Driven By Fate(39)

God, he was even handsome while looking insulted. “You’ll take money from your uncle’s friends, but not me?”

“They would be coming on as investors. There’s a difference.”

“So make me a goddamn investor.” He reclined just enough to yank the wallet from his pocket. “How much will it cost me to own a percentage of Frankie’s Fleet?”

Every cell in her screeched to a halt. “What did you call it?” she whispered. “Frankie’s—”

“Fleet.” He suddenly refused to look at her, riffling through his wallet instead. “That’s what I’ve been calling it in my head. As you well know, I prefer Francesca, but Francesca’s Fleet doesn’t have the same ring.”

A laugh bubbled from her throat before she could stop it. Her hands slapped over her mouth anyway, pressing, unable to think of any other way to contain the joy. It didn’t work, though. The delight of finally having a name—a perfect name—for her dream was too much to withstand. Without giving herself time to think, she planted a knee on the end of the bed. And launched herself right at Porter.

She only caught a glimpse of his surprised look before he caught her against his chest, holding her close. They went crashing backward onto the pillows where she wasted no time planting kisses all over his face. “It’s perfect. Perfect. I have notebooks full of names and none were right.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. “Thank you. Thank you.”

He leaned into every touch of her mouth, but frowned as he did so. “This is highly irregular, Francesca.”

“Just go with it, monocle man.”

The smooth planes of his muscle, his hot skin, felt like a forbidden luxury beneath her. How had this mysterious, commanding, criminally sexual male ended up in her tiny twin bed? She felt rough hands trail down her back, over her bottom, to separate her thighs. Position them on either side of his waist. When his arousal found sanctuary between her thighs, he tilted his head back on an uneven groan. “Just so we’re clear…is this your green light?”

“Mmm.” She rocked her hips, felt his chest vibrate beneath her. “Maybe.”

He blasted her with a dark look. “Is this what you would have done—before me—if you’d brought a boy to this room? You’d have tortured him, is that right?”

Frankie smiled against his mouth. “This isn’t torture. Not intentional, anyway. We’re just making out.”

“I do not make out, Francesca.”

Feeling brave, despite the threat in his tone, she sat up and squeezed her breasts through the thin material of the nightgown. His erection pushed up between her legs and she could only obey the irresistible impulse to drag herself up and down the thick ridge. “Feels so good.”

The chords in his neck stood out, his hands grasped at the hem of her nightgown, pulling it taut over her ready body. “Jesus Christ. This is more than I can stand.”

She planted her hands on either side of his head, placed a gentle kiss on his mouth. “I’m yours, my lord. How can I please you tonight?”

…

Porter’s will had already been roaring under the surface, but with her words of permission, it tore through his skin and dragged him under. He flipped Francesca onto her stomach, wrenched the nightgown over her hips and cracked his palm against her backside. Then again. Again. It eased only a small amount of pressure in his chest, his abdomen, his head, though. There was more here. It wasn’t enough to punish—he needed to claim. Take this rising tide inside him and release it into her. Force her to meet him somewhere in the middle, take some of the weight she’d inflicted him with. Before he could connect his hand with her reddening bottom a fourth time, he stopped himself. Was he punishing her for making him feel? If so, was it wrong? Was anything between them wrong?

No. He’d shown her his worst and she was still there. Still here.

The freedom of that realization smoked in his veins like an inferno. His will sewed his skin back together stronger than before, like armor. Armor only she knew how to breach. He wanted to take her further, make her irrevocably his. Never hurt her. Never hurt her again. These feelings attacking from all sides wouldn’t prevent him from staying attuned to her. He made that vow to himself, even as his body screamed for relief. Satisfaction.

He wrapped her hair in a tight fist, tilting her head back. “Get on your knees in that virginal nightgown. I’m about to make a mockery of it.”

“Yes, my lord,” she breathed, eyes glazed as they looked back at him.

As she slipped off the edge of the bed and knelt, Porter fisted his cock, growling at the aching heaviness in his balls. He held his breath, removing his full length from the constriction of his pants. The pulsing in his fist only increased at her wide-eyed eagerness. She wet her lips over and over, hands clenching the white garment where it covered her knees.

“This is the state you’ve teased me into, Francesca.” He took hold of her chin, drew her close until her mouth was an inch away from the plump head of his cock. “Maybe I should stroke off while you watch from your knees, not allowed to touch. Show you what happens to girls in white nightgowns who f*ck their man through his clothes. I’m so hard and full that I’m leaking, you beautiful brat.”

“Please.” Her tongue licked out, lapped at the source of his misery. “I need you in my mouth so bad. I think about it all the time.”