Driven By Fate(13)

…

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 f*cked 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 f*ck 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 f*cking 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.

He saw the moment Francesca’s f*ck you attitude ran out, replaced with uncertainty. Embarrassment. There she stood, ripe, naked perfection, and he’d made a phone call. What the f*ck had he been thinking? They moved at the exact same moment. She swooped down to collect her clothes and took off running. Porter dropped the phone into the cradle and went after her, no idea what he’d do when he caught her, only knowing he’d made an error in judgment. One that seemed to have a horrible reverse effect that made his chest feel torn wide open.