Driven By Fate(11)

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 f*cking 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 *, 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 f*ck 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?”