Driven By Fate(50)

He reached beneath her dress and peeled the panties down her legs before straightening to his full height once more. His energy crackled in the semi-dark room, enthralling her, commanding every ounce of her attention. “It is somewhat unprofessional of me to f*ck my secretary, isn’t it? But you can’t really blame me.” He ran his feather light touch up the inside of her thigh, then traced the seam of her damp heat with his middle finger, making a savoring noise in the back of his throat. “She’s a hard little worker. So eager to please the boss.”

Frankie fell under the spell he wove with those low, hypnotic words. His questions weren’t meant to be answered, only to entice her. To make her feel sought after, the object of his pleasure. Yes, in that moment, she wanted more than anything to be the woman who brought this powerful man to his knees, who made him quake while buried deep inside her body. She wasn’t herself in that moment, but her formidable boss’s secretary. His plaything. Yet somehow, she’d never felt more herself in her entire life.

“It’s bad for business having her around when I’m trying to work. Knowing she’s just waiting for the single word to put her down on her knees.” He placed one hand on the door, above her head, using his big body to crowd her against the hard surface. “Knowing she’s thinking of how I’ll taste instead of attending to her responsibilities is quite the distraction. It’s a wonder I get anything done.” One hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head back. “She loves getting me off with her pretty mouth, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, my lord,” she breathed, thighs beginning to feel weak, shaky. Her inhibitions were a distant memory in the dim hotel room, her trust entirely in the hands of this man.

“This mouth.” Porter shook his head, tongue skating across his bottom lip. “It makes such sweet little noises, doesn’t it?” His hand dropped from her jaw to massage the hyper-sensitive flesh between her thighs. Frankie’s mouth fell open, head falling back. So good. So perfect. Without warning, he shoved two fingers inside her, making her cry out, her back slamming against the door. “Mmm. Hear that addictive whine she makes? Wait until I get my cock inside of her. She pleads for her f*cking life.”

A groan came from beyond the door and she watched Porter’s jaw tighten, as if he didn’t appreciate the audible reminder of someone watching them. Or possibly it filled him with even more aggression, determination to claim her in front of their one-man audience, because he tore his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. Frankie’s stomach muscles seized at the sight of him, so hard and sexual. Scarred. Extraordinary. His gaze raked over her, blazing a trail wherever it landed. He replaced one hand on the wall above her, using the opposite to lower his zipper. The sound blew across her skin, her senses. She bit her lip to contain a moan, but it slipped out anyway. Her fingernails cut into her palm, so strong was the urge to touch herself.

“See how excited she gets when I’m taking out my cock?” His hand moved inside his pants, stroking, squeezing. “I know you want it, little girl. You wanted it on the plane, in the town car. Wanted it hard and nasty from me, didn’t you?” He dipped his head, running his tongue up the center of her cleavage. Slowly, so slowly. “Shall I make sure you’re ready?”

“Please. Please.”

Frankie expected him to touch her again, use his fingers. When he dropped to the ground before her, she nearly slid down the door into a heap. Overwhelmed. So overwhelmed. But she didn’t shy away from the pleasure cyclone that scooped her up and spun her in circles; she jumped in headfirst. As Porter threw her right leg over his shoulder, she tried to focus on breathing. But his tongue found her clit on the first lick and nothing was manageable anymore. Not her thoughts, not her oxygen intake. Pleasure took control out of her reach. He gifted her with several hard strokes of his tongue, before flicking, flicking, flicking his tongue against her tortured nub, again and again. Her mind pitched so dramatically, she found her hands clutching at her own hair, pulling, to create an anchor.

Leaving her on the edge of orgasm, Porter stood. Her leg was still hooked over his shoulder, up, up, bringing her knee even with her collarbone. The new position excited her even further. Yes, move me, shape me, bend me for your pleasure. His erection dragged over her bare, spread center and she started to beg. Words that meant everything and nothing. The more she begged, the harder Porter breathed, gaze flaring. He took himself in his hand, striking his plump arousal against her core, her wetness obvious from the slapping noise it created. Another groan broke to her left but she was too far gone with need to give it more than a passing thought.

“She loves to be kissed. It soaks her panties and makes her self-conscious. Makes her writhe around, as if anything but my cock can cure her. Isn’t that sweet?” Porter ghosted his lips over hers, but pulled back when she tried to deepen the contact, shaking his head. “Steady, now. We need your mouth free when I give you that first thrust, need to hear that scream, don’t we?”

With an upward drive of his hips, he rammed himself home. The strangled cry passed her lips, escalating into a full scream when he kept moving, going deeper with each pumping movement. The door rattled behind her, the latch jangling. Two separate moans of male pleasure bombarded the air around her, but her mind separated them, focusing on one. Craving only one. Porter. Porter. My lord.

“Fuck,” he growled above her head, driving into her with incredible force. “Shall we tell him you’re the tightest I’ve ever had? You’ve got that tight, little secretary *, don’t you? Reserved for your boss whenever he requires it?”