Chapter Four

 

Tasha slipped on her shorts and the soft jersey she’d had since high school, glancing at herself in the mirror above the dresser. Her unconfined breasts strained against the worn fabric but she made no effort to slouch or conceal them. She was proud of her curves and the effect they had on men. She took in her wild curls and the heritage visible in her features. As her grandmother was fond of saying, she’d gotten all the best parts of the mix. A Puerto Rican-Irish goddess of color with green eyes and golden brown skin.

She was used to her body turning heads. On the street and at the club, men saw her and thought about sex. Jeremy called it the “Jessica Rabbit Effect”. He said it was her proportions. Large breasts and a round backside combined with a narrow waist was—artistically speaking—the golden ratio of brick-house-hotness.

Tasha smiled. Of course, Jeremy wasn’t particularly objective and, according to all the latest fashion magazines, he was also completely wrong. Bigger behinds were back in style this season, but that wouldn’t last and she couldn’t care less. Whatever the trend, she was who she was, without diet or artifice. What you couldn’t change, you had to embrace. Getting people to pay attention to her other qualities—especially after they learned about her extra-curricular activities at the club—was always the real challenge.

Those normal preconceptions would help with her upcoming role. Burke would see exactly what he needed to—that she was nothing like the women Senator Finn took to grand openings or museum fundraisers. The pale, slender waifs who ran mega-charities or opened hospitals in impoverished villages in Africa. The actresses with porcelain skin who had three degrees and a shelf full of awards and still managed to donate half their salaries to helping the homeless relocate to energy efficient, vegan-approved housing that was completely recyclable.

She made a face at her reflection when she felt a prickle of jealousy. How could she blame him for going out with women like that? She would date most of them if they asked.

Still, there was never a whisper of indecent behavior in Stephen’s personal life. He was always the perfect gentleman and he was never seen with the same woman twice. It made it hard for the gossips to link him with anyone, which Tasha thought was probably the point. More frustratingly for them, Stephen went to several events without any date at all or with a few members of his family in tow. And she only knew that because it was always a topic of conversation on the local news.

Why was Senator Finn still single?

In the same magazine that had listed him as one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, an article pondering his sexuality and the reason for his lack of partner had also been front and center. He’d been elected to two consecutive terms in landslide victories, but there was still a petition floating around town about his needing to get married and start a family to truly represent his constituent’s values. They didn’t seem to care whether he married a man or a woman, as long as he settled down.

Stephen always smiled during interviews when questions about his personal life came up. His stock answer was, “My father gave me three good pieces of advice—never make a decision until I have all the facts, never ask someone to do something I’m not willing to do myself, and make sure to marry the right one the first time so I don’t have to do it again.”

It was a good answer. A charming answer. But it didn’t satisfy everyone.

Tasha shook her head. Her mind was wandering to a place she had no desire to go. This was not the night to think about Stephen getting married to someone who’d be an asset to his goals for higher office. This was the night she was going to get him to mentally and sexually unwind enough to be ready for their masquerade.

For four days she would be the one on his arm and in his bed. She didn’t want to consider why that pleased her so damn much, but she couldn’t deny that it did.

 

 

She found him downstairs setting two aluminum platters on hot pads in the center of the dining table. The scene was so domestic the butterflies in her stomach came back with a vengeance.

“That smells delicious.”

Stephen glanced up with a pleased smile, as if he’d cooked it himself. “It’s the lasagna from Ruby’s.”

Her mouth watered. “I love Ruby’s and I’m in a serious long-term relationship with her three-cheese lasagna. I don’t know what she does that makes it taste so good. I’ve been begging for the recipe for years.”

“I know,” he said, pulling off the steamed paper lids. “I remember you and Owen discussing it at length around Christmas. You both share an unhealthy obsession with Italian cuisine.”

She set her purse on a chair and leaned her hands on the table to inhale the aroma of perfection. “Your brother likes pizza. You can’t compare Ruby’s lasagna to his meat lover’s special delivery. That’s blasphemy. I’ll forgive you this once, but only because you’ve poured the wine. Where are your plates?”

