Chapter Six
The next morning Tasha was up before dawn. She showered, threw on one of Stephen’s button-down shirts and then rummaged through the pantry until she found something she could bake. He didn’t have that much to choose from in the way of ingredients, but she was nothing if not creative. Soon the aroma of flaxseed and dried cherry muffins filled the sterile kitchen, soothing her while she waited for Stephen to wake up.
She might have worn the senator out.
Her lips tilted at the thought, but as soon as she moved again, she winced. Okay, so maybe it was the other way around. Stephen Finn was a perfectionist at everything he did—why would this be any exception?
He’d asked questions, studied her reactions and never stopped touching her. He’d discovered that she responded best with a firm hand around her neck—that cupping her nape soothed her, but gripping her throat made her his willing slave. Each revelation had made him determined to learn more. And he’d spent the whole night doing just that.
In a way, it was like a first time, which was crazy. They’d been having sex for sixteen years, though this string of stolen moments and desperate caresses that was their relationship was so sporadic that, if she did the math, it would only count as a month for a normal couple. Still, something about last night felt brand new—for both of them. It was as if they were each discovering a new lover. And in a way, she supposed they were.
Stephen was and had always been the best she’d ever had, and she knew he felt the same way about her. There was a reason they’d never completely cut those ties. What they made each other feel was simply too good to let go of.
But even she, the queen of no-strings, buddy-system sex, had to admit that there was something unsatisfying about fifteen minutes in closet heaven or six-hour layovers once every eight to thirteen months. There was only time to pounce, strip and try to work out months of frustration and need in whatever amount of time they had.
Minimal cuddling. No real conversations. Certainly no spanking or restraints.
Tasha stared absently at the timer and leaned her elbows on the counter, resting her chin in her hands. After last night, it seemed like a bum deal. Especially once she’d seen and experienced what Stephen was capable of when he took his time.
She might have created a monster.
Tasha buried her face in her hands and chuckled wryly, knowing she couldn’t take the credit. Books, he’d said—she should demand to see this library of kinky tutorials. No man was that talented without hands-on experience.
Experience he hadn’t gotten with her.
What he does and who he does it with is none of your business. Didn’t you tell him that years ago?
She had told him that, and she’d been so sure she meant it. Commitment was a sticky issue for her, one full of traps and pitfalls. She’d decided from an early age that pinning all your hopes and dreams on one person was the fastest way to unhappiness and heartbreak. At least, for the Rivera women.
Her mother had used the promise of marriage to keep her father close and agreeable, thinking he would abandon her after he got the citizenship he needed. Even after they’d had Tasha, she wouldn’t trust him to stay. Her jealousy and paranoia caused her gentle father constant frustration. She was even jealous of the time he spent with their daughter. When he was sent away she’d blamed him bitterly, believing her fears had finally come to pass. But Tasha had always known whose fault it was.
And then there was her grandmother in Puerto Rico, who’d been trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. A man who’d never apologized until she started the rumor that she’d cursed his package, ensuring he would have to move out of their San Juan neighborhood to find a mistress who was willing to risk it. Her abuela didn’t believe in divorce or infidelity, so she’d been forced to raise her children alone, spend her life alone, until her husband passed away when she was in her late sixties.
She had a boyfriend now, a cute, bent-over old man who brought her flowers and sat on her porch making her laugh. But it still made Tasha sad when she looked at old pictures of her beautiful, vibrant grandmother and imagined the life she’d never gotten to have.
Tasha wasn’t going to end up like that. She lived in the moment and gave in to temptation whenever possible. She’d explored her sexual desires, never skipped dessert and danced outside in the rain every chance she got. She was honest with her lovers, upfront and outspoken and determined to keep things light and fun. She wouldn’t have bitterness haunting her in her old age. She would live with no regrets.
No regrets?
Well, none she was willing to dwell on. Not today. All she needed to do now was bake her damn muffins and get ready for the big performance.
And remember that it was only a performance.
She heard footsteps on the stairs and took a deep breath, plastering a smile on her face.
Stephen stepped into her line of vision and then laughed softly, scratching his bare chest and stretching lazily. What was he doing down here in sweatpants and nothing else? Where were all his buttons? His tie? He wasn’t wearing anything to distract her from his damn abs. What kind of government employee had abs like that?
