Driven By Fate(41)

Forever.

The word blasted through the sound of falling rain and took a torch to his insides. He looked down at her writhing body and had the sudden, fierce desire to see it dappled with rain, to see her smiling face upturned in the downpour. So beautiful. Her image flickered and he found his throat closing, found himself hurriedly drawing her back against his chest to reassure himself she hadn’t vanished.

What was happening to him?

“Francesca.” Was that his voice? “I need you.”

She turned her head, gaze seeking his over her shoulder. Pure pleasure clouded the silver pools, but concern threaded into their depths. “I’m right here. I can’t go anywhere. You’re inside me.”

His hand slipped to the left side of her chest, over her pounding heart. Here? Did she mean here? “You’re inside me, too.” The revelation left him before he could stop it. He expected her to question him—what the hell would he say? —or try and disengage. Instead, she lifted one hand and curled it around the back of his head, tugging it down. Their mouths united in a slow glide of tongues that turned ravenous almost immediately. Crushing her back against his chest, he reversed positions and sat down on the mattress’s edge, Francesca facing the door. Yes, he liked this even better. Every inch of them touching.

“Ride me,” he groaned into her hair. “Make it stop hurting.”

“Yes, my lord,” she whispered.

Francesca placed her hands on his knees for leverage, snapping her hips back and grinding forward. Porter dropped his head into the crook of her neck and gathered the hem of her nightgown in one hand, holding it at her waist so he could pet her clit. “Good girl. Open your thighs a little wider. Work the tip…fuuuck, just like that.” She sank down to the root and tweaked her hips, stealing his breath. “You learn fast what your lord needs. Not a beginner…not anymore. Still feel like one, though, don’t you? Christ, you do.”

As he watched, riveted, she wedged her feet against his thighs, bringing her knees even with her shoulders. “My lord is a good teacher,” she murmured. Porter’s eyesight wavered as she lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped. His cock jerked inside her body, his balls drawing up tight. His hands flew to her hips, fingers digging into her flesh until she increased the pace. She ground down on his cock over and over, ass meeting his lap each time with a smack. He angled his body so the thickness of his erection would slip against her clit with each impaling of her body. Ahhh f*ck, she loved that. She let her thighs fall wide open for maximum impact, head falling back, tits thrusting into the air.

“Oh…god. Oh god.” She stopped bouncing and began circling her hips in fast, tight figure eights. “I have to—I’m going to—”

Porter reached between her legs and pressed her sensitive nub with his thumb. “Not just yet. Tell your lord who makes your * cry.”

“He does. You do.”

She bore down on his cock and he slapped her between the legs in reprisal. “Who will f*ck you in a house full of people because he owns what is hidden inside your panties?”

“Y-you, my lord,” she gasped.

“That’s right, Francesca. There’s every chance we’ll go downstairs to meet these men and while we’re making small talk, I’ll decide I want my cock sucked again.” Just saying the words made his hardness surge. He was close. So goddamn close. “If that happens, what will I do?”

A breathless pause during which her body started to tremble. “Bring me back upstairs.”

“Correct,” he groaned. “You’re allowed to come now.” Porter bit down on her earlobe as she climaxed, incapable of stopping himself from following her. To whom had he been giving permission? She drew on him with her clenching body, sending hot liquid rushing from his painfully full arousal. He sucked in deep breaths of her scent, finding it helped center him and God only knew, he needed centering. Nothing about this was familiar. Nothing controlled or simple. Just messy, chaotic need, and relief that was short-lived because he already wanted her again.

And he couldn’t foresee a time when he wouldn’t.





Chapter Fourteen


Conflict fluttered inside Frankie’s chest, grazing her ribcage like wings.

She could hear her uncle’s booming laugh as he moved through the kitchen, the sound filling her bedroom. In a minute, she would walk downstairs with Porter and there would be no doubt as to what they’d been doing. In all the years they’d lived together, she’d never brought home a date, hoping to spare her uncle the horror of having the talk. The talk he hadn’t signed up for. On the few occasions she’d been intimate with men, it had been far from their little patch of Queens. Just the possibility of running into her uncle or one of their family friends had made her stomach twist.

Now? Right this second? She wanted to walk down those stairs with Porter. That was where the conflict stemmed from. Since she’d met him, her body felt different. She saw herself differently when looking in the mirror. Saw someone desirable, a woman who could tempt a man. And dammit, she really didn’t feel like hiding that feeling. Hiding herself.

Not anymore. Yes, this introduction was going to be a little uncomfortable. Porter wasn’t exactly the first man she’d envisioned bringing through her front door, nor was he a brilliant conversationalist. But she’d been uncomfortable inside her own skin her whole life. Hell, just being a woman in a male-dominated world had done it. This impending meeting felt different. As if she’d shed an outer layer and would be walking around exposed from now on. Free.