He pointed her in the right direction and she got two plates down from the top shelf, turning in time to see him staring at her ass. Tasha looked down to hide her smile. “Forks?”

“I’ve got them.”

They sat down at the large, formal table and dug into the cheesy, thick goodness. Tasha moaned with her first bite. “Sweet Mary on a gondola, this is heaven.”

She swallowed and lifted her lashes to look over at Stephen. His fork hovered close to his mouth, paused as he watched her eat. His eyes were dark blue, his expression hard with desire.

Tasha licked her lips. “Take a bite, Stephen.”

When he obeyed, parting his lips and closing them over his fork, her thighs squeezed together under the table. A low sound of pleasure escaped his throat and she shifted in her seat, nodding encouragingly. “Tastes good, doesn’t it?”

Stephen slowly pulled the fork out of his mouth, lowering it to the plate to cut off another bite-sized piece. “You were right. This is the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”

She did the same. “It’s one of the top four reasons mouths were invented.”

His lips tilted, a trace of sauce shimmering on the lower one, begging for her tongue. “What are the other three?”

“If you don’t know by now I’m not going to tell you.” She took another bite, the rich taste only enhancing her arousal. So many scenarios were playing out in her mind—she loved food, baked for a living, but she’d never considered it a fetish of hers until now.

She wanted to climb onto the table and serve herself to him. Wanted Stephen to cover her in Ruby’s secret sauce and lick it from her thighs. Wanted to hear him moan when she gave him his dessert.

It’s just dinner.

The last time they had dinner alone, they’d been in a Las Vegas hotel room after a four-hour sexual triathlon. The room service hadn’t been anything to write home about, but they’d needed the energy for one more round before the car came to take her to the airport.

He’d only been a lawyer then, another face in the convention crowd, and there’d been no worries about reporters staking out his hotel room. There was no way they could get away with something like that now.

Sex and Stephen. Stephen and sex. She couldn’t think about one without the other. Old habits were hard to break.

Tasha lifted her feet and placed them on his lap as he took another bite. He was hard too. He choked and she bit her lip to hold in her hum of satisfaction at finding him as aroused as she was.

Stephen reached for his glass of wine and took a fortifying sip. “Comfortable, Natasha?”

“Not at all.” She swiped the plate with her finger and lifted it to her mouth, letting him watch as she sucked it clean. His jaw clenched. “Neither are you. And that’s a problem we need to fix before we get to Burke’s.”

“Desire is a problem? He’ll expect us to want each other.”

She nodded slowly. “I know. But people in the kind of relationship you want him to think we have? Their desire reads as a sizzling simmer instead of a constant frustrated boil. They know each other’s moods and habits. They’ve been naked with each other, or nearly naked, when sex was not immediately involved. They talk. Sometimes at the same time, which is annoying, but realistic when you know someone well enough.”

“I know you, Natasha. Better than you think. And we’re talking right now.”

“You and I have talked more today than we have since college.” There was no way for him to deny it.

He lifted his napkin to his mouth and adjusted himself in his chair so her feet weren’t pressed against his erection. “There’s an argument to be made that it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part, but now is not the time. Your point is valid.”

She pretended shock. “Are you actually admitting that I’m right?”

It was his turn to nod. “I’m also assuming you have a solution in mind. Other than the obvious.”

“The obvious being sex to take the edge off?”

“Yes.”

“The obvious can wait another hour or two.” She stretched her legs and wiggled her toes against him, making him shudder. “Do you trust me, Stephen Finn?”

He pinned her with that look that never failed to make her melt. “I always have.”

“Good. Finish your dinner. We’ll be hard at work all night.”

 

***

 

“Damn it, Natasha, stop moving.”

The frustration in Stephen’s voice matched her own. But she was the masochist who’d started this, and there was a method to her madness. “I’m just getting comfortable, Senator. That’s why we’re here.”

After dinner they’d dealt with the dishes and then she’d brought him into the living room. She’d had him take off his button-down shirt, leaving him in a white undershirt that should not have been sexy and the snug khakis she wanted to see him out of. The muscles in his arms stood out in the short sleeves, and the clinging material did nothing to conceal his washboard abs.

