"Mr. Russo."

Senator Alden’s voice crackled through the encrypted speaker, a gravelly, weather-beaten baritone that carried decades of backroom congressional deals. "You have an incredible talent for making the most entrenched, heavily fortified monopolies in this country bleed from the eyes."

"I prefer to think of it as market correction, Senator," Ryan replied smoothly.

He stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows, tracking the blur of rain slashing against the glass. He forced his breathing to remain entirely even, an absolute necessity given the blistering, suffocating heat currently wrapped around his groin.

Down at his boots, Sophie worked with ruthless, predatory focus.

She had bypassed any initial teasing, sinking her mouth over his thick, aching shaft and sliding all the way down until her nose brushed his lower abdomen.

She established a tight, crushing vacuum, bobbing her head in a steady, unbroken rhythm.

Her hands gripped his thighs, her thumbs digging into his hamstrings to anchor herself as she dragged her lips up and down his slick length.

"The FTC doesn’t view hostile acquisitions of critical supply chains as a market correction," Alden noted, the skepticism heavy in his tone. "They view it as a localized monopoly. The lobbyists for the legacy sector are pushing for an emergency injunction by Monday. They want your blind trust frozen in federal court."

"Legacy tech relies on the courts because they can no longer compete on the servers," Ryan said, his voice dropping into a low, unshakable register.

He rested his free hand on the back of Sophie’s head. Her dark hair was slicked back in its tight knot, leaving the smooth, pale column of her neck exposed.

His fingers tangled in the strands at her nape, holding her firmly in place as a sharp, violent spike of pleasure shot up his spine.

Sophie swallowed hard around him, her tongue lashing aggressively against the sensitive frenulum on the upstroke. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Ryan locked his jaw, swallowing the groan that threatened to tear out of his throat.

"Bridge isn’t a monopoly, Senator," Ryan continued, the iron in his voice masking the feral, pulsing heat flooding his nervous system. "It’s an integration layer. We streamline the mid-market. If the DOJ freezes our assets, they aren’t protecting commerce. They are bailing out obsolete billionaires who refuse to innovate."

A long, heavy pause hung on the line. The only sound in the penthouse was the rhythmic drumming of the storm and the wet, filthy glide of Sophie’s mouth working over him.

From the corner of his eye, Ryan saw Zara resting heavily against the marble kitchen island.

The supermodel was entirely drained, her bare skin flushed, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

She watched Sophie service him, her dark eyes heavy and dilated, completely fascinated by the sheer, unapologetic depravity of the scene.

"I don’t care about bailing out billionaires," Alden finally said, his tone turning sharp and pragmatic. "But I care about the structural integrity of the sector. You are moving too fast, Russo. You are breaking things."

"I am breaking things that need to be broken," Ryan countered. He tilted his hips forward just a fraction of an inch, driving himself deeper into the back of Sophie’s throat. She let out a soft, muffled gag, her hands tightening bruisingly against his legs, but she didn’t pull back. She forced her throat to relax, taking the intrusion perfectly.

"I can hold the injunction off," Alden stated, the negotiation reaching its apex. "I have the leverage on the committee to stall the lobbyists. But I don’t extend political capital over encrypted channels. I want to see the architect of the chaos."

"Name the location," Ryan said.

"Tomorrow morning. 8:00 AM. My private residence in Georgetown," the Senator commanded. "If your vision for the market holds up in person, you walk out with a shield. If you sound like another arrogant venture-backed child, I step aside and let the FTC bury you."

"I will be there," Ryan promised.

He ended the call.

He tossed the heavy, encrypted phone onto the nearby glass coffee table. The device clattered sharply against the surface.

Ryan looked down.

Sophie immediately slowed her rhythm, pulling her mouth back until only the tip remained trapped between her lips.

She swirled her tongue around the swollen ridge, her eyes drifting upward to meet his.

Her dark irises were blazing with a frantic, devoted fire. She had swallowed her pride, her pristine corporate image, and every ounce of professional decorum to drop to the floor and service him while he navigated a federal crisis.

Ryan didn’t pull her up gently.

He reached down, gripping her by the upper arms, and hauled her roughly to her feet.

Sophie gasped, her hands flying to his chest to steady herself.

Her severe navy trench coat had fallen open, the black pencil skirt riding up her thighs. Her lips were swollen, shining wetly under the ambient light of the penthouse.

"I dislike politicians," Ryan rasped, his voice a dark, gritty scrape that vibrated right through her ribs.

He didn’t wait for her to respond. He grabbed her by the hips, spinning her around in one fluid, violent motion. He marched her forward, pressing her front-first against the high, velvet-upholstered back of the massive living room sectional.

Sophie let out a sharp cry as her stomach hit the plush fabric. She braced her forearms flat against the top of the sofa back, her spine bowing sharply.

