Driven By Fate

by Tessa Bailey

  A light went on in her eyes, then. It wasn’t seduction or excitement, though. It was fuck you, pure and simple. With a toss of her hair, she kicked off her boots, peeled the leggings down her thighs, ass tilted up in the air to give him a view of her simple boy shorts, and the tight, sexy bottom to which they clung. Apart from her scarred knees, every inch of her golden skin was superb. Luscious. Then she removed her bra and he had two options: stay seated and pretend he wasn’t hugely fucking affected by her high, peachy set of tits, or launch himself across the desk in an effort to suck first and ask questions later. In the end, he stayed seated, hand working beneath the desk to appease his rapidly distending length. He had no choice. This move to gain control had been his doing and he couldn’t call it off now, badly as he wanted to slam the phone into the receiver and take her down to the floor.

  He saw the moment Francesca’s fuck you attitude ran out, replaced with uncertainty. Embarrassment. There she stood, ripe, naked perfection, and he’d made a phone call. What the fuck had he been thinking? They moved at the exact same moment. She swooped down to collect her clothes and took off running. Porter dropped the phone into the cradle and went after her, no idea what he’d do when he caught her, only knowing he’d made an error in judgment. One that seemed to have a horrible reverse effect that made his chest feel torn wide open.

  She disappeared into the hallway leading to the staircase connecting the two floors. “Francesca, you will stop immediately.”

  “Go to hell,” she called back, before descending the stairs into his living space. Christ, he had to catch up with her. If she left like this, undressed and upset, he’d have a fucking seizure. This wasn’t the plan. What had happened to his plan?

  He charged into the foyer of his apartment to find her pulling the white T-shirt over her head, hands shaking, muttering to herself. Porter positioned himself between her and the front door…and wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t know where the impulse came from, but it felt like the right thing to do. And damn it all, she felt very good against him. Very, very good. She went totally still for a moment before starting to struggle. “What are you doing?”

  Good question. “I don’t make a habit of holding women against their will, but I cannot let you leave like this.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, that’s a crying shame, because I’m not sticking around.” She tried to pull free and he had no choice but to let her. Her slender fingers worked to turn the leggings right side out, but halfway through the task, she threw them across the foyer. “That wasn’t easy for me, you know? Taking my clothes off for some uptight prick that I don’t even like. I’m new to this, but I was trying.”

  Porter swallowed. “I told you, I’m not a beginner’s course. I was very clear on that point.”

  She threw up her hands and let them drop. “Maybe that’s what I need. Because I sure as shit don’t need to be mocked or ignored.”

  Was that what he’d been doing? It hadn’t been his direct intention. When she took two brisk steps toward her discarded leggings, he moved into her path. Her body vibrated with anger, silver eyes almost reflective with temper. His body hummed with the need to soothe, but he had work to do, pride to repair. Hoping she wouldn’t rip off his head, Porter brought one hand up and braced the back of her neck, massaging circles with his thumb. “If you don’t like me, why did you undress for me? Why did you come here?”

  “Oh, please.” Her turbulent gaze caught on his mouth and raced away. “You’re arrogant enough to know I’m attracted to you. I don’t understand it any more than you understand your attraction to me.”

  Smart. So smart and yet not entirely right in her assumption. Every minute he spent with her increased Porter’s understanding of what exactly drew him. Her fire and intelligence. Her beauty. Things that terrified him at the same time. “I don’t want you to leave, Francesca.” He dipped his head to bring their mouths close. “How do I make this okay for you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cautiously, he brought their bodies flush, stifling a groan at the feel of her naked from the waist down, that taut flesh pressed against his pants.

  She made a small sound in her throat, hips writhing in a subtle, yet devastating, motion. “If I…submit to you when I’m this mad, I will hate myself afterward. That much I know.”

