Riley considered it a miracle that he didn’t blow his wad right then.

Over the years, he’d seen Natasha Black in everything from a bikini at a community picnic to a sequined gown at a charity ball. But this…

Christ almighty, his cock was as hard as steel and his balls were so tight that he had to call on all his strength not to pull her to him, kiss her senseless, then fuck her hard over the back of the living room couch, which had the advantage of being the nearest piece of furniture he could see.

Had he really asked her if she was ready?

Ready?

He’d lost all perspective as to what that word meant because he’d never been more ready in his life.

He saw her swallow, then look up into his eyes. The heat he saw reflected there shot straight to his already painfully hard cock, but it was the fear and uncertainty that made him step cautiously over the threshold.

“Natasha?” he pressed, realizing she hadn’t answered his question. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, then licked her lips, the sight of that pretty pink tongue sending his mind spinning off into fantasies of her kneeling in front of him in nothing but a thong and that seriously hot bustier as he fisted her hair and fucked her mouth hard and fast, those perfect lips stroking his shaft as he thrust deeper and deeper until he finally exploded, and she sucked and swallowed every last drop.

He reached out for the doorjamb, steadying himself against the fast and furious intensity of that unexpected image.

Drawing in a deep breath, he forced himself to focus. He wouldn’t go so far as to call himself a Dom, though where sex was concerned, he couldn’t deny that he was all about control. Still, he’d been in more than his share of clubs and had been undercover as a Dom on more than one occasion. He knew how to give pleasure, and he knew how to use pain, and he got off on manipulating both. Most of all, he knew how to subjugate his own needs to that of his sub, and how to push her just to the edge of her comfort zone, but never over.

Right now, Natasha was very clearly at the edge of her comfort zone. And Riley needed to tell his own damn libido to chill the fuck out. This wasn’t about the two of them; this had nothing to do with the way he craved her. Hell, he didn’t even know if she would find pleasure in submitting. Damn, though, he wanted to find out. Just the thought made him weak with desire.

But he had to shut that down. This wasn’t about his need for control or her submission. On the contrary, this trip to The Firehouse was an act—hell, it was an elaborate scene—and he needed to make sure that she understood the rules and that they both understood the boundaries.

He stepped over the threshold, and she immediately moved back, giving him room to enter.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t respond.

He hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up so she was forced to look at him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

A tiny smile danced on her lips. “You’re what makes me the most nervous.”

Her words were barely a whisper, and he had to concentrate to hear them. But hear them he did, and though he wished those words gave him hope, all they did was fill him with regret.

He drew a breath, then released it slowly. “What I’m about to say should be part of a longer conversation. There should be back and forth and discussion. There should be conversation and revelation. But we don’t have time for that. The Firehouse works on reservations, and if we miss ours, we don’t go tonight. So I’m just going to say this, and you think about it, and we’ll talk later, okay?”

Because he knew Tasha, he expected an argument. So he was pretty damn surprised when all she did was nod.

“I get that I make you nervous,” he said, “especially since we’re about to walk into a sex club. More than that, I know why. And it’s not because I want you—although you know damn well that I do. Hell, I remember the first time I saw you as a woman, and not just as Eddie’s daughter. And it wasn’t when you wore those short skirts or flirted with the other guys—and don’t think I didn’t know you were interested in me—it was when you had your guard down. When you’d come to the hospital after a mission to wait with us for news when someone had been hurt. Or when you’d bring bagels during an all-night briefing, then fall asleep in the reception area with an open paperback beside you because you wanted to see your dad one more time before he went into the field.”

He saw the tears well in her eyes, but he didn’t even pause.

“I asked you out the morning of that raid—and, yeah, I know you remember it. And we were both a wreck after your father died. You turned me down three days later. You came to my apartment, told me not to say a word, and then said that you didn’t think we should ever try to see each other. That it hurt too much.”

A tear snaked down her cheek. “Riley—”

“No.” The word was hard. A command. “Let me finish.”

“Do you know why I call you Tasha?” he asked, then continued before she could answer. “It’s not because he did. Or not exactly. It’s because you remind me of him. Loyal and strong and caring. It’s because I admire you, and I always have. I always will.” He drew in a breath. “But I also understand you, and I respect you. I’ve stayed away. I haven’t pushed—not too much, anyway. And when I ended up consulting for Lyle, I never breathed a word to him about our history.”

