I tangle my fingers in his hair. His mouth is at my clit now, lashing out at it with his tongue. The sensation is so deliciously intense, I don’t know whether to pull him closer or push him away.
In the end, I do both, until I’m grinding against his face like the greedy bitch I’ve become.
I’ve never seen a man look more handsome than he does when he’s staring up at me with his mouth buried in my cunt. With Braden Masterson, this is truer than ever. He’s handsome enough from the usual angles that he could have any woman in the world exactly where I am―on the hood of his car right now.
But he hasn’t chosen just any woman in the world. He’s chosen me.
When he won his race tonight, it was my lips he was kissing. It’s my body he wants to fuck right now, and it’s my cunt that he’ll be inside as we weather this storm.
Together. Tonight. I’ll deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. Whatever it brings.
Tonight, I’m his.
I come so hard against his mouth that, for a moment, I’m certain I can see stars. But the storm clouds overhead rain down harder than ever. I’m left whimpering and trembling as it beats down on my body, as my pupils dilate and I struggle to regulate my breath.
His embrace is deliciously warm as he pulls me against him. We wrap our arms around each other with a primal kind of need. His kisses burn, all the way through my lips to my core.
Braden forces his tongue into my mouth. It conquers mine effortlessly. He’s a man used to winning, whether it’s in his car or on top of it.
“Beg me.” He pushes the words out through his teeth.
“Fucking give it to me,” I snarl back.
His massive cock probes at the tightness of my slit, feverishly hot and dripping with want, while his arms slide over my skin, slick with rain.
He hilts himself inside me.
No teasing. No easing himself in. No fucking around.
Just fucking. Pure fucking. Unbridled, undiluted, unrestrained fucking so damn good, it almost seems unreal.
He takes me hard and fast like he’s lost all restraint entirely. This isn’t like the way he races, teasing his opponents with the hope that they might be able to handle him.
This is deliberately brutal. Calculatingly intense. He’s huge, hard, and entirely too much to handle, and he wants me to know it. He’s getting off on it, even.
All I can do is lay back, hold on for dear life, and enjoy the ride.
The second orgasm sends a shockwave of pleasure through my body. Like I’ve been struck by lightning. The sky crackles with it overhead as my eyes roll back.
I lose myself to the sensation of Braden’s cock jackhammering into me, over and over and over again. My nails claw at his shoulder blades, desperately trying to find purchase. Every cell of my body is flickering, like a house with every light on when the breaker is about to blow.
When it does, I scream.
My hips buck up to slam against his.
I feel rewired. Full system upgrade. My every cell repurposed to feel pleasure.
Only pleasure. Nothing else.
He wraps me up tight in his arms and holds me like I’m holy. I wrap my legs around his hips. Our bodies find each other's rhythms like this, rocking against each other.
Growling, hissing, and moaning like animals in heat. Tangled up in each other’s embrace.
“Fuck. Jenna.”
I pull him tighter against me, press my lips to the warmth of his neck and sink my teeth into it.
“Jenna,” he hisses. “I’m going to come. I’m gonna come inside you—”
He wraps his fingers around my throat, holding me before him. Our noses are tip to tip. My hair is damp.
His hair is even darker than usual, slicked back and shining. Pearls of rain stream down his face, mixing with his sweat. That’s what he smells like: sweat and rain and gasoline. Leather, cologne and cunt.
My cunt.
He smells like me.
I come again, right along with him this time. He holds me tighter than ever, like he’s afraid of I might dissolve into the steam coming off the hood if he lets go. I can feel his balls tighten as he pumps me full of his load, hot ropes of cum coating my insides as deep as it can go.
Beneath us, the engine keeps purring. The headlights glow as thunder rumbles and lightning lights up the night.
26
Braden
When I get Jenna inside, she’s shaking like a checkered flag on a windy day. I find her a towel and dry her off, peeling back her wet blouse and tossing it to the floor with a wet slap. Can’t have my little fucktoy catching cold.
Jenna’s makeup is smeared, and her mascara is streaming down her face. She’s soaked through, right to the bone. Her hair is dripping with rain, and my cum is running down her thighs.
Fuck that glam, made-up socialite look that the women I normally rub elbows with try and tout. This is real beauty: Jenna Lockhart, naked and shivering, completely at my mercy.
She has the look of a woman who’s been ridden hard and put away wet.
It makes me hard. I’m not ready to put her away quite yet.
“You’re a very bad man, Braden Masterson,” Jenna teases. Even her voice is shaking.
I toss the towel around her neck and pull her in for a kiss.
“You have no idea,” I say, twisting the ends of the towel tight. The water I’ve just mopped up off her body comes streaming back down over both her breasts.
She arches against me in tortured ecstasy.
I watch her nipples get even harder. I didn’t think that was possible, but now they’re standing at attention, dripping wet and ripe for the taking. They’re the color of a cranberry vodka.
I dip my mouth down to kiss them, one then the other.
“Oh,” she breathes, thrusting her chest out for more.
I give it to her, licking and biting and sucking away. When it comes to Jenna, I just can’t say no.
Does she have any fucking idea that she does that to me? She must. My cock pressing demandingly against her stomach is hardly something she can ignore, but the way she coos and sighs as I wrap my hands around her and tilt her backward, feasting on her tits like this, she seems so oblivious.
Oblivious to the shit she makes me feel, to the way she could fuck up my life in an instant if she tried. With all her fucking meddling, she still might.
Her mouth opens in a perfect O, shaped like it was made to stick my cock in. Surprisingly, her lipstick is still intact.
It won’t be for long.
