by Daphne Dawn
I avoid the crowd, the people who are getting ready to party, and make my way straight toward her. She's looking out across the water. The moonlight shines on her hair, and all I can imagine is what it will feel like to run my hands through it and kiss her like she's mine.
And I know now without a doubt—I'm ready to make her mine for the night.
6
Jenna
For once, the streets are quiet.
There's the distant buzz of city traffic, but mostly all is quiet and calm here near the water where the race is about to begin.
The billionaires have the cops tied around their finger so tightly, it's a wonder there are still any left to fight crime in the city.
If the police would put as much energy into stopping the bad guys as they do in shutting down the streets of NYC for this race, then we'd all be a lot better off.
I don't know why I’m criticizing them, though. I live for this scene. Racing through the streets of an otherwise busy city gives me a rush like none other. Even though it's not me in the driver's seat, it's my technology that makes these cars go fast.
And when I'm not testing out my improvements, I'm happy to be on the side-lines witnessing my creation. It's a gift to be able to see my plans move forward into action.
As much as this race thrills me, there's always one person I'm trying to beat, and that's Braden. He's the winner nearly all the time, and that sheer fact annoys the fuck out of me.
I'm better than him. My car should go faster.
Half the time, I blame my driver. Half the time, I blame myself for not keeping up with Braden's secret technology. I wonder what he's gonna bring tonight?
This is uncommon territory for me, though. I've been at so many races, and yet none like this. I've never been here when there was a shred of hope that Braden would notice me.
Needless to say, most of the other people who have money and a monetary stake in this thing are wondering the same thing. And all the socialites are here, hoping they'll be the lucky one to score Braden for the night.
This is the kind of drama I need to separate myself from. I need to keep my head in the game and remember that I'm making money off of this, nothing more.
Any business in the world would hire me for my pure ingenious strategies when it comes to making cars go fast. But I'd rather be here. And that says a lot.
Braden Masterson drives up. My heart sinks a little as I remember what he did to me the other night. He left me hanging in the ballroom and I still don't know what to think about that.
Am I just wanted as his little whore? Another person in a sea of women who have their eye on Braden? Or do I mean something more to him?
It's dangerous territory to think you could ever be something real to Braden, and I don't plan on going there so easily.
He stares at me through the windshield of his car as he pulls up. For a moment, our eyes lock. There's an unspoken connection already.
He and I both know what happened, but only he knows what it meant to him. And that's what I'm dying to find out.
I look away and tend to my driver. I'm making sure he knows the ins and outs of what I've done to this car to make it as fast as fucking possible.
The race is about to start, and Braden tosses me an arrogant smile and a wave as he peels out of his spot. Something about the way he did that is different from the last time. I can't put my finger on it, but I know something is different with his car.
I watch the race from my favorite position, on the side-line by the water. The cars jet past several times, and with every turn, I can tell that something is off about the propulsion of Braden's car. It doesn't sound normal.
Now I'm surer than ever that he's upgraded his technology. I start to take serious notes about the thrust timing versus that of the NOS and the flame injection. I have a gut feeling those aren’t just for show.
He could be way out at the beginning of the first part of the race, but then, as things progress, Braden keeps his distance in the middle of the pack.
I know this is intentional. He's not fooling me. I know he has a secret plan for winning this race. There's something different about his car and he's gonna show it off at the end.
I scribble furious notes on my pad about what's going on so that I don't forget. I'm gonna get to the bottom of what Braden's done to his car.
With every pass, I get a little deeper handle on what his car's doing. And then at the very end of the race, he comes tearing around the corner and I see that his propulsion is definitely different.
It's like a jet coming around. I don't know how he’s even able to take that sharp turn.
He screeches across the finish line and I'm not surprised in the least.
Everyone else is shocked and they take it as a major turn of events. They saw him hanging back and they took that as evidence. He played them all.
But, to me, it's so obvious. He had that race in the bag from the beginning.
Braden wins, and I can only imagine how much cash comes into his pocket with that. People are congratulating him and they're getting ready to attend the usual gala, which is basically an upscale excuse for rich people to hobnob with each other and to congratulate themselves on running this town.
I, however, am deep into my notebook. I can see by the light of the full moon what I've written down. To my surprise, my pad is just covered with the words thrust, ejection, hard and fast, over and over on the page.
God, was that what was I thinking about?
Maybe Braden's car and his technology reflect his personality. All of these words describe him, and when I think of that, my stomach clenches in an aching kind of yearning for him.
I try to push those thoughts out of my mind and re-establish my resolve for staying away from him. It's not a good move to enmesh your personal and professional life.
I turn my head to the crowd and see him walking towards me. I quickly stuff my notebook into my purse and try to find my backbone, to fortify my resolve to say no to him.
He walks up to me ever so confidently. So fucking Braden. Has he ever had a day in his life where he questioned himself?
