Page 156 of My French Love Affair

I try to move again - trying to push my luck, to keep grinding against him - but his grip tightens just enough to warn me.

“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice like rough velvet and thick with warning. “You don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”

That should be my sign to stop. To calm down.

To remember that we are in a public restaurant -in a private booth, yes, but it’s still a restaurant- and not somewhere that I should be fully draped over him.

But my body is burning, and my self-control is almost nonexistent, thanks to him.

And as his thick fingers flex on my waist and his jaw clenches just so, I find that I really, reallywant to push my luck.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, trailing my fingers down the crisp fabric of his shirt, pressing lightly against the hard muscle beneath. “Maybeyou’rethe one who should be careful.”

His lips twitch, but his eyes - those maddeningly blue, impossibly intense eyes - don’t waver.

“No,Poppy,” he breathes, his voice a slow, deliberate tease. “BecauseIam always in control.”

I shudder, my entire body tingling from the way he says it - so certain, sodominant, like it’s an undeniable fact.

“Now, be a good girl -”

His hands shift, squeezing my waistjustenough to make melet out a small gasp.

“- and let me enjoy my dessert.”

My breath hitches, but despite his cool, calm exterior, I know that it’s all an act.

The long, thick,hardevidence of that is literally pressing right against me.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I purr, trying my best to be sultry and seductive. “I’ll make sure you have something sweet.”

Frederic stills beneath me.

“Oh,mon ange…” His voice is nothing but velvet and sin, teasing and taunting in equal measure. “Now you’re just asking for trouble.”

“Am I?” I hum, shifting in his lap and rolling my hips against him.

His fingers flex into my waist.

“Poppy.”

I glance up at him, my lips curling in satisfaction.

“Yes?” I say, my tone sickeningly sweet.

The control - therestraint- is evident in every muscle of his body, in the way his hands grip me with barely contained hunger, in the way his breathing is heavier now, rougher.

I decide then that I very much like pushing him. Teasing him.Testinghim.

Seeing how far I can take this before he snaps.

“Freddie,” I whisper, trailing my fingers up his chest, over his shoulders and threading them into the dark strands of his hair as I lean in, my lips barely brushing his. “Are you going to be a good boy and finish your dessert?”

His restraintshatters.

In a single, fluid motion, his hands shift, gripping my thighs hard as he yanks me closer, forcing me flush against him.

I can feel just how much he wants this.

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