Ryan didn’t bother undressing her.

He reached under the hem of her black pencil skirt, his calloused fingers gripping the thin lace of her panties. He ripped the fabric to the side, completely exposing the soaking, dripping heat of her core.

She was already shaking, her thighs trembling against the thick Persian rug.

He stepped directly behind her, his boots planted shoulder-width apart. He grabbed her hips, anchoring her firmly against the furniture. He aligned the thick, aching head of his shaft against her slick entrance and drove his pelvis forward.

He buried himself to the absolute hilt in a single, devastating impact.

"Fuck!" Sophie shrieked, her voice echoing wildly across the high ceilings.

Her inner walls clamped down on him like a vise, clutching and spasming around the intrusion with an agonizing, milking pressure. The contrast of her sharp, tailored corporate attire and the raw, filthy reality of being bent over a couch short-circuited her brain completely.

Ryan set a brutal, punishing pace right from the first stroke.

He pulled back until he was nearly free, then slammed his hips forward, burying himself deep inside her tight, gripping heat.

The heavy, wet slap of his pelvis hitting her thighs exploded into the silence, an obscene percussion that perfectly matched the pounding rain outside the glass.

"Hold steady," Ryan commanded, his breathing turning ragged as he picked up the speed.

He hammered into her with relentless, mechanical precision. The heavy velvet couch groaned under the violent, shifting weight. Sophie’s head tossed blindly from side to side, her fingernails digging deep into the plush upholstery.

"Ryan," she babbled, entirely delirious, her hips jerking backward to chase the blinding friction. "Oh my god—it’s so deep—"

"You set the board," Ryan growled, his hands sliding up from her hips to grip her waist, his thumbs digging bruisingly deep into her soft flesh. "You locked down the D.C. meeting. This is your reward."

He drove into her harder, the angle forcing him past every natural barrier, hitting the exact, swollen bundle of nerves hidden deep inside her.

From the kitchen island, Zara watched them.

The supermodel didn’t move to intervene. She leaned her chin on her hand, her chest heaving as she observed the sheer, unapologetic destruction of the lead designer.

Seeing the fiercely organized, untouchable Sophie entirely undone, screaming and writhing against the furniture, sent a fresh, heavy pulse of heat straight to Zara’s own core.

Ryan reached his left hand around Sophie’s waist, sliding his fingers down the smooth skin of her stomach until he found the soaking wet, swollen peak of her clit.

He pressed his thumb down hard, trapping the sensitive flesh against her pelvic bone, and ground his hand in a tight, vicious circle while he continued to pound into her from behind.

The dual sensory overload ripped the last shred of composure from Sophie’s mind.

"Please!" she sobbed, her voice cracking, completely unrecognizable. She pushed back against him, her body completely surrendered to the impact. "Right there—don’t stop—I’m going to—"

"Do it," Ryan ordered, his voice ringing with absolute, immovable authority.

Sophie’s entire skeleton locked rigid.

A deafening, feral cry tore from her lungs as a catastrophic orgasm ripped through her frame. Her spine bowed so hard it looked like it might snap.

Her inner walls clamped down on his shaft with terrifying, crushing force, spasming in rapid, violent contractions that milked the very life out of his veins.

The intense, localized pressure destroyed Ryan’s control.

With a deep, animalistic groan, he ripped his hand away from her clit, gripping her hips with bone-crushing force.

He drove himself to the absolute hilt one last time and erupted. He flooded her tight, quivering core with thick, heavy pulses, pumping every last drop deep inside her.

He held her pinned against the velvet couch, his chest heaving, his muscles locked tight as the climax wracked his entire body.

Sophie collapsed forward, her arms giving out completely. She slumped over the back of the sofa, her face buried in the cushions, weeping quietly from the sheer, overwhelming physical release.

Her legs were completely useless, trembling so violently she would have hit the floor if Ryan wasn’t anchoring her hips.

He stayed buried inside her for a long, heavy minute, letting the absolute silence of the penthouse wash over the frantic, hammering rhythm of their heartbeats.

Slowly, carefully, Ryan eased his hips back. The slick, wet sound of his retreat made Sophie whimper softly, her body instinctively twitching at the loss of heat.

Ryan zipped his slacks, his breathing steadying. The adrenaline from the political crisis and the physical exertion leveled out, leaving a cold, sharp clarity in his mind.

He looked down at the designer sprawled over the couch.

"Get your breath back," Ryan said, his voice dropping into a flat, professional register that carried no trace of the violence from moments ago. He turned, grabbing his overcoat from the nearby armchair. "We fly to Washington in six hours. Have Hayes prep a jet."

Sophie didn’t look up. She kept her face pressed into the velvet, her entire body shaking, a beautiful, ruined casualty of the Warlord’s momentum.

"Yes, boss," she whispered into the cushions.