He strides over like he has a right to the roadway as he approaches me.
"Hey," he says, his voice low and intense, and I melt from the mere sound of his voice.
So much for resolve. I'm putty.
He pulls my chin up so I'm forced to meet his eyes. He comes tantalizingly close to kissing me. My mind goes blank.
What was I thinking before this?
No fucking clue.
The world dissolves into a blur. All I see is Braden, his crystal clear eyes peering into my soul.
I try to pull away. As much as I fantasize about this, I'm not ready. He's too intense.
But my current reality is just me and him. Time stops, and I see only him. I want only him.
I forget the world and that I'm among competing co-workers, including the racer that Braden just beat. My racer.
He's so close, I can smell the musk of his cologne. A pure, primal adrenaline rush rocket through me just from being around him.
It's far more intense than even what goes down on this makeshift racetrack. It's more intense than the buzz of billionaires around me—the money, the parties, the glitz, and the glam. Braden adds up to so much more than all of it because he's deep and he's real.
I think he's gonna kiss me. I'm waiting for him to kiss me, seeing that he's already so close. But again, he taunts me.
He pulls away enough to whisper.
"Meet me at the restaurant called Bailey's in an hour."
I look into his blue eyes that are suddenly ocean deep and I nearly melt.
But I collect myself enough to muster a reply.
"I can't go. I don't have anywhere near enough time to get ready for a place that fancy."
That’s quite true. I'm dressed head to toe in my leather gear. I would look like an oddball at the upscale, members-only place he plans to take me.
"Don't worry abo
ut it," he says. "I'll have a limo sent to you with a fantastic dress inside."
Is he for real? Wow. He really is a control freak. Does he want to dress me now?
"Besides," he says, "I like the smell of the race on you."
He walks away, and I'm left in a kind of stunned daze. Where does my moral obligation go when I'm around him? Why can I keep it together for one goddamn second?
I snap back to reality and see that my entire crew is staring at me. Gaping, really.
I know what must be going through their minds. They think I've sold out. They think I'm Braden's latest toy.
Well, he may have some kind of power over me that even I don't understand, but I certainly don't intend to be one of his many escorts.
I attempt to cover up the interaction by telling my crew, "There's more to racing than what you guys see. He’s up to something. I'm gonna get to the bottom of whatever Braden's hiding in that car to make it go so fast."
They appear to take me at my word, even if they don't really believe it. They know I'm honest, and they know I don't mess around with racers. But at the same time, they know what they saw.
Fuck. I may have to cover this up big time.
Dating a racer, especially Braden, is not a good look for me in front my team.
But it won’t stop me from meeting him.
I sulk and contemplate what the fuck I’m doing as I wait for his limo.
7
Braden
The streets are getting slick with rain.
Thank God it didn't ruin the race. Though not even rain could upset my night.
I’m confident my new and improved acceleration could handle even the slickest of streets.
I drive my jet-black car over to the restaurant. I'm still riding high on winning and from the new noticeable bump in my ever-increasing bank account.
I'm in this club for the money, for the racing, for the rush, and now, for Jenna.
Her face was what I saw when I crossed the finish line. She didn't seem surprised at all, and that proves that she knows I have something new.
No one could quite understand how I slid into first, but with Jenna, it's all numbers and components. She carefully analyzes every race and determines how to increase her team's chance of success. Without a doubt, she did that tonight.
I hope she enjoys the limo and the outfit I sent to her. She might as well get used to the fact that when I choose someone, I like to put my mark on every facet of her life.
Being a perfectionist is what's gotten me so far in life. I'm not going to give that up now.
Jenna is elusive. Not everything is obvious with her, and that intrigues me. She’s like a new challenge for me to take on, and I can’t get enough of her.
At the same time, I'm set on getting figuring out her mystery. I'll tear down her walls, one brick at a time if necessary.
I pull up to Bailey's, the ultra-exclusive restaurant where I told her to meet me. It's members-only, and I pay a hefty price just to be able to come here, out of the public eye.
The valet knows me, and I toss him my keys.
"Be very gentle with her tonight, Bobby," I say to him. "She's my money-maker."
He smiles at me happily. This kid's always so excited to drive my car, even if it’s just for a second. And he should be. It's a privilege that I grant to very few people.
To get behind the wheel of one of my cars is an experience. Especially this new one.
I think I'll name her Midnight, like the color of Jenna's hair.
I walk into the restaurant through a side door. I never like to take the main entrance because it draws too much attention to me.
I may be a public figure, but I like to keep my circle tight and keep personal things private. It's important when you're a businessman like me who’s into deviant racing behavior to not be too conspicuous.
I sit in my usual booth. It's large enough to accommodate several women, and some nights I need that. This is not, however, one of those nights. This information is not something I'll be revealing to Jenna.
She's knows about my playboy reputation—shall we call it a thing of the past? I don’t know yet, but I do know it’s not a good thing to rub in her face.
