Page 109 of My French Love Affair

"Then tell me.”

His lips twitch at my attempt to hold my ground, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, his grip tightens, and before I can react, he rolls his hips up into me -hard.

"You first.”

I swallow hard, my pride hanging by a thread.

"Fuck you."

"That," he chuckles, his voice drenched in heat and promise, "is the plan,Poppy."

With a swift, effortless shift, he flips me back beneath him, pinning me to the couch again, his bodyeverywhere. My fingers claw at his back, my thighs parting wide as he rolls his hips in slow, torturous strokes.

"You’re mine now," he says as he pulls back slightly.

It’s a challenge. A claim, even.

He slaps his hand lightly against my panty-covered core, and I bite down on my lip as my body thrums with anticipation.

"I should make you beg for it."

"You’re so full of yourself,Moreau,” I tell him, exaggerating the French pronunciation of his surname.

"And you’re still acting like you don’t want me to ruin you."

Oh, fuck.

"I don’t know why you keep fighting me, Poppy,” he says as his fingers slip beneath the lace, barely teasing over my slit yet making my hips buck against him all the same.

He’s got me so worked up, it’s almost unfair.

“Just admit that you want me to take what’s already mine."

My body wars with my mind.

I know what Ishoulddo. I should push him away, I should remind him that I don't belong to anyone - especiallyhim.

But when his fingers nudge against my clit before swiping back down to my entrance, circling over me before pushing inside ever so slightly, all rational thought leaves my mind.

I grasp at him, my nails digging into his broad shoulders as I attempt to drag him closer.

"That’s it," he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. "Fuckingfinally."

His fingers slip all the way through my slick heat with devastating precision. Fredericgroans, his grip on my thigh flexing as he thrusts his fingers deep, dragging out every reaction I try to fight.

"Your perfect little pussy is so fucking wet for me," he mutters. "And you want me to believe you don’t want this?"

"You’re so fuckingsmug," I say through gritted teeth.

His answering smirk is pure sin.

"And you fuckinglove it."

His fingers move impossibly faster against me, and the sound of him thrusting them in and out of my wet heat fills the room along with my ragged breaths. His movements are fast and firm, and a small slip of a noise escapes my throat when his thumb begins to draw tight circles over my swollen clit.

My thighs tremble beneath his firm grip, and I brace myself, certain that he’ll stop again - that he’ll push me right to the edge, only to leave me hovering there.

But he doesn’t.

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