  The look she gave him from beneath her eyelashes imprinted itself on his brain. A signal. A turning point. He couldn’t put a name to what passed between them, but it did a fucking number on him and—Jesus Christ—his body. She wanted an answer, a solution. Her lithe form continued to brush against his in figure eights, even though her expression told him it was involuntary. Something she didn’t know how to control. She wanted relief but didn’t know how to reconcile physical relief with mental submission. He thought of her checklist of limits, his surprise at her bold choices. Did he dare take this next step? If she reacted badly, he’d never get her back. But something told him he’d lose her anyway if he didn’t try. Right now.

  He wound her long hair around his hand. “Would you like me to aid you in submitting to me?”

  She gasped, going up on her toes as he yanked the fist-full of hair. The juncture of her thighs dragged over his ready cock. Fuck. “What do you mean? You mean…you’ll make me submit?”

  “Yes.”

  Francesca moaned, stumbling against him. All because of a single word of confirmation. He wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her up so he could speak beside her ear. “I mean, I will chase you down, overpower you, and ram my cock as deep as you can take it. I’m going to leave your innocent white panties on while I do it, too. I want a reminder that I’ve got an eager young beginner spreading her legs for me.”

  Her sexy, panting breaths warmed his neck. “That’s…that’s what I want.”

  The arm banding her waist slipped down to her ass, hauling her against his pulsing arousal. “If you change your mind, you safe word me. Immediately. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she whispered.

  Porter was lost after that. If anyone had asked him that morning if he’d seen and done everything the world had to offer, he would have said yes. But when Francesca backed away from him, undiluted lust playing over her gorgeous face, hands clenched at her sides…daring him, challenging him….he could readily admit to himself he might have seen everything, but he’d felt nothing. Nothing like this uncompromising need to possess, one that overrode rational thought and demanded to be obeyed.

  She’d put six feet between them when Porter unbuckled his belt and whipped it through all five loops of his pants with a woosh. “I’m giving you a ten second head start.”

  The belt dangled at his side a moment, brushing the wood floor, before he snapped it hard against the foyer wall. Wap.

  “Run.”

  Chapter Six

  A storm raged inside Frankie as she took off at a full sprint. Her head felt stuffed full of electrified cotton, fuzzy and heavy, but zapping with each heavy footfall. How could she run when her legs felt liquefied? The adrenaline sped through her veins like tiny bullet trains, propelling her through a living room and into an unfamiliar hallway. She had no clear picture of where she was headed. Somewhere he would chase her. That’s all she knew. At the end of the dark hallway, she skidded to a stop and risked a look over her shoulder.

  “If I can see you, you’re not running fast enough,” Porter taunted, voice gravelly, predatory.

  He strode after her, his steps calm and purposeful. As he closed the distance between them, he unbuttoned his dress shirt slowly with the hand not holding his belt, revealing inch by inch of rough-hewn skin. Marked skin. Scarred skin. She didn’t have time to process that discovery, though.

  He was gaining on her.

  His voice bounced off the walls. “I’m getting hungry, Francesca.”

  Oh God. Her heartbeat sounded amplified all around her. Her legs wouldn’t move fast enough, but at the same time she traveled too quickly, shoulders bumping into wall
s, feet catching on edges of plush area rugs. She propelled herself through a doorway, recognizing a bedroom when she saw it. The bed sparked confusion, though. It looked too comfortable for someone like Porter. She’d envisioned a flat, gray surface, ropes dangling from all four corners. Reality intruded at the footsteps behind her. The bedroom was too personal, she didn’t want to be with him there.

  She reversed a step, aligning her back with the wall adjacent to the door. As soon as Porter walked through, shirtless and rigid, Frankie lunged through the entrance. His hand banded around her wrist before she could clear it, bringing her progress to an abrupt end in the hallway, spinning her around. His gaze scraped over her like rough, calloused hands. Oh god, oh god, in the relative darkness, with his shirt discarded somewhere in the apartment, he looked sexually dangerous. Destructive. She wanted him. Wanted to know what she’d been yearning for, for two years. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of giving in so easy.