The bartender brings me my usual, a Manhattan, named after the city I love. I relax and stretch my arms over the sides of the wide booth.
I sip my drink and wait ever so patiently for Jenna to arrive. For a moment, I question if she's even gonna come. Everyone knows her morals are as high as fuck. But I plan to surmount that wall.
Just as I'm starting to lose hope and patience, she walks in. At fucking last. The dress I've deemed appropriate for her to wear looks perfect. It's black because I already know she likes that color, and it hugs her every curve so that I can better imagine her naked.
I think of how it would be to drag the silk fabric off her body with my teeth before thrusting my massive cock deep inside her throbbing pussy. The very idea of being inside Jenna excites me. My cock hardens against my pants just at the thought of it.
"You actually showed up," I say as I stand to greet her.
She playfully pushes me back down to the booth.
"Take a load off, Braden. You probably need it after your win tonight."
I laugh at her brazenness and ask her to take a seat next to me.
Instead, to my utter delight, she sits across the table from me. She's got some strength, this one.
"What are you having?" I ask her.
"I'm having that." She points to my drink. "What is it? Manhattan?"
She knows her liquor like she knows her cars. Fuck. This woman is perfect.
"It is indeed. Shall I order you one?"
She's already waving the bartender over. She orders it herself.
Jesus Christ, this woman is killing me.
I note with a little bit of envy that she flirts with the bartender a touch. Does she turn her charm on like that for everyone?
"So, did you like the race tonight?" I ask her.
"I did," she says with a half-smile. "You won again. Surprise, surprise."
I laugh at her sarcasm. She's clearly put off by the fact that my technology keeps beating hers.
"Yeah, well, I'm the best."
She seems to take note of my cocky tone, and I idly wonder if it bothers her. Maybe I should tone it down a little bit. I've never once thought to do that for a woman, but for Jenna, I’d do anything. At this point, I don't want to turn her off.
"Your car seemed to do pretty well," I say, trying to drive the attention away from myself.
"Yeah, we did good. I couldn't help but notice that something was different about your car, though."
I try to fight the smile. She's fucking onto me. I should've known that if one person knew what I was up to, it would be Jenna. And why is that so fucking hot? I wonder what kind of scrupulous notes she took tonight?
I divert.
"She's basically the same car. Tonight, she did really well, though. So, what are your plans later?"
Jenna looks at me like she's not gonna let me off the hook for one second.
"Did you do something different to the propulsion?" she asks, not letting it go.
She's sharp as ever, but what does she expect me to say? I don't plan on revealing my secrets to her anytime soon. She's the competition, after all.
"You know, I might have amped it up a little bit. Did you notice? Anyway, are you going to that gala?"
I keep trying to change the subject, hoping she'll let it go.
"I noticed that the thrust timing was off. Can you explain that to me, Braden?"
This girl like it a goddamn dog with a bone. I'm not gonna tell her anything. She might as well let up.
"Hmm, Jenna, ever the observant spectator. Nothing gets past you, does it?" I attempt to flirt with her.
"Braden, I want you to be honest with me. I know you did something remarkable to your car and I want to know what it is," she says confidently as if she's sure she can get it out of me.
"Jenna, you're too beautiful to be asking me business questions like that. Don't you want to relax tonight?" I ask her honestly.
Her cheeks flush pink, and I know I've got her right where I want her. With just a little more divergence, I can point her mind in the direction I want it to be, which is on me—not my car.
"Be real with me here, Braden. I know you're not gonna divulge your new technology, but at least give me a hint as to the direction you're going with it," she presses.
"Jenna, if you want to know the technology, then you should come work for me. Of course, you'll have to sign a nondisclosure agreement. That's standard."
I actually would be thrilled if I could get her on my side. But something tells me she's out to win it, not to join sides with the enemy.
"A non-disclosure agreement. What do you have to hide, Braden?" she says pointedly.
"I require one of those for people to enter my personal life as well. Looks like you'll be signing one no matter what," I tell her.
She laughs in disbelief.
"Braden, you really think you're something special, don't you?"
I love the way she's flirting with me. Little does she know, I’ll have her signing an agreement with me soon enough, an agreement to be my submissive. Now that the idea’s taken hold, I’m determined to make it my reality.
"No, I don't think I'm special, but I know my technology," I say to her.
I watch the careful way she sips her drink and how it slowly helps her to relax. I watch her neck and think about how I'd like to bite it gently and trail kisses up to her ear where I’d whisper sweet nothings.
And then my eyes make their way down to her perfect tits, which just the other night I had access to. When I was biting and sucking on her nipples.
I'm dying to do it again, and suddenly this restaurant seems like a bad idea. I want to get her straight to my penthouse. And in my bed.
"You know, Braden, if you tell me some of your secrets, I might tell you mine," she says.