He exhaled, then dragged his fingers through his hair. “The point is that even though we’re going to a sex club, I know that whatever show we end up putting on isn’t real. I want you, Natasha, make no mistake. But I won’t ever push you. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her lips pressed so tight together her mouth was little more than a thin slash of red lipstick.

“Did you know that in the BDSM world, it’s always the sub that holds the power?”

Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head.

“It’s true. Just like us. Just like now. We’re going in because we have to. Because I want you safe, and we’re going to figure out who’s harassing you. But ultimately all of this is your call, sweetheart. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“And anything that does happen,” she began, her voice still soft. “It’s all for show? To draw out my stalker?”

“Yes,” he said, the word holding the weight of regret, making him truly realize how much he craved reality over fantasy, and driving home just how much this assignment was going to hurt.

And in that moment he knew only one thing for certain. The second this was all wrapped up, he was getting on a plane and getting the hell away from Natasha, his memories, and this goddamn city.

 

* * * *

 

Riley used Lyle’s car service to take them to The Firehouse. Not only did he not want to deal with parking in downtown Los Angeles, but he also didn’t want the road stealing his attention from Natasha. She’d admitted to being nervous because of him, but he was certain it ran much deeper. They were trying to flush out a stalker, after all. She’d be foolish not to be at least a little scared. He got that. And, dammit, he was making it his first priority to make sure she was as comfortable as possible.

“I thought it was interesting that the club’s built inside an actual old fire station,” she said as the car pulled to a halt in front of the old two-story building tucked in between what now served as low-rent office space on the edge of downtown.

“It makes for a nice big space,” Riley said, though he knew she didn’t need a reply. She was simply making conversation as she tried to get a handle on her nerves.

“You’ve never been here before?” she asked, a question to which, once again, she already knew the answer.

“No, you’ve got the advantage on me,” he said with a gentle smile. He took her hand, ridiculously happy when she not only didn’t pull away but instead twined her fingers with his. “But I did read up a bit on the place.” He’d found some descriptions of the layout and the various levels of membership. And when he’d dug deeper, he’d recognized a few of the owners’ names. A few discreet calls later, and he’d learned that Jared Johns was a member. Considering Jared’s connections to both the BDSM community and McKay-Taggart, if Riley needed to get any information about the membership at The Firehouse, he knew who to call.

He tilted his head to look at her. “Ready?”

She nodded.

“Lift up your hair.”

“Why?”

He only lifted a brow, signaling that even though they might not be inside the club yet, the time to remember their roles had arrived. To his relief, she understood and lifted her long, thick ponytail. Once her neck was exposed, he reached into a satchel he’d left on the floorboards and pulled out a velvet bag. From that, he removed a stunning pounded-silver submissive collar, a single copper ring providing the only hint of color.

Her eyes went wide, and he tensed, mentally readying himself to deflect her protest. Instead, he only heard her slow exhalation of breath.

“That’s stunning. Is it…” She trailed off, then licked her lips. “It’s a collar, right?”

“It will mark you as mine,” he said. “I’m going to put it on you now.”

He didn’t ask permission, but neither did she protest. On the contrary, she held the ponytail higher and leaned forward as he latched the clasp in the back.

When he leaned back and saw her, a dark goddess with a ring of starfire at her neck, he seriously considered raising the privacy screen to block the driver’s view, peeling her out of those pants, and fucking her hard and fast. Just a little appetizer before the main event.

But that, of course, wasn’t happening.

Instead, he drew in a breath and reached for the door. “Ready?”

When she didn’t answer, he looked back, expecting her to be focused on the façade just beyond their window. But she wasn’t. Her attention wasn’t on the club, but on him. And when he thought about it, he knew why. She’d seen the inside of the club already. It wasn’t a mystery.

But she’d never seen him in that environment. Hell, collaring her had probably only added to her confusion.

“Trust me,” he said, the words both gentle and commanding.

He expected her acquiescence—that was the game, after all. What he hadn’t expected was the simple truth that colored her voice when she finally spoke.

“I do,” she said, the obedience and submission in those two simple words positively slaying him.

That was when he knew the truth. This woman had him by the balls.

More than that, she always had.