by Tessa Bailey
Frankie’s chest seized with envy. Someday she’d have kids to surprise with toys. Someday. She felt Porter watching her closely from the passenger seat and schooled her expression. “How many kids do you have?”
“Twin girls. Four months old.” He shook his head. “They’re crying, pooping, spewing machines and they’re still a dream come true.” A beat passed. “Speaking of girls, I think you might be my first cab driver of the female persuasion.”
“Hopefully I won’t be your last,” she said, thinking of her business. “I have a feeling you’ll see more of us on the road soon.”
His silence was thoughtful. “My wife and sister love their nights out. I hate them. Mostly because of the trip back. I’d feel a lot better knowing you were driving them home.”
A smile pushed against her lips. Every time she heard this sentiment from a spouse, brother, or another woman, it gave her confidence a much-needed boost. Her presentation was next Friday. Next week was the future. However, that thought only made her more aware of her present. He loomed in the seat beside her, weighing every word that left her mouth. She risked a glance at Porter from beneath her lashes and, yeah, she hadn’t been imagining it. His intensity took hold of every cell in her body.
Frankie licked her suddenly dry lips and reached into the center console, removing her business cards. Not the cards she would eventually have made up, just personal ones she passed whenever a passenger gave her a good feeling. “My name is Frankie. Have your wife or sister call me on their next night out. If I’m on the road, I’ll swing by and get them.”
As they coasted to a stop at the specified address, the man took her card through the plastic partition. “Hey, thanks. This is great.” He stuck his hand into the front seat for her to shake. “Officer Brent Mason, at your service. You let me know if anyone gives you trouble, capiche?”
Frankie pretended not to notice the officer’s sidelong glance at Porter as he exited the cab, or the muscle jumping in Porter’s cheek. Having someone else visibly react to the danger she sensed in Porter made her wonder if she was being reckless. Going back to that first night when she’d spied on him through the door at Serve, the mystery around him had been evident. Her attraction to him seemed to have overridden any caution. Or was that just Porter on the surface? Did dangerous men give thoughtful antique toys to their romantic interests? It didn’t fit. He made her feel safe, even if she couldn’t explain why.
And she wanted him. God, did she want him.
“I know a place,” she whispered, looking up at Porter.
Was that relief that flared in his eyes? “Here I thought you might back out.”
Her heart started to pound. “Why would I do that?”
He dipped his head forward, making him appear a little sinister, but a lot sexy. “Don’t play games with me now. I can read every thought on your gorgeous face.”
Unbelievable. One compliment from him turned her inside out. She had no choice to make. Only Porter could provide the type of relief she needed, the kind she’d been seeking for so long. Denying herself, denying him, wasn’t an option. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
His Adam’s apple rose and fell. Her stoic Brit actually appeared taken aback by her returned compliment. “This is highly irregular, Francesca.”
“Monocle.” Jesus. She couldn’t look at him any longer. Not until they were alone. So hot. He was so damn hot. In a way that suggested he’d never considered why it mattered. Maybe he’d used it to his advantage with women, but never realized the effect of his smile or the deep scrutiny he pinned her under. She thought of his earlier words. In my experience, women often play games…
Frankie jerked the cab into gear harder than intended. No way was she jealous. That would be stupid.
Still, as she pulled into an outdoor storage facility, parking in a hidden spot behind the last locker, where high school students often made out at night, the feeling wouldn’t dissipate. The redhead from Serve popped into her head, her throaty voice calling Porter, “Sir.” Frankie’s face heated, her teeth ground together. This reaction was unacceptable. It warned her that she’d started to think of this diversion as special. Singular. It wasn’t. High time she reminded both of them.
“Here we are, Sir.”
Porter flinched. “What did you just call me?”
Her head of steam evaporated slightly under the weight of his reaction. “I think y-you heard me.”
Before she’d finished delivering her rejoiner, Porter flung open the passenger side door, stepped out of the cab and grabbed hold of her legs. He yanked, putting Frankie flat on her back on the leather bench seat. It happened so fast, she actually yelped. He knelt at one end of the bench, her ankles gripped tightly in one hard fist, the other hand working at the fly of her jeans.
