Driven By Fate (4 page)

When he looked back down at her, he saw a flash of insecurity before it vanished—vanished and transformed into something unintentionally seductive. Her gaze darted to the side, lips rolling inward. “Is this just, like, what I’ll call you when we’re…
together
together?”

He couldn’t help it. His thumb found her bottom lip and dragged it down. There was nothing preventing him from dragging her onto the carpet and fucking her on all fours. Nothing but his own rules. Valuable rules, he reminded himself. Rules prevented mistakes. “What you’ll call me after hours, yes.”

“I, um…” She moved closer and he held his breath. “I had a dream last night where I called you my lord. The name kind of stuck, I think. Do you hate it?”

“No,” he shocked himself by admitting. “Not the way you say it.”

“Oh.” One side of her mouth lifted. “I think you just complimented me.”

For the second time since she’d arrived, he found himself battling a smile. “I’ve hired you with zero references and brought you here—to my
home
—to be my submissive.” Something he’d never done before. “How much more complimentary do you need me to be, exactly?”

She breathed a laugh. “Just when I was starting to think you weren’t a complete ass.”

Irritation warred with something else inside him, something akin to regret, possibly for painting their association in such harsh terms. He released her chin and took a step back. “Well. At least you can admit your mistakes.” She started to respond, but he spoke over her. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you what’s expected.”

“Until five o’clock, you mean?”

“Yes.” He started toward the stairs, but turned back to capture her interested gaze. “Francesca, you do not need to remind me again about five o’clock. I promise you that.”

Knowing it was ill advised, he snaked a hand around her wrist and yanked her up against his body, letting their hips brush. Fuck, he wanted to absorb her husky gasp so he could replay it later. “While you’re working today, in those leggings that outline your tight handful of a pussy, I’ll be deciding what to do with you—whether I want to watch that compact body work to please mine on top, watch you buck and moan and strain to fit me.” He wanted to swallow her answering whimper, but knew it would mean an end to his restraint. “Or whether I want to secure you face down on my bed, prop your temptress backside in the air, and introduce you to my cock the hard way. You won’t remember
what
the fuck to call me by then. You’ll only know two words.
More
and
please
.
More
and
please
.” He slid his hand over her right hip, let it linger on her ass, before he raised his hand and brought it down hard with a loud
smack
, sending her body flush with his. “Do we understand each other so far?”

Her nod was shaky. “Yes, my lord.”

Chapter Five

Holiest of shits.

Her insides had been shaken and rearranged. At least, that was how it seemed to Frankie as she took her seat behind the desk Porter indicated. She’d known¸ possibly in her subconscious, that he was a force to be reckoned with. Someone out of her league when it came to experience. Okay, maybe he was out of her league in
all
ways, but she hadn’t expected him to control her hormones as though they were connected to puppet strings.

Porter sent her a knowing look as he strode across the office, presumably to answer the ringing phone. It allowed her a moment to gain her bearings, to glimpse her surroundings, if she could only look away from his butt. Could it even technically be referred to as a
butt
? Such a common term for something so extraordinary. His navy blue dress pants clung to him like a greedy lover as he walked, one cheek rising…then the other. Just boom, bam. Boom, bam. Was she really expected to share an office with this sexy sex-panther all day, knowing what he planned on doing when the clock struck five? She’d never concentrate. Not for a second.

Damn, girl. Look away from the ass.
With a deep breath, Frankie scanned the beautifully decorated office, noting the tasteful placement of antiques. Deep burgundy walls, original wainscoting, an oversized Persian rug running the entire length of the room. Overhead, a brass ceiling fan whirred and she was grateful for the sound. It drowned out her pumping pulse. Half of her wondered what the hell she’d been thinking coming here. The other half was…excited. Ready.
Bring it on.
Nothing he’d said or done so far had sounded unappealing. Just the opposite, actually. The more aggression he allowed her to see, the more she gravitated toward him.

Where did it stop? When she finally found out how deep this fascination with being dominated ran, what would she do about it? She’d never been without a boisterous group of relatives and neighborhood friends surrounding her, unconventional as it had been. Her dreams included a big, loud family. Husband, kids, dogs, hamsters, annoying neighbors, baseball practices. Sunday dinners. Where did this part of her fit in? What if it didn’t?

Frankie placed her hands on the cool surface of the ornate, cherry wood desk, hoping it would center her enough to put the kibosh on her confusing questions. One day. She’d only committed to one day. At any time, she could pick up and walk away. She might know more about her own sexuality by the time this thing with Porter ended, but she didn’t have to nurture it.

“Francesca.”

She sucked in a breath when she realized Porter was standing right in front of her desk. “Yes?”

