Page 160 of My French Love Affair

"That’s it," he says in encouragement as he watches me fall apart. "You’ll take anything that I give you, won’t you, Poppy?”

I can’t even respond, because his thumb - hisfucking thumb- circles my clit at the same time, pressing just right.

And suddenly, I’m hanging on by a thread.

I shudder, my legs trembling against him, my body pulsing, aching and tightening as he works me over with slow, measured strokes.

The knowledge that he’s doing this to me here - that he’s fucking me with his fingers and bringing me to my release in one of Europe’s most exclusive restaurants - is almost enough to send me over the edge.

"I want you to tell me," he demands as his grip shifts.

He tilts my chin up so I’m looking directly into his hungry, heated gaze. I gasp, barely able to string together a coherent thought as his expert fingers continue to work over me, and my brows pull together as I answer.

"Tell you what?"

The words are muffled by his palm over my mouth, but I know he hears me loud and clear.

After all, his answering smirk is pure filth.

"That you were made to come for me."

I shudder violently, the words hitting me almost as hard as his touch, sending a new wave of arousal coursing through me. My hands grip tightly to his shoulders, my body aching, my entire world teetering on the edge of something that feels sopowerful.

“Go on,” he says, and I shake my head, even though I know it’s useless.

Even though I know I am moments away from breaking completely.

Sensing my resistance, his fingers press impossibly deeper, his thumb continuing to swipe over my swollen clit as heat pools in my abdomen.

"Say it, Poppy," he demands through gritted teeth, and I whimper, my eyes squeezing shut, my jaw clenching as I try not to give him the satisfaction-

Butfuck.

I can’t hold on.

“Freddie,” I moan against his hand.

His name is a plea, a confession, asurrender.

His eyes darken at the sound of his name on my tongue. Something almostferalflashes across his face, and he groans like he’s fighting a battle of his own.

"Fuck, I need you to say it," he commands, his voice a deep, gravelly demand. "Need you to tell me."

His hand lowers so that he’s no longer covering my mouth. Instead, his fingers brush against my jawline before moving lower and wrapping around the top of my throat.

My entire body tenses and locks up, the pressure inside me building too high, too fast, and small waves of pleasure begin to wash through me as white-hot heat licks at my inner thighs.

“Say. It.”

“I - I -” I attempt, my mouth opening and closing as my breath comes out in ragged pants. My senses are overwhelmed, and I can barely focus -

But then I feel a slight change in pressure as his thumb ever so slightly eases away from my clit, and panic shoots through enough that I’m suddenly able to find the words that he wants.

I’ll do whatever he wants, say whatever I have to if it means that he keeps his deliciously thick fingers inside my pussy.

“I’m yours,” I tell him, my shoulders sagging in relief as he returns his previous pressure to my clit. “I’m yours, and I was… I was made to come for you.”

"That’s it," he murmurs, sounding triumphant.

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