The elevator doors spread open, and Braden tugs me through them by the jumper cables tied around my wrists like a lead. I stumble forward in my heels, naked and dripping with rain and Braden’s cum.

There’s something smug about him right now. He’s self-satisfied, like he’s conquered me and now he can take whatever he wants. Braden won his race and now, he thinks he’s won my body too.

And maybe he has. There’s no denying that I want him, more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone. Maybe I just don’t want to admit it to myself.

I like being used. I like being fuckbait for all of Braden’s dark little desires.

I like the way he makes me whimper, the way he makes me beg, the way he makes me come. Over and over again, past the point of rationality or reason, and beyond whatever limits I might have set for myself. Whatever limits I previously thought my body couldn’t be pushed past.

Orgasm after orgasm after fucking orgasm.

Even sex with Braden Masterson is so decadent it ought to be a sin.

Call me a sinner then, I guess.

“Champagne, Jenna?” Braden says, chuckling darkly at the bottle sitting in an ice bucket on the kitchen counter. “My staff must have heard about the win.”

I look around nervously. Of course he has staff. His money might be self-made, but I can hardly imagine Braden scrubbing toilets and washing dishes himself.

You wouldn’t have to do it either, I think greedily. If you were his, he wouldn’t make you lift a fucking finger.

“Don’t worry,” Braden reassures me, though with that grin on his lips it’s hardly effective. “They’ve all gone home for the night. Can I tempt you?”

He plucks the champagne bottle out of the ice and holds it up for me to take a look at. I don’t know my champagne. Having tastes as expensive as Braden’s is well above even my pay grade, but even Braden’s mere presence is intoxicating enough for me.

The atmosphere only serves to make it that much more intense. The storm is raging on just outside the window. His apartment is as dark and broodingly sensual as he is.

“I think you’ve tempted me plenty tonight, Braden.”

And I need to keep my wits about me if I want to stay head over water for whatever he has planned for me next.

He yanks the cables wrapped around my wrists, and I stumble against him, my tits pressing into the still-damp T-shirt clinging tightly to his chest. Braden wields the icy, dripping bottle of bubbly like the sadist he is, running its cold glass exterior over my hip all the way up to my waist.

“Jenna.” He smirks. “You’re shivering.”

No shit, Braden.

“Why don’t we get you warm,” he suggests as he moves the bottle around my back, tracing up my spine.

My entire body shudders at the sensation. All of my cells are already on high alert from the rain, the cold, and so many fucking orgasms.

He’s wearing me out, I realize. He’s breaking down my barriers, one by one, until I don’t have any fight left in me. Nothing left to push back my feelings for him, nothing restraining me from giving myself over completely.

And I can’t let that happen. Not with the FBI breathing down our necks. Not with the kind of man I know Braden to be.

Not without losing part of myself in the process.

He pulls me into a kiss, and he’s so warm that I can’t help it. I press against his lips, needy and full of longing that it’s becoming harder and harder to deny.

With anyone else, all these orgasms would have been some sort of release. With Braden, the wanting only intensifies with every throbbing, shivering, earth-shattering time he makes me come.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Braden suggests, pulling me along like a captive savage.

I trail behind me, biting my lip and wondering what dirty plans he has for me next. Wondering if I’ll be able to handle them.

My heart is pounding in my chest as he guides me into his bedroom. His inner sanctum. And he closes the door.

At first, I think it must be fear. But no—fear is something I might feel right now if he was anyone but himself.

This is Braden Masterson in control of my body. He treats me the same way he treats his race car. He’ll drive me hard, dangerous, too fast, and too recklessly…

But he always knows exactly what he’s doing. I trust him completely—and without that trust, we couldn’t have what we have right now.

I’m not afraid. I’m excited.

Braden’s breath is hot on my neck as he takes me by the elbows and pushes me up against the windows.

Braden’s bed sits before a wall made completely of glass. From this vantage point of his top-level penthouse, I can see the whole city sprawled out beneath us. The only lights in the room are those of the city below, the occasional flash of lightning, and the orange-yellow neon glow of the alarm clock on his bedside table.