  “Throwing in the towel, is she?” His gaze burned over her skin. “Pity. I was just getting warmed up.”

  Her stillness must have made him think that she’d finished running, because Porter loosened his hold ever so slightly, enough for her to take off again. He didn’t let her get far, though. She’d made it two steps into the living room before he caught her from behind, curling an arm around her waist. She fought. Twisting in his arms, she shoved at his chest, legs scissoring around muscular thighs. His face remained impassive, jaw set in stone. All at once, though, some unseen barrier seemed to crumble inside him and they were traveling back, back, until she came up against a hard object, her continued struggles making her connect with the surface harder than necessary. Porter cursed, wedging his arm behind her as a cushion. She didn’t want it. Fast, angry, extreme. That’s what she needed.

  Once again, she tried to break free, but he trapped her with his body, an unmovable brick wall. She ricocheted off him, bringing books crashing down onto the floor around her. A bookcase. Up against a bookcase. Her panting breaths whipped together with his curses, jumbling together with the sounds of falling books. Everything felt so out of control and it was his fault. She attempted to slap his face, but he caught both her wrists in one hand and pinned them high above her head.

  “Let me go,” she ground out. “I hate you.”

  A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Good. You’ll come all the harder for it.”

  Frankie had no opportunity to respond. Porter yanked her away from the bookcase, still holding her hands captive. It was only then she realized he still held the belt. He spun her around, jerking her backwards, up against his heaving chest. Yes, heaving. He wasn’t as unaffected as he let on. A sound of surprise broke from her lips as the leather belt circled her middle, drawing tight. It took her so unawares, she could only watch in fascination as her arms were bound at her sides.

  “What are you doing?” She gasped the question, couldn’t find the willpower to force outrage into her voice. Hot, churning energy made every one of her nerve endings dance. The neglected flesh between her thighs clenched and grew damp. Her breasts, her belly, tightened in a way she’d never felt. No control. No decisions to make or questions to answer. Only need. Porter had caught her and now he’d make her take. Make her give. All of it. Now, now, now.

  His grip sure and purposeful, he tangled in the belt at her back and led her, his captive, to the very center of the living room, stopping at a slim pillar. Frankie’s pulse tripped as he loosened the belt long enough to push her up against it, then wrapped the belt around both her and the post. Her eyes closed on a whimper when she heard leather sliding through metal, the belt pulling taut against her stomach. She couldn’t move her arms. Trapped. Caught.

  Porter appeared in front of her, sweat gleaming on his marred chest. Eyes wild. This wasn’t the man she’d been working beside all day. This man was dark and dirty. Without removing focus from her face, he ripped the material of her white, cotton shirt down to where the belt bit into her midsection. That starvation in his expression expanded, intensified at the sight of her naked breasts. “You don’t like me. You hate me, in fact. Is that right?” He braced his hands on the pillar above her, leaning down to tongue her right nipple with a long, slow lick. “These are playground games, Francesca. Punching the male who you’d actually like to fuck. I don’t usually play games, but I’m so hungry for your pussy after that little challenge, I can’t think past fucking the hate right out of you.”

  Her neck weakened, sending her head falling back against the pillar. “Do it, please. Just do it.”

  Porter caught her jaw and tilted it up, bringing their faces close. So close. He hadn’t kissed her yet, she realized. Would he? She grew distracted when the fingers of his other hand trailed up her inner thigh. Pride and vanity gone completely out the window, she moaned beneath his perusal. His mouth fell open like he wanted to swallow the sound, a sound that only grew louder when he found her center. Two fingers massaged the material of her panties, over the top of her clit. The leather of the belt creaked as she strained, her bottom writhing on the pillar.

  Porter knuckled under the white cotton, gritting his teeth as he inserted one long, firm finger. “Ah, Christ. I lied, Francesca.” His finger moved deep inside her, crooking, pushing deeper. All the while, he growled in his throat, a noise that echoed in her bloodstream. “The panties will have to come off. Nothing is going to come between me and this sopping wet beginner’s pussy.” His forehead pressed into hers; their open lips came excruciatingly close. “If I go down on you, I’ll be there for an hour. Would you like that? Or is it time to fuck?”