“Have I hired a daydreamer?”

“The furthest thing from it.”

He set a neat stack of files down in front of her, before circling behind her. Slowly. “There are purchase orders for the last two weeks. I need them archived in the company database.”

His larger body towered behind Francesca’s chair, making her spine snap straight with awareness. She swore she could feel his breath at the top of her head, but chalked it up to wishful thinking. Without the desk to block his view, her body felt exposed, on display from above. For him. How long was he going to stand there? Breathe.
Breathe
. One big hand appeared to her right, telling her how close he stood.
Close.
With a flick of his wrist against the mouse, he woke up her computer, clicking on a desktop icon.

When he spoke just beside her ear, she barely resisted jolting. “Here is the section that must be completed for each individual transaction.” Her hair moved. Oh God, his mouth was so close to touching her skin. Everything covered by her leggings clenched tight. “I doubt you’ll have any trouble, but once you’ve completed the first entry, I will review it to be sure.”

“I guess we—
I
better get started.” The statement sounded breathy, so very unlike her. “Unless there’s anything else?”

“Oh, there is.” Porter moved away and she sagged into the chair, heart thumping, mouth dry. His expression wasn’t gloating, though. It was focused. On her. “I need to know your hard limits by close of business today.” He nodded toward the files. “The top one contains a list. Simply put an X beside anything you’re not comfortable with. I assume you plan to keep your somewhat odd safe word?”

“Yes.” Needing to escape from the intensity of his undivided attention, she flipped open the file. Her gaze landed on the first item listed. “Kissing is a limit?”

“For some.”

“Why?”

He remained silent a moment. “I suppose they don’t want to inspire or deepen any emotional connections. It’s fairly common, actually.”

Frankie laughed to herself. “Not for nothing, but I’ve kissed my fair share of guys. Most of the time it does nothing to further an emotional connection. Usually, it just inspires me to go home and watch reruns of
Frasier
.” She thought she saw his lips twitch, but decided her mind was playing tricks. “So…you’re not one of these kiss boycotters?”

His sigh was long-suffering. “This seems rather important to you.”

God, attempt to be a little less obvious that you’d like to kiss his sculpted, British mouth.
She flipped the file shut, knowing she’d open it again as soon as he returned to his desk. “Nope, I’m just curious. Or whatever.”

“
Or whatever
,” he repeated under his breath. “I have no problem with kissing, but I don’t make a bloody production out of it. I usually limit it to one.”

The laughter burst out of her. “Do you give the woman a coupon or something?”

“Are we going to discuss each item on the list at length?” His eyes narrowed. “If you’re this concerned about kissing, I rather wonder how you’ll react when you reach the bottom.”

“Isn’t
reach the bottom
an item on the list?”

“Honestly, Francesca.”

She leaned back in her chair, enjoying the fact that she’d succeeded in ruffling his feathers. It could become a habit. As soon as the thought appeared, she smashed it with a mental baseball bat. There would be no making a habit of Porter. Their differences were far too extreme. Just for laughs, she pictured him sitting in her uncle’s kitchen, waiting for bacon and eggs. That would be the day.

“You’re daydreaming again.”

“Okay, okay.” Frankie straightened in her seat, sending him a glare. “What did your last servant die from?”

“Funny.” He crossed the room toward his desk. “Deal with the top file first, Francesca.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Did he pause in his stride? She decided he had as she flipped open the beige file and snatched up a pen
. Biting.
It was the first word she zeroed in on. Frankie shifted in her seat as she envisioned Porter’s teeth sinking into her shoulder, her hip. The vibration of his growl echoing through her body. Should delicious knots of pleasure be pulling tight in her belly at the idea of making that vision a reality? She’d never been bitten before. Why did her body sense she’d like it? Above the word, her pen hovered, ready to make an X. Instead, she moved on. Bondage. Several methods were listed and none of them loosened the knots in her stomach. Ironically.

She drew an X beside gagging. Leashes. Something about having her oxygen compromised made her panic. When she landed on role-play, however, her thighs pressed together to compensate for the surge of heat. She swore she could feel Porter watching her, but a glance in his direction proved her wrong. Unbelievable. The simple act of reading a list could trigger responses in her body that no man, save Porter, had been capable of sparking. With a deep breath, she moved on, crossing out a few more items before stopping at voyeurism. She touched her pen down with the intention of making an X, but fashioned a question mark instead. Closing her eyes, she envisioned herself in a room with Porter, his hands and mouth moving over her skin. In the corner, two men sat on a chaise lounge, watching their every move. Sweat broke out beneath her clothes. Something told her to change the question mark to an X, but she flipped the file shut before the warning voice could penetrate.

