Driven By Fate Page 6

  “Yes.”

  His hips slowed. A warning. “Francesca…”

  “Yes, my lord,” she all but shouted. “No other doors.”

  Her vision went black after that, the overflowing of sensation commanding all her attention. Porter’s ferocious drives were delivered so fast and precise, it took her mere seconds to climax. Although “climax” didn’t do the moment justice. She was catapulted from the room. She soared, flesh rippling in endless spasms between her legs. All the while, she screamed into the abyss, never wanting to come out again. The hardness inside her became the focal point of her universe as Porter rammed himself deep one final time, coming with a yell.

  Chapter Seven

  Not the plan. This hadn’t been the plan.

  Porter tried to regulate his breathing as Francesca’s body drooped against him. She was shaking, her forehead flush with his shoulder. His cock still pulsed inside of her, even though he’d just spent himself in extraordinary fucking fashion. His body wanted round two when his mind hadn’t quite wrapped itself around round one. Not the plan.

  Sex for him was ruthlessly efficient. It never got emotional or messy or possessive. However, he was fairly sure he’d just demanded she never go to another man. Ever. While this odd jealous streak wouldn’t exactly allow him to take back the command, he was starting to question his sanity.

  Leading a solitary life worked for him. He’d been proficient in doing so since age eight, when his career-driven parents had deemed him responsible enough that they could fire the nanny. He’d moved to a different country and emerged himself in the fascinating world of rare antiques so he could continue in the same vein until his time away from London expired. Okay, fascinating was a stretch when it came to antiques. But it was safe, would be easy to walk away from, when the time came. Exactly what he required—a life he could leave behind with zero difficulty.

  Having enlisted in the army after two long years of studying at Oxford, then building his security firm following his military service, he’d never had time for anything serious with a woman. His affairs were limited to one, sometimes two, mutually agreed upon encounters before they went their separate ways. Clubs, such as Serve, had aided him in maintaining an impersonal distance in the past and he’d simply continued in that manner, never seeing a reason to muddle his efficient routine. The cut and dried nature of it suited him. Rules, limits, plans. His three favorite words.

  It was common for a man to form…an attachment to a particular woman, right? A submissive, specifically. Perhaps that’s what was taking place now. He’d invited her to his home, his office, two very unusual actions for him. And now? He didn’t want her to go home just yet. Normally, he’d perform the required aftercare, talk to the woman long enough to ascertain if she felt comfortable with what they’d done. Then he’d separate himself from the situation. This was not that. This time, there had been more. Had he found his first permanent submissive? Yes, it seemed he had.

  First things first.

  “Francesca.”

  She mumbled something unintelligible against his shoulder.

  Porter cleared his throat. “I realize that you don’t quite like me, which is entirely your right.” When she looked up at him, all drowsy and questioning, he almost lost his train of thought. “I’m hoping we can work on that, however. Surely, I’m not all bad.”

  Her lopsided smile caused a boom in his chest, a cannon being fired. “You can start by unbuckling me from the post.”

  “Right.” Porter didn’t bother containing his groan as he slid his cock from inside her heat. Jesus, she was hot, dangerous perfection. He needed more soon. Very fucking soon. He started to circle the pillar to loosen the leather, but she felt so good up against him, he meshed their bodies together and performed the task blind, reaching behind her to unbuckle the belt. “I need you longer than one day.”

  Her breath washed over his chest. “I was afraid of that.”

  Knowing her equilibrium would be off, he released her arms and immediately pulled her close. “Clarify that statement, please,” he spoke into her hair.

  She remained silent a moment, too long for him. “I want more than one day, too. But I wanted you to tell me no.”

  “You are an utter bafflement, Francesca.”

  “Monocle.” She yawned and the sound was oddly comforting. “I guess I wanted you to tell me that curiosity killed the cat. To send me home where I should be.”

  “I don’t want you to go home.” His voice had risen, so he brought it down a notch. Scaring the girl would do nothing to achieve his end. “Well, I suppose you could go home, but I’m going to need you to come back tomorrow.”