A glance at the clock tells me that it’s even later than I thought it was.

My mother always told me that nothing good ever happens past 2:00 a.m.

As Braden presses my body up against the glass, I’m not sure if he’s about to prove her right…or wrong.

“I’m going to break you, Jenna,” he says, wrapping an arm around my hips and pulling me hard against him.

“I don’t break easy.”

“No?”

“No.”

“We’ll see about that,” he growls.

And it begins.

Braden’s fingers find my clit. It’s not difficult. My clit is sensitive, slick, and swollen, and Braden knows the female body better than most men ever will.

I feel myself coming close to orgasm immediately, but just as it begins—the heaving chest, the growing warmth, the blossoming of something gorgeous and dark and heady from my cunt all the way up into my womb—Braden backs off. He leaves me wanting.

Then he does it again.

And again.

And again.

And no matter how I whimper and wheel and buck against him, I can’t take it from him. I can’t force him to give me what I need.

He’s edging me so dangerously close to coming that every time he flicks my clit between his fingers, I’m certain that this is the time. This is it. This is when he’ll push me over the edge.

But he doesn’t. He fucking won’t.

My whimpers turn into cries. My cries turn to desperate sobs.

I want him. I want it. However he’ll give it to me, I don’t fucking care.

I need him. His touch. His fingers. His tongue. His cock.

I need release.

And that’s how he breaks me. Little by little, then all at once.

“Please,” I sob, shaking. From where he’s positioned me, it feels like the whole city can see my need.

“Please what, Jenna?”

“Please—anything!” I cry out.

Like a slut. Like a fucking whore.

Behind me, Braden places the champagne bottle between my thighs, nestling the dripping cold neck against my cunt.

“Anything, huh? You must be desperate, offering something like that to a man like me.”

“Anything,” I whine, trying to grind against the bottle’s neck.

But I’m too slick. Braden has filled me with his cum and made sure that my cunt is keeping itself nice and wet.

“I bet you’d let me fuck you with this bottle, even,” Braden muses. “If I wanted to. You’d fucking let me, wouldn’t you, Jenna?”

I swallow hard, my mind racing.

“Yes,” I gasp. “Fuck. Anything. Whatever you want.”

Braden pauses, and for a second, I think he’s going to actually do it.

Slide the cork of the champagne bottle into my wet, dripping slit and make me come around it. Make me drink it after. Pop the cork and let it foam all over my breasts while I lick the bubbles and my honey off the rim.

Instead, he sets the bottle down. My body heaves in relief—but not for long.

“What about your ass, Jenna?” he growls, pressing the head of his cock between my ass cheeks. “Will you let me fuck this tight little ass of yours, here at the top of the city where all of New York can see?”

His cock is nestled just against the pucker of my asshole.

I’m so wet, my pussy has managed to lube that hole up as well. And I fucking want it. I want his cock inside me, however he’ll give it to me, if he’ll just let me come…

I’m done fucking around. I force myself backwards, impaling myself on his rock-hard rod. Braden doesn’t miss a beat. He wants this just as bad as I do, and I can feel it. In the way he grabs my hips, fucking me hard and fast and with total abandon.

His fingers pinch my clit, working the hood up and down over it until I’m coming for him with all the force of a clap of thunder.

The spasming in my cunt makes my ass even tighter around his throbbing shaft. I feel his thighs tense up, and then he’s coming as well, flooding my ass with his cum as the sky explodes with lightning and the rain streams down the windowpane and I collapse against the glass.

He takes me in his arms after. He unwraps the jumper cables from my wrists and peels off what’s left of his clothing and joins me in bed, a glass of champagne for each of us.

The warmth of the alcohol in my stomach mingles with the warmth of Braden’s body around mine, the weight of his blankets, and the cool linen of his sheets.

“You didn’t break me,” I mumble sleepily against his chest.

“Sure I didn’t, honey.” He chuckles. A low rumble, just like thunder. “Whatever you say.”