…

At precisely four thirty, Porter stopped pretending to work. The list of hard limits sat untouched inside his inbox where Francesca had placed it on her way to the file cabinet. That had been three hours ago. It had taken all his willpower not to grab for the folder and find out what she’d allow.

Kissing. It had never been a part of his list before, yet he’d made an uncharacteristic addition at the last moment before her arrival, even forgetting to alphabetize it. No, he’d put it right at the top of the list like a desperate jackass. Thank God she hadn’t picked up on the slip or she wouldn’t waste a moment putting her attitude on full display. He’d never wanted to kiss a conquest before. It had always seemed a waste of time, a fruitless search for something that was never found. It wouldn’t be any different with Francesca. It wouldn’t. A needling urgency wouldn’t let the opportunity pass, though.

Deciding he’d waited long enough, Porter reached for the file and opened it. The already tense energy in the office went still, expectant. He could hear Francesca’s breath catch as he scanned the list. His cock thickened, distending in his pants while he read. Most of her limits were expected. What he found most fascinating was the choices she’d left open. She had an adventurous streak, this inexperienced girl. He wanted to play with that side of her, but didn’t want to push too soon.

That worry brought Porter’s head up. Since when did he coddle a submissive? He’d told her back at Serve that he wasn’t an easy man. Told her he didn’t mess about with newcomers. If she wanted someone to hold her hand and walk her through the basics, she’d come to the wrong place. If he were to become a guide…a
mentor
of sorts, it would only foster a relationship. He had no desire for one of those. There needed to be rules. The upper hand must be maintained.

For so long, his focus had centered on returning to London and his security firm. There were people counting on him, employees who’d given him their undivided loyalty, a partner whose mistake Porter now atoned for, an ocean away. His rules. His company. He’d had no choice but to take the fall, removing himself from the equation in order to keep operations running without doubt clouding the company’s reputation. A reputation
he
had built. Someday very soon, when the dust had settled completely, he would return home and rectify the damage. He couldn’t lose sight of his goal now. Not when he was so close.

Francesca appeared in front of his desk, flushed and nervous. Gorgeous. Despite his troubling thoughts, his arousal skyrocketed at the sight of her up close. How the hell had he gone so long in the same room with this female and not fucked her ten times by now? He could see the outline of her basic white bra through the shirt she wore, wanted to rip the straps down her arms and use them to tie her hands so he could suck those pointed little nipples.

“I finished the entries.” Her gaze dipped to the folder in his hands. “It’s five o’clock.”

Time to remind her who has the upper hand
. It was in everyone’s best interest. “What did I say about reminding me about five o’clock?”

“It wasn’t a reminder. It was a statement.” She tucked a loose hair behind her ear. “Kind of like, the Earth is round. Or
The
Honeymooners
is the best television show of all time.”

She was making it so damn difficult to maintain his composure, Porter knew he had to drive home his authority or this thing between them would never work. “It may be five o’clock, but I have one more phone call to make. You will remove your clothes and wait for me.”

“Where?” She looked around. “H-here?”

“Yes. Do it, now.” Without taking his eyes off her, Porter picked up the phone and dialed one of his suppliers in London. The man could talk about everything and nothing, usually without requiring any kind of encouragement or response. It would serve his purposes without distracting him from the body he ached to see revealed. His supplier answered on the second ring and, true to form, launched into a tirade about luxury taxes. After a moment, Francesca still hadn’t made a move to disrobe, so he leaned forward, very slowly, to remind her. As if he’d slapped the surface of his desk, she trembled and grabbed for the hem of her shirt, drawing it over her head. The swell of her breasts against the simple cotton of her bra forced him to clutch his cock beneath the desk, give it a tight upward stroke. In his ear, the man’s voice became tinny, unbearable. Why had he made this damn call? His hands needed to be on her right bloody now.

A light went on in her eyes, then. It wasn’t seduction or excitement, though. It was
fuck you
, pure and simple. With a toss of her hair, she kicked off her boots, peeled the leggings down her thighs, ass tilted up in the air to give him a view of her simple boy shorts, and the tight, sexy bottom to which they clung. Apart from her scarred knees, every inch of her golden skin was superb. Luscious. Then she removed her bra and he had two options: stay seated and pretend he wasn’t hugely fucking affected by her high, peachy set of tits, or launch himself across the desk in an effort to suck first and ask questions later. In the end, he stayed seated, hand working beneath the desk to appease his rapidly distending length. He had no choice. This move to gain control had been his doing and he couldn’t call it off now, badly as he wanted to slam the phone into the receiver and take her down to the floor.