“I promise you will regret that slip, Francesca.”
He stripped her jeans down her legs.
…
Porter embraced the vibrating dose of adrenaline, letting it coat his veins. Let it sink into his stomach and pull whatever heart he had left down with it. Angry. He was so angry and he didn’t give a fuck about the reason. He only knew his preoccupation with Francesca continued to inflate and he’d been forced to watch her go all soft over the mention of children. Family. Things he didn’t want.
He could give her this, though. Sex. Ecstasy. A blinding fuck that would erase everything but him from her mind for now. He needed all that passion focused on him. The passion she reserved for things he didn’t understand. This he understood better than anyone. And by taunting him with a title he didn’t want to hear from her mouth, she’d asked for what he could deliver. Answering that call should have been as natural as breathing, but with her, it felt more like a desperate, greedy consumption of oxygen.
Propped up on her elbows, mouth parted in shock, she was a meal for his eyes. The smugness had gone up in smoke, revealing a roaring fire beneath. Porter bared his teeth. Could she actually be angry, too? “Explain your attitude immediately.”
“Bite me,” she shot back.
Without hesitating, he flipped Francesca onto her belly and buried his teeth in the flesh of her backside. The leather seat muffled her scream, but it shook through her body and into his waiting mouth. Keeping his teeth fastened to her ass, he slid a hand beneath her hips, finding her pussy. Rubbing it, squeezing it, molding it with his palm.
“Yes. Yes. Oh…god,” she moaned, body writhing on the seat.
It wasn’t enough to make contact through her panties; he needed the real thing. He shoved the material down and teased her opening long enough to encounter wetness before shoving his middle finger into her tight, shaking heat. The perfect readiness of her forced him to loosen his bite on a groan. “Not as angry as you pretend to be, hmm?” He twisted his finger, grazing her inner walls with his knuckle. “Perhaps you’re just irritable because you can’t recreate the filthy, leg-shaking fuck I gave you last night. And you know no one else can either. Either way, you will explain your disrespect or I’ll leave this ache right where it is.”
“No,” she moaned.
“Explain yourself, Francesca.”
Her sob echoed throughout the cab. “I am not jealous.”
Porter’s head came up. Damn, he wished he could see her face. From his position above her, he could only watch her shoulders tense. “Of what or whom are you not jealous?”
“That redhead. I’m not jealous of her.”
The heart that had sunk to his stomach tried to buoy back to the surface, but he capsized it. Something wanted to breach his anger, but he wouldn’t allow that, either. The alternative here was…tenderness. A foreign concept. Swallowing something akin to guilt, he spun Francesca onto her back, glad to still see the sparks shooting from her eyes. Surely he’d only imagined the vulnerability in her voice. “Listen to me well.” Porter took hold of her panties, peeling them down her legs. “I didn’t even remember she had red hair. I don’t remember the night before that. Or the week before that.” He hooked
his hands beneath her knees, dragging her to the end of the seat. Finally, he allowed his gaze to take in a sight he’d been craving since last night. “Not while I’ve got your tight, eager pussy waiting for my mouth to play with it.”
A whimper broke free of her lips before she caught it. “Please.”
“Oh, no. It’s too late to beg.” He licked down the inside of her thigh, used his hands to push her knees open. “I might enjoy every word, but I’ll enjoy denying you even more. Let’s see how desperate we can get you, shall we?”
He shoved her legs wide and latched onto her clit, massaging it with his lips and tongue. Lips and tongue. Opening his mouth wide and closing halfway on a French kiss of her dampening flesh. Her ass came off the seat and she gave a husky cry, but he anticipated the move and pushed her hips back down. Christ, she’d never been fucked correctly by a man’s mouth. He could hear the astonishment in her voice and it drove him on, made him relentless. His thumbs pressed hard into the sensitive area of her inner thighs, a ticklish spot he knew would send shockwaves to the delicious spot occupied by his tongue.
