Page 107 of My French Love Affair

“You wouldn’tdare.”

His smirk is slow and wicked, and before I can process what’s happening, hedoesstop.

He withdraws his hand completely, leaving me panting, aching and furious -again.

“Try me.”

Oh,fuck him.

“Frederic,” I grit out, dragging my nails down his back in frustration. “Ihateyou.”

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb along my swollen bottom lip. “Youlovethis.”

I don’t know if it’s the way he’s looking at me, or the unbearable ache he’s left me with, but something inside finally snaps.

I grab his shirt in both hands and yank him back down, crashing my mouth onto his.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he mutters against my lips.

I let out a breathy, shaky laugh. “Oh, I think Ido.”

Fredericgrowls, one hand sliding up my thigh and gripping hard, while the other tilts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“Tell me this is what you’ve wanted,” he rasps. “Since the moment you saw me at that airport.Tell me.”

I shake my head, refusing to give in so easily, but the moment his fingers slide higher, the moment his grip tightens on my jaw, I feel myself falter.

“Tell me,Poppy.”

Fuck.It’s dangerous how much I like the way my name sounds coming from his lips.

“Nothing to say?” he muses, his fingers pressing deeper into my thigh, making it impossible to ignore the fact that I’m completely at his mercy right now. “You’re never this quiet.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to give you the satisfaction,” I bite out, lifting my chin defiantly.

His eyes darken.

Oh.

Oh, Ipushedhim.

His grip on my thigh tightens, his body pressing harder into mine, and my breath catches when I feelexactlyhow much he wants this.

“Pity,” he says, his voice like silk-wrapped sin. “Because I’m going to take it anyway.”

And then his mouth is back on mine - a hot, urgent, full-blown assault on my senses as his fingers thread into my hair, angling my face exactly how he wants it, how heneedsit.

It’s rough, unyielding, andfuck, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this consumed in my life.

His touch is heated and relentless as his body presses into mine, his hips rolling in the perfect, punishing rhythm that has my thighs trembling around him.

“Merde,” he mutters, his breath ragged, voice laced with something that makes my stomach flip.

I shouldn’t find this power play so intoxicating. Ishouldn’t.

But every single thing about him - his dominance, his touch, the way he kisses like he’s starving - is ruining me, and I don’t even have it in me to care.

I want more. Ineedmore.

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