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “This started out as an experiment, but it has to stop somewhere, doesn’t it? This…” Her gaze fell to the belt in his hand. “I like it too much.”

  For some reason, he dropped the belt. His impulse dictated he haul her into his arms and carry her to his bedroom, just to see what she looked like in his bed. He sensed she was on the verge of making a decision, though. About him. This. He couldn’t very well vocalize his intention to keep her around until he figured out how deep this fascination ran, could he? “What was the goal of your experiment, if not to like it?”

  “Good question.” She rubbed her lips over his collarbone. “I had these fantasies. All the time. I thought maybe if I acted on them, it would appease something in me.”

  He released a pent-up breath. “I did appease you, Francesca. And I’ll do it again.”

  Her laugh vibrated against his skin. “Don’t tone down the arrogance on my account.” She started to ease away from him. Porter found himself hard pressed to remove his hold, but the command finally reached his brain when she lifted an eyebrow. “You did appease me.” Her cheekbones darkened. “There are things I want, though. I’m not sure where this fits in.”

  “What things?”

  Francesca attempted to pull her ripped shirt together, but gave up, leaving her breasts bare. “I’m about to completely freak you out,” she said. “But I want a huge, loud, silly family. Barbeques, babies, and baseball games. The three B’s.”

  “You’re right. That does freak me out.”

  Her eyes lit with humor. “Don’t worry, I don’t want it with you.”

  “Oh.” He wondered at the dodgy feeling wrought by that pronouncement. “I suppose it’s all right, then.”

  She breezed past him toward the hallway. After a moment of staring at the pillar, he fixed his pants then went to his bedroom to retrieve a T-shirt and follow her into the bathroom. He had to pause on the threshold upon catching sight of her reflection—whisker burn on her neck, lips imprinted with self-inflicted bite marks, dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. Stunning. When their eyes locked in the mirror, something sharp and insistent burned in his chest. “You’re a beautiful goddamn sight.”

  Francesca appeared just as startled by that slip as he, but she recovered first. “All right, all right. You want me to like you. I get it.”

  He stepped behind her, lifting the torn shirt over her head. “Is it working?”

  “Sure,” she whispered, hands lifting to cover her breasts. He stopped them halfway through their ascent, keeping them aloft. The red marks ringing her midsection would fade, but he bloody well wanted something to do with it. He smoothed his palm over the belt’s impression, watching his hand’s progress in the mirror, from one side of her ribcage, over her belly, to the other side. She appeared almost transfixed by what he was doing, the response of her body. Beneath his hand, her stomach shuddered, her nipples beading. “Is this, like, your post-game ritual?”

  “No. This is different.”

  “Oh.” She rolled her lips inward. “I, um. I could do the same for you, but your scars look like they’ve been there a while.”

  “They have.”

  Silence passed. “Not ready to share with the class?”

  “No.”

  His thumb brushed the underside of her breast an
d she sucked in a breath. “Well, you should at least tell me if you’re James Bond. Every woman he sleeps with dies, so I’ll need to take proper precautions.”

  He looked up from the reflection of her breasts. “You’re familiar with James Bond?”

  “I’m constantly surrounded by men. Of course I’m familiar.”

  Porter’s hand froze. “Repeat that once more.”

  “Of course I’m fam—”

  “The men part. I’m talking about the men.”

  She reached for the T-shirt with a sigh, pulling it over her head.

  Porter would have lamented the disappearing view if he could think about anything else, anything but the men. “I’m rapidly losing patience, Francesca.”

  She turned to face him. “Relax, monocle man. I live with my uncle. He has a lot of friends who apparently have nowhere better to be than my kitchen.”

  Better than he expected, but he still didn’t like it. Didn’t like the idea of her spending time with men. Any men. “What do they do in your kitchen?”

  “A shit ton of eating.” She rubbed a hand over her middle. “Speaking of which, I’m starving. I’m going to head home.”

