Page 114 of My French Love Affair

Frederic tenses, cursing under his breath as an impatient knock comes from the other side.

"Ne bouge pas," he mutters -don’t move -rolling off me with an ease that suggests he absolutelywillbe picking up where he left off the moment he gets rid of whoever just interrupted us.

He grabs his boxers and steps into them, then pulls on his linen shorts before heading toward the door.

I watch, still sprawled out, my body still flushed from him, fromus, as he pulls the door open just a crack.

Whoever is on the other side speaks in rapid French. Frederic responds, his tone sharp, authoritative and businesslike.

I push myself up slightly, reaching for my underwear. My dress lies crumpled at the foot of the couch, and I hesitate before grabbing it, watching the way Frederic’s expression barely shifts as he continues the conversation in low, quick murmurs.

He’s different like this. Focused. Serious.

Powerful.

It’s a stark contrast to the teasing, smug asshole I’ve come to know.

The conversation ends as quickly as it started, and Frederic sighs, rubbing a hand along his jaw before shutting the door and turning back to me.

“I have to deal with something,” he says simply.

I nod, trying not to look like I care.

“Go, then.”

I expect him to just leave.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he strides back over to me, leans down, and captures my mouth in a firm, possessive kiss - like he’s sealing something in place, claiming something before walking away.

It steals my breath and my resolve all at once.

Eventually, he pulls away, his thumb briefly grazing my chin as he straightens.

He reaches for his shirt, shrugging into it with effortless ease. As his fingers work over the lower buttons, he glances back at me, his bright blue eyes now completely unreadable.

“There’s no rush,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, smoother. “Take your time.”

Then, without another word, he turns and strides towards the door, pulling it open just enough to slip through before shutting it firmly behind him.

I stay there for a second as silence fills the room, staring at nothing in particular as my brain catches up to the absolute disaster that is my life choices.

What thefuckis wrong with me?

The question pounds through my skull as I sit there, my silk dress clutched tightly in my lap, my skin still buzzing from his touch, from the way he claimed me like he had every right to.

I inhale sharply, trying to will away the heat still lingering between my thighs, the ache that proves just how much I wanted this - how much I wantedhim.

Why?

I had Noah.

Noah, who was sweet, and kind, andgood. Noah, who looked at me like I was something to be cherished. Who would have given me the world if I had only asked.

And for no identifiable reason, I just couldn’t love him back.

I tried. I really,reallytried. I told myself over and over that he was perfect for me, that I was lucky to have someone who adored me so openly, so completely.

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