“Porter! Jesus, Jesus.” She twisted impatient fingers through his hair, hips tilting for more. “I’m going to…I can’t…”
His plan was to deny her. He couldn’t waver from it now that he’d said it out loud, told her what to expect. Fuck, though, he hadn’t gotten enough time between her legs. So sweet. So smooth. With a growl, Porter pulled away, one hand grappling with his belt buckle. “Greedy girl. You come too fast. Doubt that’s been a problem before, but it damn well is one with me, isn’t it?” He wrenched her T-shirt up and over her breasts. “Say yes. Say yes if you want my rock hard cock.”
Pride warred on her face, but it faltered when he released his erection from his constricting jeans. Her head tossed on the seat, eyes slamming shut. “Yes, okay? Yes.”
If he wasn’t in physical pain, he would have laughed at her assumption that he’d give in so easily. Oh, no. This was far from over. He fisted her T-shirt with his right hand, twisting the cotton and yanking her into a sitting position. Beautiful silver eyes flew open, landing on him with new awareness, a breathless one. Anticipatory. Porter sat back on the leather bench as he retrieved a condom from his pants pocket, rolling it on. Her T-shirt was still wrapped in his other fist and he used that grip to draw her closer now, until she straddled him.
Then he shredded the damn thing.
Porter took a moment to savor her open mouthed sob before he spoke. “Hands on the ceiling, Francesca.” The darkness, the escalated heat in his voice sounded unfamiliar, even to him. “That’s a good girl,” he praised against her ear when she complied with his order. “I want your pretty tits close enough for a hard suck. You want that, too, don’t you?”
Her nod was frantic. “Yes, please.”
Porter’s cock strained against his stomach, heavy and sensitive. He should already be inside her, but he knew the moment she was seated, his entire length inside of her, it would be a struggle not to pump pump pump until they were both mindless. Buying himself time, he wrapped his cock in a tight grip and smacked its swollen head against her wet heat. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Whatever you want.” The words released on a harsh exhale. “Anything. I need you.”
He suctioned his open mouth to her left nipple, drawing on it until her hips started to shake. “Tight, quick circles, maybe? You want to grind your clit all over me, don’t you, Francesca? Come like a greedy, crying princess on my lap?”
“Please let me, please let me.”
Denying her was starting to feel wrong. Her pupils were dilated, her head kept tipping back as if she couldn’t control the action. The thighs on either side of his hips were trembling, beginning to sweat. For him.
Give her what she needs.
But another, more familiar, voice shouted punish. “Sit down on me,” he commanded. “Take me deep and don’t move.”
She sunk onto his waiting arousal, moaning loudly, her perked-up nipples dragging over his mouth. His answering growl was directed at the ceiling, but he brought his head back up right away so he could look at her, because fucking hell, she was beautiful—fragile and strong at the same time. He expected her to move, despite his instruction to stay still, but she didn’t. Her eyes were feverish, but their focus on him didn’t waver. Perfection. Jesus Christ.
“You’ve not yet taken it all in.” He stroked a hand down the right side of her ass and gave it a firm slap, earning him a whimper. “Let’s learn how to work with those extra inches, shall we? Use the ceiling for leverage.”
With a frustrated sob, she dropped one of her hands from the ceiling, but dutifully put it back up. Porter gritted his teeth as she slid her thighs wider on the seat and pressed down, impaling herself fully. “Oh god, oh god. Can I move now?”
“Who are you asking?” he ground out.
“My lord,” she cried. “I’m asking my lord.”
Hearing the title, a title that had seemed so ridiculous at first, filled him with relief. With possessiveness. With lust. So many things, he worried he might crack. “Francesca, I don’t do this kind of thing. I don’t fuck in cars or chase women in my apartment. I don’t watch them work, or wonder if they’d like certain kinds of gifts. These are things I have with you. Don’t call me ‘sir’ ever again. I don’t like hearing it from you.”
