingers inside myself, my reaction shocking me—but there’s no denying my full-blown arousal.

“Sucking me off while she listens to me talk to another woman. While she knows I want to fuck another woman.”

I add another finger and writhe, closing my eyes as I do. Imagining it’s his cock.

“Does that turn you on? Knowing another woman’s mouth is on me? Knowing that I’m pretending she’s you?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Yes, what?”

“It turns me on.”

“Are you wet?”

“God, yes.”

“How can you tell?”

I lick my lips. “I’m finger-fucking myself,” I admit. “I’m imagining it’s you.”

“Good girl,” he says, and his voice is strangled. “I’m going to send you a video. This woman on my cock who should be you. I want you to ride your fingers while you watch. I want you to come.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t say, ‘okay,’ baby. You say, ‘Yes, sir.’ ”

I moan, even more aroused by this new order. “Yes, sir,” I say obediently. And then, “Dallas?” I cringe a little, because I’m so blatantly breaking this new rule, but the question is important.

“Yes?”

“The video won’t—I mean, you’re not going down on her, are you?”

“Do you want me to? Do you want me to eat her out and pretend it’s you?”

“No.” The word comes fast. Immediate.

“Good answer, baby.”

“Dallas, this really is fucked up.”

“Sweetheart, we’ve barely scratched the surface.”

I swallow, wondering just where this could lead.

“Watch the video,” he orders. “Get yourself off. Then go home. Wait for me in your living room. In the leather recliner. No reading. No watching television. And no touching yourself.” The command in his voice is like a caress. “I’ll come to you.”

“When?” I am breathless.

“Will you wait for me?”

“Yes,” I promise. I think right then I’d wait forever.

“Then does it matter?”

I say nothing.

“And, baby? Wear a silk robe. And don’t wear anything under it.”