“Thank God. For a minute there I thought Mom had shown up for a surprise Sunday visit. She’s the only one who ever uses the kitchen.”
Tasha smiled at his words, remembering when Ellen would invite her over for brunch on Sundays after church. She’d always praised Tasha’s baking skills, and even shared a few old family recipes while the men watched sports in the living room. Tasha’s mother had been so busy looking for a man, she’d never even taken the time to learn how to fry an egg. “This is a new world, Senator. Men who can cook are sexy and get more votes.”
“More votes, huh? Then I’ll have to learn.” He came closer, watching her with an intensity that was unnerving at this hour. Or any hour. “You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep?”
Tasha straightened and pushed the timer around on the counter. “Someone was hogging the covers, and I couldn’t stop thinking about who might show up this week. I need to get my story straight for the people who know me.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re baking. It helps you think.”
She batted her lashes at him playfully. “He remembered. No wonder you’re the most sought-after bachelor in town. I’m glad our study session stuck with you.”
Before she realized what he was doing, Stephen had her pinned between his bare chest and the cool counter. “I remember everything, Natasha. Every sound you made, every time you came. Everything.”
His hands dropped beneath the shirt to caress her thighs. “I like this look on you, but I would rather have woken up with you naked and next to me. Under me. I wanted another lesson.”
Tasha moaned softly when one of his talented hands found its way inside her underwear and started to press and fondle her clit. “Stephen…”
“Baked goods and orgasms,” he reminded her. “You need both to clear your head. And in exchange for breakfast, I’m more than happy to help. Get down on the floor, Natasha. Hands and knees.”
Oh God. “My muffins are almost done.”
He stepped away from her. “On your knees.”
He was definitely in the right headspace for this vacation, she thought weakly as she dropped to all fours on the stained concrete floor. She heard a drawer open and close, and then cold steel brushed against her hip. An instant later, her underwear was clinging to one thigh, leaving everything it was supposed to be covering exposed to his gaze.
“Did you just ruin another article of clothing? With a steak knife?”
He set it above them on the counter and kneeled behind her, squeezing her hips. “Spread your legs. Wider.”
She should laugh him off. Tell him to save it for their audience. But she was already aching, so turned on by his behavior that she couldn’t have told him no if the house was on fire.
“Last night...” His voice was so low she struggled to hear him over her pounding heart. “I never imagined you would react like that to the things I did to you. That I would…”
“Enjoy it?” she whispered.
“I think enjoy might be too tame a word.” His hands paused in their exploration. “How long until those muffins are ready?”
“Fi-fifteen minutes.”
“That might be enough time for a snack.” One hand moved between her legs, his fingers slipping through her arousal, making him groan. “You’re just as hungry for it as I am.”
He was moving behind her, then beneath her, and Tasha’s lips parted in surprise and arousal when she looked down to see him on his back, his head between her spread legs.
Stephen met her gaze and licked his lips. “Fourteen minutes now, Natasha. Give me a morning reminder of what’s mine.”
He used his hands to pull her hips down toward his mouth, but she didn’t do much resisting. She should but— “Stephen. Oh, yeah, that’s so…”
His tongue was ferocious and greedy. It wasn’t there to tease, but to conquer. He thrust inside to find her already wet for him. Ready. He growled and she gasped, feeling the vibration in her clit and up her spine.
He pulled back long enough to take a breath and bite her thigh. “Ride me. Take what you need and ride me until you come.”
Yes. Tasha leaned back on her knees and gripped his mussed brown hair with her shaking fingers. Then she started to rock against his mouth. He moaned his approval and his tongue delved deep, fucking her, taking her higher.
“Yes!” She thrust her hips forward, adrenaline and lust pumping through her veins.
Stephen spread her ass cheeks, his fingers pressing against the sensitive skin that he’d claimed more than once last night, and in more than one way. Tasha whimpered. She was on top, in control at last…only she wasn’t. She was still completely in his hands. She still felt like she was submitting.
“Please,” she gasped, hating how weak she sounded. What was she begging for? Permission to come? No single night of sex could be good enough to change her this much. She was Natasha fucking Rivera. Men and women fell to their damn knees under her whip.