Directing him to the couch, she’d stood in front of him and stripped off her shorts. When she was in nothing but her jersey and a thong, she’d shocked him by telling him he was not allowed to touch her while she laid herself across his lap with her bare cheeks in full view.

He didn’t like that command at all.

They were going to have sex. They both knew they were going to have sex. The fact that they hadn’t already was a miracle. But whenever they came together, everything else tended to disappear in their mad rush to climax, and tonight they had something to accomplish. The getting-to-know-you phase, she’d called it—becoming comfortable around each other’s bodies while sharing vital tidbits that people in a relationship would know. For this part of the exercise, she’d handed him her purse and taken his wallet, her body draped over his strong thighs in the perfect position for a spanking.

Sometimes she had bad ideas.

Tasha forced herself to focus on his driver’s license. “Thirty-eight-years old and you’ve already served as a state senator for four years and been on the cover of multiple magazines. You’ve peaked before forty. And I’m not sure you’re human. No one takes a good picture at the DMV.”

His erection was pressing insistently against her hip, making her ache. She moved against him. Just one more time. Just to ease the need inside her.

Stephen growled. “I can’t touch you but you can do that? And what is my wallet going to tell you that you don’t already know?”

“Trust me. I’m gathering vital information. For example, everything in here is organized. As organized as this place you claim to live in. Even your walking-around money looks like you ironed it, which is a little frightening, but I suppose we can get away with the opposites attract story for the week. I could pretend to have an irresistible attraction to neat freaks and obsessive-compulsives.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being organized,” Stephen grumbled. “It helps me think.”

“You know what helps me think? Baked goods and orgasms. Give me a chocolate chip acai berry muffin and a few hardcore climaxes and there isn’t a problem in the world I can’t sort out.” She smiled when she heard his huff of laughter. “Speaking of treats, you’ve got enough holes punched in this Smoothie Palace card that I know you’re a regular. Based on your mother’s stocked pantry back in high school, I’d bet there’s peanut butter involved. Unless that was a Seamus addiction.”

“Peanut butter and banana,” he replied.

“I knew it. I’m a big fan of the strawberry and kale combo, if you were wondering. It’s delicious and I don’t have to lie when my grandmother asks me if I’m eating my vegetables.” She moved against him again. “What’s my purse telling you?”

“That you live out of it and you are not organized. There’s a packaged toothbrush, condoms, an energy bar. Several wadded-up bits of paper with phone numbers, an orange, a clean pair of underwear, lip gloss and a water bottle. Are you on the run from the law, ready to hitchhike at a moment’s notice? Is there a tent in here too?”

She chuckled softly. “It’s my club kit. I was there last night and I haven’t had time to clean out my purse. I also have Neosporin and lube, and somewhere at the bottom I’m pretty sure there’s a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.”

The large leather purse shifted on her thighs. “There is. Jesus, what do you do there that requires this kind of supply list?”

She took a breath. He’d known for a long time that she was into kink—something she could thank Owen for via a thoughtless comment overheard at a family gathering years ago. Stephen rarely asked her about it and she hadn’t volunteered much information. But these were basic details it wouldn’t hurt for him to know. “The adrenaline rush, the energy that playing a scene involves, usually has after-effects, both physical and emotional. In a bottom it’s called subdrop, but Doms can experience it too. The water helps with dehydration, the bar with the inevitable sugar crash, and the ointment is for any deep cuts or welts caused by any number of fun toys. The handcuffs are just always nice to have on hand. You never know when you might need them.”

Stephen was silent until she was finished. “And the condoms? Do you need them? Do you always have sex with people you…play a scene with?”

His hot hand had dropped to her thigh and she licked her lips. He wasn’t supposed to be doing that. “Actually, I don’t. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?”

It was like being in a confessional, unable to see his face as she answered his questions honestly. Forgive me, Stephen, for I have sinned…

“I used to. It’s a rush, that kind of intimacy and power exchange. If you like it and your partner knows what they’re doing, it’s a high unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Everything you’ve been holding in and pushing down comes flooding out in a wave of release, leaving you empty and completely satisfied at the same time. And whoever gave you that release, that perfect mix of pain and pleasure, becomes the focus of all that extra energy. You can easily mistake it for genuine attraction, even love, until you learn to recognize the difference.”

