Driven By Fate(27)

She continued to shudder as he flung her face-up onto the seat, licking the bite mark he’d left behind even as he drove his hungry cock high inside her body. “Knees up, now, Francesca.” He shoved her smooth limbs hard toward her shoulders, growling at the snug entrance it created. “I’m going to bottom out in your satisfied *. Keep them up until I’m done.”

There had always been a ruthless side he’d kept tamed, knowing once it got loose, he’d never cage it again. She wouldn’t allow it, though. Her feet were wedged against his shoulders, tits bouncing, hands grappling for a place to hold on. Sexual, forbidden words fell past her lips, interspersed with praise for his body. They egged him on, forced him higher. Her. This woman. Her.

An invisible fist tightened around the base of his spine, the pressure in his stomach, balls, and cock becoming unbearable. As if she could sense him nearing the end, she scraped her fingernails down his back, dug them into his ass and yanked, yanked him even deeper. “Please.” Her whimper tore at him. “Please can I have it?”

His head dropped into the crook of her neck, never ceasing his ferocious thrusts. “You want my come, beggar? I’d like to rip this condom off and f*ck it right into you.”

She moaned, tossing her head on the seat. It occurred to him in a painful, heady rush that she would let him finish inside her perfect heat. Would wrap her legs tight and beg for every last drop. Never having experienced the impulse before, it nearly overtook him now, robbed his logic.

No, no, no. She’s not thinking. You’re not thinking.

Still his fists curled into the seat to prevent himself from following through. He needed something from her, something to make up for denying himself the opportunity.

Porter brought his face within an inch of hers. Passion-glazed eyes met his, awaiting commands. Craving them. “I own you. Tell me I own you.”

Stubbornness flashed up at him, but he bore down hard, increasing the pace of his drives. Her kiss-swollen mouth fell open on a wail. “You own me.”

His climax battered him from the inside. He lost purchase with reality, but managed to stay somewhat present by focusing on her breaths. Her voice. The feel of her. She gripped him with her inner muscles, mouth moving hot and open over his shoulder, neck, face. This was new territory and he couldn’t stand knowing he’d never experienced it. Her. Her. Francesca.

“You’ll come back tomorrow,” he ordered in a harsh voice.

He’d made the directive more vehemently than intended, but there was no help for it. She’d flayed him wide open. Was it too much to hope he’d done the same to her? All he could glean from her expression was wonder, confusion. Still, she said, “Yes.”

She drove him home in total silence.





Chapter Ten


Frankie brushed her teeth in a daze. She thought after a night’s sleep, her brain wouldn’t be a mental pile of pick-up sticks anymore. She’d been dead wrong. After walking into the house in a fog, she’d fallen face first into bed, her brain refusing to accept any more input. Porter. Thinking his name sent a hot shiver whispering down her back, made her breasts feel fuller, in need of sucking. Red stained her cheeks as she put away the toothbrush. This arrangement didn’t feel like working an impulse out of her system; it felt like creating new, darker, irresistible ones—courtesy of one magnetic Brit with a body that had essentially ruined her yesterday in the front seat of her cab. What she’d engaged in with awkward, twenty-something boys hadn’t been sex. It had been paltry attempts at sex. Sex was Porter. Porter was sex.

Her foresight had been faulty in agreeing to another day. How deep could she get before her feet touched the bottom? Before the sand sucked her down and never let go?

She brushed a hand over the bite mark in the space between her neck and shoulder. There was no shame, no regret in seeing it. Only yearning. Fierce, consuming yearning for more. After the heights she’d reached yesterday, the stunning sense of completion that came with being dominated, she’d realized she had no choice but to fully accept this part of herself. She didn’t want to escape it. Whoever she ended up with, whoever she married, would have to embrace it.

That eventuality wasn’t her issue, though. No, her issue was the sinking suspicion that if she’d walked into someone else’s room that night at Serve, the need wouldn’t be this strong. It wouldn’t even rate. She could handle being addicted to the world, the rituals. She couldn’t handle being addicted to Porter. He didn’t want the same things she did. The look on his face when she’d told him about her plans for a large family had been comically horrified.

Frankie knew what she needed to do—listen to the common sense the good lord gave her. Attend class this morning, and then get in her cab. Make money the same way she always had. It wouldn’t be the astronomical amount Porter was paying her, but at least she could start to kick toward the surface. It would take some time—Porter was a vast ocean she hadn’t even begun to explore – but she needed to break free out of self-preservation. Deep inside of her, something potent rebelled. You own me. She’d said the words, but her mind had been whirring, buzzing. They weren’t a commandment.

With a firm click of the medicine cabinet, Frankie ran a brush through her hair and left the bathroom. She froze when she saw her Uncle Joe sitting on the top step, staring down at his shaking hands. Hands she’d never seen anything but steady.