Chapter Six

Sasha

"Hey, Sasha, we're grabbing lunch at the Asian restaurant down the block. I heard they have the best stir fry noodles around. Join us?"

I look up from my computer to see Nick and three other interns standing by the door, motioning for me to join them. This is the first time they've invited me to lunch, and I smile, nodding at them as I close the file I was reading.

"Sure, I would love to," I say, following them out. We engage in casual chatter as we take the elevator down to the ground floor and make our way out of the building.

We find the restaurant easy enough and are shown to our table. We all place our orders and sit back to wait for our food.

"Just so you know, I'm voting for your brother as a favor to you," one of the interns, Carla, suddenly says.

I blush at the bold proclamation and shake my head. "Y-you don't have to," I tell her. "Just vote for who you want to see in office."

"Well, he's your brother. You know him best. I think he would make an excellent governor, don't you?"

I bite back the urge to tell her that I don't know my brother that well. He is fifteen years older than me and was already well into his political career by the time I was old enough to know any different. Nearly the same can be said for my other three brothers. One would think that I would be close to at least one of my siblings, but they're all so much older than me. My mother's last pregnancy had been a surprise, as was my being a girl. I know my brothers care about me in an abstract way, and they doted on me whenever they were around, but I rarely saw them growing up. Every one of my brothers is a career-driven man and equally devoted to our family's legacy in politics.

No, I don't know my brothers well at all. Not on a personal level and not on a political level.

"Sasha?"

I look up to find four sets of eyes watching me curiously, so I plaster on a smile. "Uh, yeah. He's amazing. I think he would make a great governor too."

"That's good to hear."

The conversation shifts to something else, and I imagine that the talk about my family is over when one of them suddenly brings it up again. We're discussing a high-profile criminal case our office is handling when one of the other girls suddenly mentions that the case would be easier to close if they could access some files the attorney general's office is withholding.

"Our lead prosecutor went there to talk to someone, but they said that the information is classified, and that revealing those files would compromise an ongoing federal investigation. Can you believe that?"

Someone else chimes in, "I heard that too. We could close this case fast and get those monsters off the streets if the AG would just cooperate. What do you think, Sasha?"

I think I foolishly let myself believe that I could form genuine connections at work with no strings attached.

"I mean, we could always file a motion with the court to compel the attorney general to release those files," I say instead.

I catch one of the girls rolling her eyes. "But that could take weeks, or even months. Your dad is the attorney general, right? Maybe you could talk to him about it."

My mouth goes dry, and a nervous sweat breaks out down my back. It's not in my nature to say no when people approach me for favors. I realized pretty young that saying no doesn't make people like you, and I hate being in uncomfortable situations.

And yet, there are requests for favors like this that make me feel suffocated. They're asking me to get confidential information through a back door, and . . . I can't.

This is one line I am unwilling to cross, but the word "no" is stuck in my throat. Before I think myself into a full panic attack, my phone vibrates on the table. I grab it like a lifeline and excuse myself, nearly running toward the bathroom.

I answer the call without bothering to look at the caller ID, my breath coming in short pants as I put my phone against my ear. "Hello."

"Sasha?"

Riot's familiar, deep voice grounds me, but not entirely. I slip into an open stall and sit on the toilet lid. "Yeah, hey."

"You sound out of breath. Are you okay?"

Tell him you're fine. Hang up the phone before you dig your feet deeper into the sand.

"No," I choke out, the word coming easier because it's him. With Riot, I can just be Sasha. He doesn't ask anything from me but to be myself. All he wants is me. Not whatever stupid favors he can use me to get from my father or brothers.

Just me.

"Do you want me to come to you?"

Say no.

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

"Hiding in the bathroom of a restaurant near my office," I tell him, and he asks me to share my location before hanging up. I leave the stall and imagine sneaking out of the restaurant, but I have to face these people for the duration of my internship so I force myself to head back to the table.

I find them whispering among themselves, and it must be about me as they quickly sit up when I approach the table.

"Who was that?" Carla asks when I settle back in my seat.

"Uhm . . . a friend," I say, fighting to mask the tremor in my voice. I tap the screen of my phone, and it lights up, showing me that we still have twenty minutes of our lunch break left.

I never should have joined them when they asked me to.

I blame it all on Riot. Spending the weekend with him made me forget the fact that I live in a self-serving world.

"So, Sasha, about what we were saying earlier . . ."

"Yes?" I say, feigning ignorance.

"Surely you can ask your father to do us this little favor. You're his only daughter, he would never say no to you."