My garage is vanity lit, with spotlights over all the classic cars I keep inside. These aren’t your granddad’s restored roadsters. They’re the kind of classics so rare and so expensive that on the books, they don’t even exist anymore.
The amount of money that I shelled out to keep these beauties in good hands would boggle your fucking mind. I bought them in invite-only overseas auctions so deep underground that they’re practically black market.
I’d give up every one of them if it meant Jenna Lockhart would just be mine.
“The things I want to do with you, Jenna,” I growl, kissing between her breasts.
“Maybe I’ll let you,” she whispers. “If you ask nicely.”
My lips shift into a wolfish smile against her skin. “I don’t ask, Jenna. I command. I take.”
“Oh,” she moans again, so breathy and sweet that it makes my cock throb. “Well then…you’ll have to catch me first.”
She spins out of my arms and takes off through the parking garage, ducking and weaving through Ferraris and Mercedes Benzes.
She’s only wearing heels and a smile, so for a moment, I just watch her go.
Then I take off after her. After all, I never have been able to turn down the thrill of the chase.
I follow the echoing clicks of her heels against the concrete floor as I track her down the way a hunter tracks his prey. Finally, I catch sight of her slipping away behind a sleek black 1961 California Spider that was supposedly destroyed
in the late 70s.
It’s the jewel of my collection, perfectly restored.
I stalk her around it until she sees me.
She dodges left. I go right. I’m faster than her, stronger and more powerful, and when I want something, there’s nothing that can stop me from taking it.
I sweep her up in my arms as she tries to flee, holding her from behind while she shrieks and screams with delight.
“Okay, you caught me.” She giggles, breathless. “What should your prize be?”
“Honey,” I growl, bending her over the Spider’s hood. “You are my prize.”
Her ass looks so fine, bent over and pushed out like that, that I nearly fuck it then and there. But I want to cover this girl in my cum, milk every last iota of pleasure from her body, and then claim it as my own.
I want to make her hurt. I want to fucking break her.
I want to kiss her broken parts and hold her until they’re all healed.
I drop to my knees behind her, pressing down on the small of her back. She shoves her cunt against my lips whether she means to or not.
I take her like a man starved. She’s slick with my cum. Her cum. With us.
“Oh, fuck,” she whines. “Braden…Braden, wait. Your cum is still inside me—”
I smack her ass so hard, she cries out.
“Do you think I fucking care? I don’t know what pathetic boys you’ve been with before me, Jenna, so let me clue you in: a real man doesn’t give a fuck.”
I go down on her with renewed vigor until her pussy is spasming against my lips, soaking me with her honey, just to prove my point.
I lap it up. All of it. I pull her hair, spin her around, claim her mouth with mine, and pass our combined juices onto her tongue with mine.
“Swallow it,” I snarl as my fingers wrap around her throat. “Swallow it up like the little slut you are.”
She licks her lips as she obeys—no argument, no protest. I have Jenna exactly where I want her: gorgeous eyes glassy and glazed over, dumb from too many orgasms, obedient, eager to please, and desperate for more.
I drop my shoulder and toss her over it, carrying her off like a war prize. At the back of the garage, next to the private elevator up to my penthouse, are my trophy case and my workbench, side by side.
I deposit her in front of the case, pushing her to her knees. Trophies, medals, and ribbons tremble and flutter with the impact of her body while I grab a pair of jumper cables from my bench.
“You wouldn’t,” she gasps as I tease her nipple with the tip of one clamp.
“Maybe not,” I say forebodingly. Then, just to fuck with her, I open the clamp up and nestle her nipple between its sharp jaws, ready to snap shut at any moment. “Or maybe I will. You don’t know what I’m capable of, Jenna.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she says, biting her lip.
“You don’t sound so sure of that.”
I ease the clamp closed a little more around her nipple. Not all the way, but enough that she can feel it.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, trying to pull away. But there’s nowhere to retreat to and she knows it.
She’s so wet, I can fucking smell it as I pull the clamp away.
“You fuck around with things that are dangerous, Jenna, and you’re going to end up hurt.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she says again, this time with more certainty.
It makes my chest glow with pride. She trusts me. Maybe not outside of tonight, maybe not even outside of this moment.
But in the moment, it makes me want her—need her—all the more.
“Then you’d better fucking please me,” I say, grabbing her wrists.
I wind the jumper cables around them, binding her hands together, while I shove my cock down her throat.
She takes it beautifully—every thrust, inch after inch after inch after inch.
I watch her struggle. I watch her gag. But with every pump of my rock-hard dick over her tongue and down her throat, no matter how brutal or how vicious, she takes it.
It’s making me lose my fucking mind. You don’t hurt a girl like that. You marry her.
Christ, listen to me. Look who’s gone stupid with orgasm now.
I pull out just in time, stroking my cock to a finish while I hold her wrists over her head and pump rope after rope of my hot cum onto her beautiful face.
She looks ruined now, with my cum dripping down off her eyelashes and her tongue snaking out to lick up whatever stray drops of my seed she can find.
“Have you had enough yet?” I ask her.
She blinks, and I do her the favor of wiping the cum away from her eyes with my thumb. I let her suck it clean before she replies.
“No,” she says, her chest heaving. She looks up at me with the most gorgeous gaze of adoration I’ve ever fucking seen. “I want more…if you can handle it.”
“Oh, I can handle it,” I growl, pulling her to her feet. “The question is, Jenna…can you?”
I haul her to the elevator, a million and one ideas flashing through my head. The hard part isn’t going to be coming again, I know.
The hard part is going to be deciding how I’ll use her next.
27
Jenna
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 s
hudders 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.
The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance Page 96