At first, Porter didn’t know if he’d said the words out loud, words he hadn’t planned on sharing, words that revealed too much. When awe mixed with sexual need on her face, he knew he had. Very slowly, her hands came down from the ceiling. It was on the tip of his tongue to admonish her for breaking his rule, but nothing came out. Especially when those hands slid into his hair, soothed, healed all in an instant. “I want my one kiss now.”
I’ll break. He shook his head. “Francesca, no.”
Had she heard him? Her expressive eyes were staring at his mouth, her breathing growing more labored by the second. She looked up and met his gaze…just as she squeezed his cock with her inner walls, milking him in a sanity-stealing rhythm.
Lost. I’m a lost cause.
“Please, my lord.” She brought their lips together, let their rapid inhales and exhales mingle. Milked him, milked him. “Kiss me. I’ll ride you like a good girl. I just want to be a good girl for my lord. I’m sorry I was bad. So sorry. Let me show you.”
Porter threw his head back on a groan. His cock threatened to erupt inside her sweet body, then and there. So hot. I need…I need. Can’t deny her. Or myself. He spanked her backside, employing no mercy. It had the effect of a hammer hitting a nail, spearing her more firmly onto his erection. “Move, you little beggar. Fuck me. Move,” he shouted over her lingering scream.
As if broken from a trance, she jerked her hips back and took his full length once more, slowly, biting her lip and maintaining eye contact. Obliterating him. “So thick and hard,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I can feel you everywhere. You fill me up…all of me.”
His heart struggled to catch up with the lust quickening his blood. It roared, slamming into his ribs. Too much. He couldn’t take wanting her this bad and such honesty at the same time. “Faster. I need you faster. Stop making me think, Francesca.”
The connection between them seemed to burn brighter, almost blinding for a moment. She understood what he meant, even if he didn’t have a clue. “I can’t think when you kiss me.” Her gaze zeroed in on his mouth. “C-can we—”
Porter shot forward, finding her mouth before she could finish. He had no control anymore. Perhaps it had been dissipating since they met, but it felt like a tangible thing slipping through his fingers, fingers that clutched her to his chest, holding on for dear life. She spoke his name right before their mouths clashed and he shattered, pieces flying through the cab like shrapnel. Her mouth alone might have been enough to sustain him, but her hips entered the equation and nothing existed anymore but her pussy jerking back and forth on his cock. Fuck, fuck, fuck. They were equally despe
rate to come, groaning, struggling to find the best angle. Hell, every angle was the best angle. She bounced, she swiveled, he lifted her up and let her crash down. It didn’t fucking matter.
She spread her thighs wide as they would go, latching onto his mouth after sucking in a deep, rasping breath, that lithe body working his rigid dick like her sole mission had become climaxing them both. Her enthusiastic kiss threatened to rule his consciousness, so Porter wrapped her hair in a tight fist, drawing her away. He needed to see her face when she came. Required it.
“What’s going to make your filled-up pussy shake? You need some roughening up?”
Her eyelids fluttered and she rode him faster. “Y-yes, my lord.”
Porter shot his right arm out, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck. He yanked her close, sinking his teeth into the flesh connecting her shoulder and neck. Only allowing himself a second to savor her scream, his hand began raining blows down on her taut bottom. Fast, stinging blows that would require care later, but now only flooded him with ownership. She ground down on him one final time before an orgasm rippled through her, accompanied by chants of his name. They went straight to his head, blacking out any and all of his remaining discipline.
She continued to shudder as he flung her face-up onto the seat, licking the bite mark he’d left behind even as he drove his hungry cock high inside her body. “Knees up, now, Francesca.” He shoved her smooth limbs hard toward her shoulders, growling at the snug entrance it created. “I’m going to bottom out in your satisfied pussy. Keep them up until I’m done.”
There had always been a ruthless side he’d kept tamed, knowing once it got loose, he’d never cage it again. She wouldn’t allow it, though. Her feet were wedged against his shoulders, tits bouncing, hands grappling for a place to hold on. Sexual, forbidden words fell past her lips, interspersed with praise for his body. They egged him on, forced him higher. Her. This woman. Her.
