Page 106 of My French Love Affair

“Don’t what?” he says, huffing out a quiet laugh.

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” he presses, and though my eyes are now squeezed tightly to a close, I swear that I canhearthat goddamn smirk in his voice.

I keep my jaw tight, refusing to say it aloud.

Like it belongs to him. LikeIbelong to him.

“Still so stubborn,” he murmurs.

Before I can reply, his fingers slide out of me slowly, their obscene trail drawing a frustrated gasp from my lips.

He doesn’t relent. Instead, he drags wet fingertips back to my clit, circling with infuriating accuracy.

“But you must know I’ve won,” he tells me, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. “I won the moment you didn’t walk away.”

My heart pounds furiously, my skin burning everywhere he touches, and I hate him - god, Ihatehim for being right.

But his hand pulls away, leaving me cool and empty, and I barely manage to bite back the noise of frustration that threatens to escape.

Before I can even think to protest, his wet fingers slip beneath the thin straps of my silk dress, dragging them down my shoulders with infuriating slowness.

His gaze rakes over me like he’s taking his time memorising every inch of exposed skin, like he’s trying to sear himself into my bones. His knuckles ghost along my collarbone, and I shiver beneath him, my resolve slipping further and further away.

My own hands roam over him, yanking at the buttons of his shirt, frustrated by how much fabric is still between us. He pushes my dress further down, exposing my skin to the cool air and his burning gaze.

“Of course,” he murmurs when he realises I’m not wearing a bra, his fingers ghosting down my ribs to settle possessively at my waist.

“Shut up,” I breathe, though the unevenness in my voice gives me away.

The smirk I feel against my skin says everything - and I loathe how much I love this.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement as he drags his lips to my ear. “You never did say ifthiswas why you’ve been so rude to me.”

I scowl, lifting my hips in a desperate attempt for friction, but his hands tighten around me, holding me down effortlessly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap.

His lips brush my jaw, his nose skimming my cheek. “No?”

I shake my head, even as I feel his fingers tease the lace of my panties all over again.

“You’re still lying to yourself,chérie,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. “But your body?”

His fingers slip beneath the fabric once more, and I swear, my whole worldtilts.

“Your body doesn’t lie.”

I arch against him, a sharp inhale catching in my throat as his touch turns from teasing to devastating.

“Freddie -” I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his forehead dropping to my temple, his fingers working over me with infuriating precision. “Say my name again.”

I bite my lip as I shake my head, and he chuckles as his fingersslow to the lightest, laziest movements, barely giving me what I need.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxes, his free hand trailing down my side, gripping my waist like he owns me. “Tell me, or I’ll stop again.”

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