Her fingers tangled tightly in his hair to hold him in place while she rode him. “Fuck me,” she demanded, breathless. “Use that tongue for more than talk and make me come.”
One arousal-slick finger pushed into her ass in response and she cried out softly in shock. Stephen wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard, making her tremble. Yes. God, please, yes.
Her mouth opened on a keening cry as her climax hit her with the force of a freight train. Her body arched and shuddered above him, but he only held her tighter, rumbling with satisfaction as he lapped at her release.
The world was spinning and she found herself on her back with her breasts against her chin and her knees pressed to her shoulders. Stephen looked flushed and feral above her. Wild. He held her pinned in position while his hand lowered to loosen the drawstring of his sweatpants.
He was going to take her now, claim what was his on the kitchen floor, and there was nothing she could do—nothing she wanted to do—to stop him. She needed more. Needed him to fuck her with his thick, hard—
“Do I smell breakfast?”
Brady’s overly loud voice made them both freeze from their hidden location behind the counter. Stephen’s expression went from stark arousal to possessive rage, then bewildered surprise in the space of a few rapid breaths. He let her go so she could scramble to her knees and try to cover herself with his shirt.
He looked so disconcerted it was almost insulting. And he wasn’t responding to Brady. Had he forgotten they had company, or was he hoping his cousin would go away without finding them? That somehow on his way downstairs, Brady hadn’t heard her wailing like a cat in heat?
Tasha sighed, pushing herself to her feet with a wicked grin on her still-swollen lips. “Good morning, Hot Body Man. Muffins are—” She glanced at the timer. “Two minutes from being done. The senator and I decided to get one last practice session in before our theatrical debut.”
Brady Finn rubbed his hand across his mouth and jaw, obviously hiding his smile. “It’s always good to be prepared.”
“And a Boy Scout too,” she sighed dramatically. “Be still my heart. Are you positive you’re not bi?”
His shoulders were shaking slightly. “For you, I almost wish I could be.”
“What a sweet thing to say.” Tasha blew him a kiss just as Stephen got to his feet, glaring at his cousin. “And believe me, honey, so do I. Now listen for that timer and pull the muffins out as soon as it dings. I think it’s time for this BDSM Cinderella to start getting into character.”
She didn’t give Stephen Finn another glance as she tugged her shirt down over her behind and walked past Brady to get to the stairs. She knew her underwear was dangling like a shredded garter on one thigh. Knew he could see her shaky steps, see that her body was still recovering from her explosive orgasm. It wasn’t a walk of shame, she told herself. She didn’t do shame and there was nothing wrong with what she and Stephen had done.
The only problem she was dealing with wasn’t visible to the naked eye. Dominant, sexually aggressive Stephen was bringing out emotions she didn’t necessarily want him to. Need. Weakness. A desire to please him that wasn’t supposed to leave the safety of a scene. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this in the light of day.
She thanked whoever was listening that Stephen didn’t really understand the dynamics of D/s play yet, and that he wouldn’t be able to see her struggle. If he could he’d realize that, though he’d barely mastered the basics, she was one step away from kneeling at his feet.
The sex was confusing the issue. To be fair, it was great sex. But if she was organized in any way, it was in her ability to compartmentalize emotionally. To keep certain things separate. Her threesomes with Jeremy never interfered with her friendship with Jeremy. Her loyalty for the Finn family as a whole didn’t stop her from keeping information about Jennifer’s activities from them and protecting her right to explore her sexuality. Her love for her grandmother was in no way diminished because of her more complicated feelings for her mother. And until yesterday, her enjoyment and affinity for the BDSM lifestyle never touched her passion for Stephen Finn.
Now those two worlds were merging. Stephen and kink. It was an accidental recipe, ingredients she never would have put together that made the end result that much more delicious and addicting. It would be an exciting combination as long as she didn’t think about next week, or tomorrow. As long as she kept reminding herself it was all for show.
But it felt real.
One problem at a time, Natasha.
She took another shower, needing the hot water to soothe her and get her in the right headspace. In her towel, she walked to the guest bedroom and right to the closet, grabbing the dress she’d hung up especially for her introduction as Stephen’s hidden mistress. She’d laid it across the bed and was rifling through her luggage for her makeup bag when her phone chimed with a text message.