  She whooshed past him out of the bathroom, leaving Porter dumbfounded. Unbelievable. He’d actually found a woman he wanted to keep around and she couldn’t leave fast enough. He spun on a heel and strode after her, groaning when she bent over to pick up her panties, flashing that smooth, sexy backside in the process. She pulled them up her legs and did a little dance to get them in place. By god, it was fucking adorable.

  And just when had he started finding another person’s mannerisms adorable?

  “You can’t leave yet,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Several reasons.” He counted them off on his fingers. “I haven’t paid you for the office work. We haven’t discussed when—when, not if—you’re coming back. And if you’re hungry, I can bloody well feed you. You needn’t wait.”

  “Oh, I needn’t?” She hopped on one foot, shoving the opposite one into her leggings. “I’m halfway to liking you, so let’s quit while we’re ahead, huh?”

  He closed the gap between them, hauling her to her toes. “You have no idea how close you are to having your lovely backside slapped into next week.”

  There. There it was. Awareness. Need. Vulnerability. She was very adept at hiding her true reactions, but he could bring them to the forefront with little effort. It calmed him to see that susceptibility, told him she had a cauldron of thoughts bubbling just beneath the surface. He wanted to tap into each and every one and own them all.

  “I’ll be back the same time tomorrow,” she murmured. “You can pay me then.”

  Had her mouth trembled? “What about dinner?”

  He could hear her heavy swallow. “I need to be on my own. What we did…I need time to process it, okay? The dinner thing was just an excuse.”

  Porter loosened his grip on her elbows. “Complete honesty from now on, Francesca.”

  “I’m really going to try. That’ll have to be good enough.” She looked away a moment. “Okay, I thought of something honest. Want it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She tugged out of his hold, rubbing palms down her leggings. “You said…like, you try and limit it to one kiss. A-and then I didn’t mark it off on the sheet as a limit. So, like, what’s that noise about? Did you run out of coupons?”

  A smile pushed against his lips. If someone had handed him a winning lottery ticket, he would turn it down just to hear her say it all again. She wanted to be kissed. Why the hell hadn’t he kissed her yet, anyway? Perhaps because a voice had been whispering from the furthest recesses of his mind that he should proceed with caution. Until now he’d tried to heed it, but denying a chance with her mouth would be criminal “Come here.”

  “No way. I can’t believe you made me bring it up in the first place.” She crossed her arms. “It’s your turn to make the move, my lord.”

  He stepped into her space, tilting her chin up with a finger. “This is highly irregular, Francesca.”

  “Monocle.”

  The kiss started as a sampling. He sipped at her bottom lip, tugging it with his mouth. But when her taste and texture fully registered, he began to devour. No choice. Had no choice. His hands shot to her head, holding it still as his senses overloaded. Berries. The smell of crushed berries gripped him. Head falling back, she allowed her tongue to be coaxed into a frenzy by his, allowed him to consume her greedily. It was permission, submission, and—fuck it—wonder. Not just from her. From him. Air became a necessity, but neither was willing to stop. They were both moaning. Her fingers tugged on his hair, her body lifted and fit to his, grazing his pulsing cock and settling over it. Good. Too fucking good.

  Porter had no idea who severed the contact, but it didn’t feel like breaking away because at some point during the kiss, he’d enveloped her in an unbreakable hug. She was crushed to his chest, sucking in harsh breaths. Or was that him?

  He shook his head. “Don’t leave.”

  She studied him, looking more than a little shell-shocked. “After that, I really have to go.”

  Letting her leave his arms felt wrong. Horribly wrong. But he had no choice. She’d said she needed time to process what they’d done. After that kiss, she probably needed the time twice as much. Hell, he had some things to process as well. Watching her walk out the door would be hard, but he consoled himself with the fact that he could find her if necessary. “Come back tomorrow, Francesca.”

  “Yes, Porter.”

  After she left, he found himself flipping through television stations in search of James Bond.

  Chapter Eight

  Dammit, she hated being indecisive.

