Driven By Fate(59)

Did she know today was their one year anniversary? Not their wedding anniversary. That wouldn’t be for another three months, when they would commemorate the Sunday morning last spring when they’d married in Central Park as the sun broke the trees, the only day that managed to surpass the one in her kitchen, when she’d taken him back. No, today marked the one-year anniversary of her walking into his room at Serve, when she’d changed his life irrevocably. When she’d started chipping away at his outer shell until it bloody-well fell and revealed a better man. A man who felt human.

Had he managed to subdue the nature that demanded he plan or create rules? Not completely. In the dark, in his bed or out, Francesca was his submissive, in addition to being his wife, the woman he loved to the point of utter madness. Those defined roles were a requirement they shared and reveled in. He’d found a signal she preferred, a way to inform her he loved her, cherished her, but that he was quite ready to f*ck her until she couldn’t walk correctly. A bite. On her shoulder, her hip, her hand. His teeth sunk into her skin and wherever they were, she became his to make demands on. Just yesterday, he’d bit her wrist halfway through dinner in their dining room. She’d dropped to her knees, laying her cheek on his thigh. Looking up at him. Waiting. The memory had distracted him all through the morning, which is what led him to this office to stare at his wife, waiting for her to get off the bloody goddamn phone.

Even in the midst of his anxiousness, his chest swelled just watching her schedule routine maintenance on their fleet. He was proud of his new career as a novelist, yes. But that pride in his own work didn’t compare to that which he felt for Francesca. Using his connections as an ex-antique dealer, they’d managed to procure nearly one hundred vintage taxicabs that had been rusting in garages all over the tri-state area. With Joe and his friends’ help, they’d restored each one and made them part of Frankie’s Fleet. Those cabs were now on the road, driving women home safely, creating jobs for hundreds of New York City women, some of whom shared cabs to minimize costs. Having made major headlines, Frankie’s Fleet was in high demand and only grew by the day, with his dynamic wife at the helm and Joe handling payroll. But Porter had demanded her uncle’s office be located on the other side of the space for afternoons such as this, when he couldn’t wait for Francesca to get home before he was inside her.

Finally, she hung up the phone and looked at him, silver eyes glowing. “Hey, monocle man.”

No, that wouldn’t do. She knew it, too. His wife loved to play with him and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Which wasn’t to say he’d allow her to get away with it. Porter rose and circled the desk, concentrating on the erratic pulse at her throat, the way her shoulders loosened, the way her palms flattened on the desk as he reached the spot directly behind her.

He curled a hand around the back of her neck, letting his thumb trail over her jumping pulse. “Stand up, Francesca.”

She gained her feet, allowing his gaze to travel down her back, over the tight swell of her ass. The ripped jeans still appeared occasionally around their apartment or at Sunday breakfast at Joe’s house, but she’d started wearing skirts, his wife. Not overly short, or she knew he’d never allow her out the front door. Still, this black cotton number had ridden up her thighs, revealing the golden skin ruling his mind and the red mark just beneath her bottom that he’d sucked onto her flesh last night. All mine.

“You are aware that my drivers know exactly what we’re doing in here?”

He hid his smile, thinking of the knowing looks he’d received on the way into the warehouse, where dozens of women took breaks or got ready for their shifts. “If they know, it’s because it takes an hour for the sex to fade from your eyes. You talk to them in that voice, worn out from containing your screams of my name. Why do you think I’m constantly dragging you back in for round two?”

“Oh, is that why?” she breathed.

“Among many other reasons.” God, he’d love to just forget the nagging worry that had afflicted him for months, seat himself inside her and rock his hips until neither one of them could think. Kiss her neck, shoulders, back to calm her afterward, when he’d feel momentary relief that all was well. But no. He’d resolved that today he would get to the bottom of his wife’s reservations, so he could set about chipping away at them one by one.

Sensing the unusual way he held back, Francesca tilted her head to look at him. “Is everything okay with the book? Do you need to talk through the plot, because—”

“No.” Porter turned her around, taking a moment to appreciate the face he’d never get used to in all its beauty. The face he was privileged to wake up beside every morning. He loved this face, this woman. They could handle anything. “Francesca Evans—”

“Uh oh. He means business.”

His long-suffering sigh made her smile. “It’s been a full year since you became mine. I count it as the first year of my life because it’s the first year I’ve lived. You’ve made me want to live.”

Her breath hitched. “Porter—”

He laid a finger over her mouth. “You’re still taking your birth control pill every morning.” He ignored the alarm trickling through his resolve when tears sprung to her eyes. “If I haven’t convinced you yet that I’m capable of being the father you wanted for our children, please tell me what I can change.” Now that the words had started flowing, nothing would stop them. They’d been trapped inside for months. “You made me want something. Made me need a family with my wife. I’ve been ready since I saw you, it only took me some time to realize it.”