The first rays of morning slipped past the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the penthouse in gold.

Justina lay against the pillows, wrists tingling from where Carson had tied them, her body still humming with the aftershocks of the night. Every nerve was alive, every memory a burn on her skin.

Carson had touched her like a man starving, kissed her like a man furious, bound her like a man desperate for control. And she had given in. God help her, she had surrendered not just her body, but ...