It was Jennifer. Need your advice.
Why was she texting this early on a Sunday morning?
Tasha chuckled, adjusting her towel. Knowing Jen, she probably hadn’t gone to sleep yet.
She sat on the bed and started to type. What’s up?
She didn’t have to wait more than minute for the reply.
Can’t be on the phone. Has to be in person. Can I come over?
“You can, but I’m not there,” Tasha muttered to the phone while typing her response. “I’m discovering your brother is the kinky bastard of my dirty dreams.”
Am away at the moment. Won’t be back until the end of the week. Can it wait until then?
Jen did not like that answer.
This can’t wait.
Tasha frowned.
Are you hurt? Is someone bothering you? What’s wrong?
The reply took so long that Tasha sent a frowning emoticon to express her impatience.
Not hurt. Just needed to talk to someone not named Finn.
“Oh honey, I am so feeling your pain,” she said smiling.
Talk to Jeremy. He’s not a Finn and he loves you. Will call the second I get home. Until then, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
Jen sent her a thumbs-up and the conversation was over. Tasha worried her lip, wondering if she should call her. It could be anything from wanting to show off her piercing to needing advice about getting out of her situation with that aggressive couple.
Tasha sent a message to the owner of the fetish club instead, asking her to keep an eye on Owen’s little sister this week, and another to Jeremy.
Which meant “Little Finn is at DEFCON 4.” Jennifer wasn’t in need of emergency help, but someone needed to keep an eye on her. It was the code they’d agreed on when Jen first started to explore the BDSM lifestyle and began to go out with a few of the club’s more colorful members.
When that was taken care of, she forced herself to stop worrying and focused on getting ready.
An hour later she gave one last approving glance at the mirror before she left the hallway bathroom and started down the stairs.
She stopped when she heard the argument.
“Things come up,” Stephen insisted. “Plans change. It happens all the time.”
“This is the wrong call, man.” Brady sounded frustrated. “I didn’t agree with bringing her on board in the first place, but now that she is, I think she’s perfect for this. I honestly don’t see a downside.”
“You don’t see a— Are you serious, Brady?”
“She’ll know people there, she’ll understand the lingo and whatever kinky-ass secret handshake these people have. And from what I saw this morning, no one would suspect you’re not a couple. Isn’t that what you said? That she was the right woman for the job?”
“I’ve changed my mind, okay? I’ll tell Burke we fought and she refused to join us. I can do this without her.”
Tasha glared down the stairs. What had changed in the last two hours? Was this too much togetherness for Stephen? Dinner, sex and breakfast, and now the prospect of more? Well, too damn bad.
She squared her shoulders, imagining steel in her spine, and finished her descent. “No you can’t, Senator. Asking me to help is the only smart move you’ve made since this thing started. Other than hiring Brady.”
“Thank you,” Brady replied.
“Anytime.” She knew an ally when she saw one. “Face it, Stephen. He’s right. I’m right. I’ve been a fetish club member for a decade and I have a pile of deliciously dirty laundry for Burke to rifle through. I’m exactly what a handsome young Irish senator would want to keep hidden from the press. As soon as he sees me in action, he’ll think he’s won. And during his premature victory lap he could let down his guard.”
The men were staring at her, Brady with admiration and Stephen with frustration—and then lust when he noticed what she was wearing.
She’d picked this out very carefully. The deep fuchsia dress made her skin glow, highlighted her impressive cleavage and tiny waist, and flirted at the skirt with a slight part that could easily be swept aside if the mood struck her lover. It wasn’t cheap, but it was colorful and it sent the exact message it was supposed to.
Tasha did a twirl in her gold sandals. “Do you like it? It’s what’s trending in kept-women chic.” She lifted her hand to her diamond pendant. “I’m even wearing this to show him you like to give me pretty things, despite your government salary.”
His eyes narrowed and she smiled. “Of course, this actually came from a lovely older man with more money than friends who begged me to come over to his house and order him to clean it.” She paused for effect. “He looked adorable in that maid costume.”
Brady buried his face in his hand and Stephen’s eyes darkened dangerously. “Take off the necklace.”
Tasha laughed. “Burke won’t believe I’d be satisfied to hide in your closet without any perks. Consider it a necessary prop.”