My hands tremble under the table, and I lock them between my thighs in an attempt to calm down. With my heart beating in my throat, I finally respond. "I think we should just file a motion and go through the proper channels."

"C'mon, Sasha. Why would we go that route when there is a much simpler option? Just talk to your daddy and ask him . . ." Carla's voice trails off as her eyes shift to something over my shoulder. The others follow her gaze, and I practically see their desire light up in their eyes, all except Nick, who looks annoyed. "Speaking of daddies . . ."

I turn around to watch Riot walk into the restaurant dressed casually in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, his tattoos on full display. His narrowed eyes look around the restaurant before settling on me.

"Oh my God, he's heading this way," another one of the interns, whose name I still don't know, whispers, straightening her blouse and patting her hair as Riot approaches our table, his eyes locked on mine.

He leans down and brushes his lips over my cheek, more in a quick brush of skin than a kiss, before straightening up. "Let's go," he says without acknowledging my colleagues, taking everyone, including myself, by surprise.

"Riot . . ."

He grabs my wrist, and I have no choice but to get up and follow him, smiling apologetically at my companions while also trying not to bump into any tables.

"Riot . . . Wait, hold on." He stops outside the restaurant, turning to me, and I suddenly forget what it is I was going to say when his gray eyes settle on me. "I . . . Um, don't you think that was a little rude?"

"What?"

"Not at least acknowledging the people at the table with me."

"Why would I acknowledge people who only minutes ago had you panicking in the bathroom?"

My heart flutters at his words, and a warm tingle rises along my spine from what his actions mean. The people pleaser in me would never survive pulling off what Riot just did, and yet, his actions have me sinking deeper into my feelings for him. Every time I am around him, I tell myself it's the last time.

It has to be the last time.

And yet . . . it never is.

I shuffle nervously on my feet the longer he stares at me, and I have to remind myself that we are in public. "Riot," I start, unsure what it is I want to tell him, but he must read the need in my eyes because he simply nods.

"My place," he says. "It's closer."

The rest happens in a blur. The walk to his bike, the ride to his downtown apartment, and even the trip up in the elevator to his unit all happen in a flash, culminating with his lips on mine the second we walk into his apartment.

I don't spare a moment to take in my surroundings as I tear at his shirt, seeking his skin needily and sighing when I feel the hard press of his pecs beneath my hands. He's so masculine, all male with his firm body, broad shoulders, and dark hair that trails down his ripped stomach to the sharp line that disappears into his jeans.

His muscles contract when I trace a finger down his pecs, revealing just how perfect this man's body is. How lucky I am that I get to touch it.

"You're mine, Sasha," he says roughly, grabbing the backs of my knees and lifting me into his arms. I wrap my legs around his hips and drop my lips to his, kissing him back desperately.

"Yes, yours," I breathe. I don't care if I belong to this man for a single night or only the week . . . I just want to belong to him. To be his and have him claim me in a way only he ever will.

Only him.

Our lips stay locked together in a frantic battle with need, sliding smoothly over each other as Riot carries me away. I'm too lost, mewling and writhing over the slick friction, to pay attention to where he's taking me.

It's not until my back hits the bed that I realize he's brought me to his bedroom. "Fuck, you're so goddamned gorgeous, baby," he says, pulling back to look at me, but I'm having none of that. I cup his face and lean up to kiss his jaw and cheek, tracing my lips down to his Adam's apple, growing feral with the need to touch. In here, with him, I am woman capable of going after what she wants. And I want him.

"Fuck baby," he grits out, rocking his hips and rubbing his erection against my inner thigh when I run my tongue over his throat.

I whine when he breaks away to trail his lips down my neck, tugging roughly at my blouse in an attempt to get to my aching tits. My lips part on a whimper when his mouth drops to my breasts, licking at the peaking buds and sending a shiver racking my body.

"I . . . My lunch break is definitely over," I whimper, my back arching when he grazes his teeth over my taut nipple.

"I guess they'll just have to miss you," he growls, his tone void of remorse, and that sends my stomach fluttering. Perhaps I should care that this is not the time to be doing this, but I can't bring myself to, not when he's kissing and touching me the way he is. "I can't stop baby," he echoes my thoughts, his hands dropping to the zipper of my pants and tugging it down. He grabs my waistband, and I lift my hips as he yanks them down along with my panties, leaving me naked and vulnerable.