  Frankie paced back and forth on the sidewalk in front of her cab. Her classes had just ended and it was eleven fifteen. Fifteen minutes until she was scheduled to arrive at Porter’s office. Apartment. Den of dirty deeds. She wanted to be there. A Fourth of July sparkler flared in her belly, giving off a glow that spread to every corner of her body. How he’d felt inside of her. How he’d moved. What he’d said. Hot, sweaty memories she’d been drowning in since last night. She’d left his presence to get some perspective, but the overriding need to be with him again hadn’t allowed for much critical thought.

  Hope had gotten her through the morning—the hope that once she saw Porter today her common sense would kick in. She would spend five minutes talking to him and remember that he was a pompous dick and that this affair was a temporary exploration, a way to understand these needs she’d always had. Once they were face to face, she’d laugh about the connection she thought she’d felt last night. After all, she’d been coming down off a sexual high. Was still coming down. Her brain had taken on the consistency of scrambled eggs. So, yeah. She’d been banking on seeing Porter again and putting these icky feelings to rest.

  Then Uncle Joe had called during her Marketing Management class. He’d woken up with the flu and needed her to cover his shift behind the wheel. She’d started to tell him the internship wasn’t over, but caught herself, horrified. This was a man to whom she owed everything. There would be an ice sculpture contest in Hell before she let him down. Simply to be with a man she’d just met, a man who would someday only be a blip in her rearview. Family was forever. And she owed Uncle Joe. Repaying that debt was an ongoing process, one that might never end.

  So why was she still pacing as if she hadn’t already made the decision?

  Make the call.

  Frankie slipped behind the wheel of her cab and started the engine to let it warm up. With a bracing breath, she dialed Porter’s number.

  He answered on the second ring. “Porter Evans.”

  A bluster of sexual excitement circled through her stomach. Christ, that accent. “Hey, it’s me.” She winced over the familiarity in her tone. How many women must call this sex god on a weekly basis? “I mean, it’s Frankie De Luca.”

  A pause ensued. “Is there a reas
on you are calling me instead of sitting at your desk?”

  “I can’t make it today.”

  Another extended silence. “I await your explanation.”

  “Monocle,” she whispered and heard him sigh. “My Uncle Joe is sick and he needs his shift covered. I told him I would do it.”

  “Even though we agreed your time today belongs to me.” It wasn’t a question. And he’d phrased it so annoyingly, her hand clenched around the phone. “Very well,” he continued. “I need a ride uptown. How soon can you be here?”

  She did a double take. “I—huh?”

  “I’m already irritated, Francesca. Please don’t make me repeat myself.”

  Thank god. Here was her reminder that she didn’t like him. She didn’t even have to spend the day with him for a refresher course. “I have to pick up fares. For money. I can’t just spend the day driving your stuffy British ass around.”

  “Leave the bloody meter running all day if you must. I’ll pay at the end. But you will come here and give me the time agreed upon.” She heard a briefcase snapping shut. “Unless you are the type of person who doesn’t follow through on their responsibilities.”

  “Ooh, burn. And here I thought you wanted me to like you.”

  “How do you propose I accomplish that when you neglect to show up?”

  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. It would be like you’re paying me for work I’m not actually doing. I don’t take free money.” One of her classmates passed in front of the cab and they exchanged a wave. “How about this? I’ll drive you uptown. But after that, I’m picking up fares. You can even veto any fares that look questionable, if it fulfills your need to be in charge.”

  “I agree to these terms. See you downstairs.”

  He hung up.

  Grumbling over the delay in turning on her meter, Frankie pulled onto Broadway. She got lucky with traffic, and it took her twenty-two minutes to head east across town and pull up in front of Porter’s building in Tudor City. He climbed into the passenger side, still talking on his cell phone, but ended the call after a brisk goodbye. Her casual greeting was cut off when he immediately handed her an envelope. The money he owed her for working the day prior? As he watched closely, she weighed it in her hand, examining how she felt about being paid by the man she was sleeping with. If she hadn’t worked hard for it, she would have handed the money back. And the promise of paying down her debt to the Prestons was far too great. She pocketed the envelope.