His hand flexed. “And you know the difference now?”

“I was a quick study.” She wasn’t going to tell him that she was one of the few who’d always known. She would never make any apologies for how she chose to express herself, but while she’d received several declarations of love from her play partners, she’d known it wasn’t the real thing. She’d felt the real thing. “Quicker than most. Which is one of the reasons why when I top now, it’s usually to instruct or just for enjoyment with someone who knows the score. It’s also usually with a woman.”

His cock jerked. Was he imagining her with a woman? “When you say top, you mean…”

“When I’m in charge, I hold the whip or the paddle. I tease and torment my partner until they cry Uncle or I give them the release they need.”

“You’re not doing that to me.”

She smiled, unable to picture him on his knees for anyone. “No, I’m not. You lucked out when you cast me, honey. I’m what’s called a switch. I like being on the receiving end too, though that depends on who the top is. It takes talent to tempt me to let go of my control.”

“Did Porter have talent?”

Her lips parted in surprise. He was asking about Jeremy? “You mean before he was in a monogamous relationship with your brother? No. What we did was an entirely different type of kink. It was largely voyeuristic for me. Watching can be a huge turn on for a lot of people.”

“I never thought you’d be one of them.”

“I am more of a director than an audience member.”

“You did more than direct. Owen’s talked about a few of those threesomes.”

“I don’t know how he could have. He only saw the one.”

“It left an impression,” Stephen grumbled. “But even before that, my brother had penis envy. He always said Jeremy’s big…his size was the reason he couldn’t get a date with you.”

“He couldn’t get a date with me because he was Owen. And I think we know now he was more interested than envious.” He was also Stephen’s brother. “You always knew about Jeremy, Stephen. I never kept it from you.”

“You also never explained why.”

No she hadn’t. Not everyone got her relationship with Jeremy Porter. In fact, most people didn’t. But she didn’t care what most people thought. Only Stephen. “We have a lot of shared history and a lot in common.” Both basically alone. Both wanting someone we couldn’t have. Something that wasn’t ours. “We gave each other comfort and distraction. We had fun because we could be ourselves and we were a safe place to land. But it’s been over for a while. Now he finally has what he always wanted, who he always wanted. And I couldn’t be happier for him.”

If, late at night when she couldn’t force herself to sleep, she also felt a twinge or two of jealousy that he’d found what she couldn’t, no one ever had to know.

His palm was cupping one cheek of her ass now. She should remind him that he wasn’t following the rules, but God, his hand felt good. Hot. Strong.

“Were you in love with him?”

Why would he care? “Yes, I love him madly, but not like that. Neither one of us ever felt like that about the other.”

“Then why risk your friendship for se—”

“No.” She bit her cheek, desperate to regain control. She shifted sensually against him for good measure. “We’re changing the subject now. It’s my turn to pry into your sex life and hear your confessions. Have you ever done anything with one of your women that you would consider kinky? If I know, it can help me tailor my performance as your love slave to suit you.”

His fingertips traced her curves. “Is sex in a public parking lot considered kinky? Or on my knees in the backyard gazebo where my parents renewed their vows only hours before? Would going through a woman’s personal things while she’s writhing on top of me with her ass bare and tempting me to take a bite be considered a fetish?”

“Biting is a thing,” she moaned as he squeezed the flesh under his hand. She wanted him to bite her. “But I don’t mean with me. With me it was the possibility of getting caught that always turned you on. I mean your other women.”

“It was never about getting caught.” He sounded distracted. Frustrated. “And no.”

“No, you’ve never done anything kinky with other women? Or no, you’re not going to tell me about it?”

“Yes.”

That didn’t seem fair, but she already knew the answer from years of experience. He may not know the buzzwords or have any toys, but when he loosened his tie and let himself go, she felt something from him. Something under the surface. A natural dominant waiting to come out and play. She just had to find a way to bring it out.