I don't get the chance to think about how exposed I am as he starts kissing the path down my stomach, grabbing my leg, and lifting it to his shoulder. My back arches, and I bite down on a scream when I feel his wet tongue glide along the center of folds. Riot spent nearly the entire weekend with me, most of it in bed, but this is the first time I've felt his mouth on my sex.

"Riot! Oh fuck," I whimper, digging my nails into his sheets as he laps at my sex like a starved man, licking at my arousal with a hunger that's hard to believe. I jerk on the bed when he adds his finger, rubbing my aching clit with my thumb and causing me to grow slicker by the second.

My cries grow louder and more fevered as he brings me to the edge alarmingly fast. I dig my heel into his back as I feel myself tipping closer and closer to a fall, and everything comes crashing down when his lips close around my swollen bundle of nerves and tugs gently. My hips vault off the bed and stars explode behind my eyelids. I scream as pleasure ricochets through my body, drawn out by Riot's continued strokes with his tongue over my sex.

I have no idea how long the sensation lasts, only that it leaves me feeling like the earth has shifted off its axis and dropped me into space. I'm unmoored, lost in sea of ecstasy.

"You're so fucking sexy when you come, baby," Riot whispers into my ear, and I gasp at the hard press of his erection to my sex. "I need to see you come again, all over my cock this time."

Christ.

I should think about the fact that I am skipping work to be here. Or the fact that I am not supposed to be with this man at all, and yet . . .

My brain can barely focus on anything besides the man filling me with his thick shaft. I whimper at the feel of him, my sex pulsing hotly around him as he thrusts the rest of the way in.

"Riot . . ."

His mouth slams down on mine, kissing me hard as he takes me roughly. The headboard slams into the wall, no doubt causing damage, but he doesn't seem to care as he pounds faster and harder into me. He breaks the kiss but doesn't pull his lips away from me, his breath mingling hotly with mine as he grinds roughly into me. I gasp when he grabs my leg and lifts it to his hip, sending him deeper into me. "Fuck me, baby," he pants, sweat beading on his forehead as he locks his eyes on mine. "You're mine. This tight little pussy is mine."

"Yours," I whimper when he starts rolling faster into me, inching his cock in and out of me in rough strokes.

"Mine," he rasps again, his tone so gruff and possessive, it has my heart aching with need. I bring one hand to his shoulder, my nails biting into his skin when pleasure reignites in my core, threatening to sweep me away, but I don't want to come. Not just yet.

Instead, I want to see this beautiful man come apart in my arms, and I notice how close he is when his breathing grows short and his jaw tightens. He drives his thick cock into me harder, his eyes growing glassy, and that throws me into another orgasm, one that has me springing off the bed and my pussy clenching tightly around him. I pull him over the edge with me, and he comes with a roar.

"Fuck!" His muscles seize above mine for a second before he fills me with his hot seed. He rolls his hips over mine, rutting me so hard, I see stars, but he doesn't let me fall this time. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me flush against him when the trembling doesn't die down.

"Perfect, your perfect, baby," he pants, brushing his lips over whatever skin he can reach as my body settles into a blissful feeling. "I love you."

The words don't register immediately, what with all my brain cells fried, and when it does, I wait for the panic. I should not be with this man, so, of course, I am supposed to panic, but instead, all I feel is peace.

And love.

I'm about to voice my emotions when the annoying sound of my phone interrupts my thoughts, and panic swells through me when I recognize the ringtone I've set for my father.

"Oh, shit," I groan, trying to slide away from Riot, whose arms are like heavy bands around me, unmoving.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same, Sasha. You don't need to run away. I'll wait—"

"No, it's not that," I say, tapping rapidly on his arm. "My phone. I have to get it. It's my dad."

At the urgency of my tone, he lets go of me, and I jump from the bed, looking for the damned device, but it's not in the bedroom.

"You dropped your purse in the living room," Riot says, running his eyes hotly over me, and I blush, avoiding his gaze and rushing out of the room. I find my phone just before it goes to voicemail and quickly accept the call. Shame rocks me, and I wince when I feel something warm and wet trail down my inner thigh as the call connects.

"Where are you?" demands a familiar voice.

"Uh . . . I . . . um . . ."

"Come home now and bring him with you."

The call ends before I can respond, and I turn around when I hear Riot walk into the room. He's only in his jeans, which are unzipped to reveal that V-line I want to trace my tongue, but now is not the time.

"Everything okay?" he asks in that soft tone that I want to believe is just for me.

"No. My father wants to see me," I tell him, biting my lip.

"Oh, all right then. I'll give you a ride home . . ."

"He wants to see you too, Riot. He knows about us."