  Every ounce of breath rushed from her lungs, her thoughts scattered. Save one. “Fuck me, please. Please.”

  His hold on her chin strengthened. “Remember who you’re speaking to.”

  “Please, my lord.”

  Eyelids falling to half-mast, Porter released the grip on her chin. Without shame, she watched him unbutton his black dress pants, then unzip them and reach inside. When he drew out his length, holding it tightly in his fist, Frankie sagged against the post. Oh, Jesus. It was above average in length, yes, but that wasn’t what made her thighs squeeze together, her breasts to swell. Thick. He was so thick. Even his long-fingered, masculine hand couldn’t wrap completely around as he secured a condom, rolling it tip to root.

  “I’ve already told one lie tonight, so I won’t tell you that you’ll get used to it.” He released himself to yank the panties down her legs, before surging between them, his thickness pushing against her bare flesh. “This cock will make you scream every damn time.”

  Porter filled her. Frankie tried to trap the scream, but it wouldn’t be contained. It reverberated inside her head, twining around his groan of satisfaction. Her feet were off the ground now, only her toes brushing the rug beneath. Without the use of her arms, she had to rely on his body for balance. He gave it to her by pinning her against the pillar, every inch of him buried inside her. He hadn’t moved since his initial thrust, his mouth buried at her neck. It gave her a sense of comfort, comfort that flew away in fractured pieces when he bit her. Bit her hard.

  “Ah!”

  Her legs flew up, her only form of defense against the pleasure-pain. He caught her knees with his hands and hiked them higher around his waist. “When I bit you, I slid in even deeper.” His lips moved at her neck, over the bite mark. “Made you wet, didn’t it? Bad little beginner.”

  Frankie’s response died on her tongue when his hips rolled. Her knees, on either side of his waist, tried to shoot together, but his body kept them wide and open for his assault. With each expert rotation of his hips, he drew out every stiff inch until only the fat head of his arousal remained, before pushing deep, deep, deep once again. Her restrained hands flexed with the need to hold on to something, anything that would absorb some of the relentless tension. It built and built. “Dammit, dammit,” she moaned. “Please, I— Faster. Oh my god, please.”

  “You’re a mouthy brat until I get you crammed t
ight, hmm?”

  He devastated her with a series of quick thrusts, drawing pleading words and promises past her lips. “Yes. More, more. More.”

  “More, more,” he repeated. “You don’t hate me so much once I’ve stuffed you full of my cock. Isn’t that right, Francesca? We’ll have to make sure you spend a lot of time with your legs spread so you don’t forget.” With her thighs clenched tight around him, he released his hold on her knees to brace his hands on the pillar. His arm muscles shifted, bulged. In the near-darkness of the living room, he was brutal, sexual power in a raw, unyielding package. Her back slid up the hard surface with the force of his thrusts, causing the belt to tighten even more. She liked it. No, loved. Loved the freedom of being restrained. She’d given everything over to him; her pleasure was in his hands.

  The increased pace of his drives turned her into someone unrecognizable. Release became the only option. It would save her from drowning. Her hips used what little mobility they had to meet his thrusts, to bear down on his length each time. Porter issued groan after groan above her head, spiking every sensation with the knowledge that he was finding his own pleasure…through her. Her nipples dragged up and down his sweating chest, over and over, the friction stoking the fire in her core. Even through the haze of lust and need, there was clarity. This was what she’d been chasing. Right here.

  “Walk into my room looking for a spanking?” He growled the words against her mouth. “You either picked the wrong door, or the right one, because it doesn’t stop there. This is what you get, Francesca. You get chased down, bitten, and drilled. By me. Nobody else.” His hands dropped to her thighs, wrenching them higher. “You will not walk through any other doors. Is that clear?”