His hand stills. “Are you sure?”

“It’s who I am,” I say. “Please, Riley. Call me Tasha, and make me come.”

“Tasha.” My name is like a prayer. A curse. An incantation, and as if the name has conjured it, he brushes the vibrator lightly over my clit, playing me expertly until I’m bucking and begging, unable to truly escape this brutal, beautiful torment.

He doesn’t, however, give me release. Just takes me to the edge and then pulls me back, so that by the time he releases me from the bindings and carries me to bed, I’m so wet, ready, and desperate that I don’t even let him finish undressing. Instead, I take his hand and tug him onto the bed with me. Then I shove his jeans down just enough to free his beautiful cock, straddle him, and take him so fast and so deep that I not only forget my own name, I swear I glimpse heaven.

He clutches my hips, and I ride him hard, a second orgasm rolling through me when he comes hard and fast inside me. I cry out his name, then collapse, sated and satisfied, beside him.

“Dear God, Tasha.” He’s breathing hard, his voice raspy with passion. “You break me like no other woman.”

I turn in his arms, my own breath ragged as I look deep into his eyes, wanting to see his soul. His secrets. “No,” I say. “Not broken. I think we make each other whole.”

Chapter Eleven

Matthew Holt frowned at the photos that Riley handed him. “Considering I spend half my life looking at casting photos, you’d think I’d be better with faces, but honestly, none of these look familiar. You say they were all at the club the night we went on the research visit?”

“They were. These are from that night’s security feed.”

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said. He passed them back across his desk to Riley, accidentally shifting the placement of a framed photo in the process.

From where Riley was sitting, he could see that it was a group shot, and though he only got a quick glance, something about it set his senses tingling.

“Do you mind?” he asked, though the question was for form only. He already had the photo in his hand. Now that he was looking directly at it, though, nobody jumped out at him.

“Is something wrong?” Matthew asked.

“I’m not sure. There’s something so…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Where was this taken?”

“A company picnic,” Matthew told him. “The woman in white is my ex-wife, but it’s one of the few photos I have of my whole staff.” He frowned. “I keep thinking I should Photoshop her out of the image.”

Riley didn’t respond. He was too busy looking at the woman with long dark hair and full red lips. Familiar lips.