The curtains are open, but I know that the odds are slim that someone is looking in. Still, it’s a possibility, and I have to force myself not to ask him to close the drapes.

The thought sends my eyes darting to the track, and that’s when I notice the hardware on the ceiling. Two giant hooks. And when I look down, I see more on the ground.

I look to Riley in confusion.

“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.”