He slid his hand into his suit pocket—because who didn’t wear a suit to a house party—and pulled out a black velvet pouch. The kind that looked like it came directly from one of those jewelers no one she knew could ever afford. “Take off the necklace, Natasha.”
Her hands went automatically behind her neck, unclasping the pendant. “Fine, Senator. You know I live to please.”
He held out his hand and she dropped the necklace into it obediently, her eyes on the pouch. What did he have in there?
When she saw what he pulled out of it, Tasha forgot to breathe. It was necklace. An emerald heart framed by small diamonds on a short, choker-style chain. It looked stunning. Expensive.
Her mouth suddenly dry, she asked, “Do you actually keep spare pieces of women’s jewelry on you in case of emergency? I think that is something your mistress would know.”
Stephen handed the pouch and the other necklace to Brady, then moved to put the exquisite piece on her himself. “Hold up your hair.”
As she did, she caught Brady grinning at her.
“It’s a good thing I’m not Owen’s pretend lover for the week,” she joked awkwardly as the warm stone came to rest at the base of her throat. “I would be wearing a giant shamrock around my neck.”
Stephen’s hands landed on her bare shoulders and turned her to face him. His eyes dropped to the heart and he reached out to hold it between his fingers. “It matches your eyes.”
Her hand fluttered up, then dropped at her side. “It’s too nice,” she whispered. “I’ll be worried the whole time that I’ll break it or lose it before I can give it back to you.”
His expression was difficult to read again. “It’s yours. I realized on the way home yesterday that you’d need something for the party.”
For the party. This didn’t mean anything. He was being smart, not romantic.
The hand on her shoulder flexed. “Keep it as a thank-you for agreeing to join me and being understanding that I’ve changed my mind. This is too much to ask you to do. I knew it yesterday. You should go home. I don’t want you to deal with any of the fallout if this doesn’t go the way we want it to.”
Was that what he was worried about? “I’m a big girl, Senator. And when I give my word, I keep it. Unless you’ve changed your mind about wanting me…to play your girlfriend, I mean.”
“No. I want you. That hasn’t changed.”
“Then let me do this. I can do this, Stephen. I can help you get him.” She licked her lips, watching him follow the movement. “We’ll have four days together to get him.”
Four days…together. He’d heard the slight emphasis. The subtle sagging of his shoulders told her she’d won. He glanced at his cousin. “We shouldn’t be in any physical danger, but if I say the word, you get her out of there. If it’s anything more than what it’s supposed to be, I want her safety to be your first priority.”
Brady stood a little taller. “Absolutely.”
The necklace was heavy on her skin, as if he were still touching her. Reminding her who she belonged to. It didn’t feel ornamental, beautiful as it was—it felt like a collar. A brand of ownership.
It felt so good it scared her.
He wanted to keep her safe.
She stepped back and glanced at the two Finns in front of her. “You should know in advance that I’m going to be a little hard to manage.”
Stephen smirked. “Should I pretend to be surprised?”
“Smartass. Just trust me and follow my lead, because I know it will make Burke salivate. Brady needs to play the bored, babysitting bodyguard, and you just have to let me sit on your lap and touch you inappropriately without looking surprised. Oh, and threaten me with the occasional punishment. Spanking. Going to the room to wait naked on the bed without supper. That sort of thing.”
Brady’s cheeks were a shade darker. “I’m not sure I should be here for this conversation.”
Tasha crossed her arms, ignoring Stephen’s groan as the move nearly pushed her breasts out of her dress. “Get that blushing out of the way now, Brady Finn, because you guard this secretly kinky senator and you’ve seen it all. You’re going to be seeing naked men and women in chains or collars doing the kind of things you good, traditional boys only expect to see in the bedroom after dark.”
“Jesus help me,” Brady muttered.
Stephen walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “Just focus on the job. With Natasha’s help, we’ll survive the rest.”
They’d survive. She would make sure of it. No Finns were going to fall on her watch. She, on the other hand…
Tasha sighed, reaching up to fiddle with her new necklace. Clearly the verdict was still out on her getting out of this intact.
When a knock sounded on the door, they were ready with their luggage and already in character.
Burke wouldn’t know what hit him.