The devil inside made her press for a reaction. “You read as pure vanilla, but with a little guidance you could be one hell of a Dom. Even without it I think you have good instincts. If someone asks we can go with primal. It wouldn’t be too far off the mark and it doesn’t require any training with whips or ropes.”

“What does it require?”

“Just some good, old-fashioned alpha male aggression. I can see you getting off on pressing a woman down on the ground, holding her hands above her head or behind her back so she couldn’t distract you while you made her scream. You’d enjoy ripping off her clothes, grabbing a handful of hair at the base of her neck and yanking until she submitted to your demands.”

He swore and his grip on her flesh tightened deliciously. She loved his reaction, and the images her words had drawn in her own mind were arousing. Graphic. “Mmm. I can also tell the thought of spanking me has crossed your mind. Before you ask, I’m definitely up for it. You could spank my pussy and make me come like that. We can put it on the party performance list.”

“You want me to spank you?” His voice was so deep she had a hard time hearing him. “In front of people?”

“I’m a bad girl, Stephen. Everyone knows that and a few people at the party will know me. Which means they’ll be as surprised as I was to find out we’re an item. They wouldn’t believe you were really my lover if you didn’t know how to keep me satisfied. Keep me in line.”

His fingers were digging into her skin now, and she knew her words had hit their target. “Which part turned you on, Senator? The idea of spanking me or the thought of making me come in front of an audience?”

“Both. All of it. So much it should be disturbing,” he growled.

She was right there with him. “New plan. We’ll just have to find out the fun way what your turn-ons and limits are.”

“I’m close to my limit right now, Natasha Kathleen.”

His low warning went straight to her sex, made her edgy, craving the release only he could give her. “This is for a good cause, remember? Truth, justice and the American way?”

His fingers were underneath the slender strap of her thong and slipping through the wet lips of her sex before she could say another word. Her thighs tightened on his hand and she gasped. “What are you doing?’

“Spread your legs for the cause,” he ordered gruffly. “Or no more questions.”

Was he turning this around on her? She did as he said, moaning when he slid one thick finger inside. Oh damn, that felt good.

Wait, questions. She needed to ask him more questions. “When was the last time you had a woman spend the night here?”

“Two years ago,” he muttered. “She showed up on my doorstep, rode me like I was a carnival attraction and then slipped away while I was sleeping.”

She lifted her hips to meet his hand, her concentration fading fast. She was the last woman he’d had in his bed? It had been six months since he kissed her. Longer since he touched her like this. Not since last Christmas.

Maybe he met his other women at discreet hotels or in the bathroom stalls at the capitol building. There was no way to know. Just like there was no way for him to know how long it had been for her.

Despite her regular weekends at the club, she hadn’t had sex with anyone in more than seven months—not since the party where Owen had walked in on her, Jeremy and one of the coworkers from her annual catering gig for the LGBT parade brigade. That little blond could make a mean chutney, but she hadn’t realized until it was too late that he was a screamer…and that she hadn’t locked the door. Other than that? She didn’t want to think about how long it had been since she’d had sex with someone she wanted as much as she wanted Stephen.

Last Christmas.

She’d like to forget everything else and just enjoy what he was doing to her, but their mission was why she was here. He’d asked for her help. She had to remember that. Even when he was touching her like this. 

“One more dating question,” she groaned. “Is there anyone I would be jealous of as your lover? Someone I should know about if her name is mentioned to test me?”

Stephen added a second finger to the first and she cried out in surprise at the stretch.

“Senator Lark has been pushing his daughter Veronica in my direction.” He spoke softly, his voice deep and husky with need as he focused on exploring her. “Those two have been showing up for photo ops everywhere I go and giving coy hints about a secret romance in interviews. God, you feel like hot silk on my fingers. Squeeze them again.”

Tasha pressed her forehead into the couch cushions. “We shouldn’t do this here. Brady should be back soon and we need to plan our—Stephen!”

He moved out from under her and got to his feet. When she looked up she could see his erection tenting his khaki pants. “I thought this was the plan. You’re supposed to be mine now, aren’t you? Someone I can have whenever I want.”

Despite his words, he grabbed her purse and then her wrist, pulling her roughly to her feet. “We’ll finish this where we won’t be disturbed.”