Page 168 of My French Love Affair

The heat of him, the sheer size of him, the way he moves - it’s dizzying as much as consuming, and it’s far too easy to lose myself in him.

His hand trails upwards, pushing the silk up over my thighs in a deliberate, slow movement. My breath catches in my throat, my head tilting back against the glass as anticipation coils deep in my stomach.

“Wait,” I whisper.

My chin tilts and my eyes flicker to the city lights beyond the window.

Frederic pauses, his lips hovering just above mine.

“What if someone sees?” I murmur, my voice unsteady.

His responding grin is pure devilment.

“Let them watch.”

I suck in a sharp breath, my stomach tightening at the absolute audacity of him, at the low, husky way he says it -

At the way his smirk deepens when he sees how flustered I am.

I shake my head, half in disbelief, half in frustration, but my lips curl upwards all the same. Before I can say another word, his hand slides higher, gripping around my thigh once more.

I swallow hard, my breath shaking, my lips parting as histhumb brushes dangerously close to the lace outline of my panties.

He leans in, his breath warm against my ear, his voice silk-wrapped sin.

“If they want a show…” he pauses, his grip flexing, the heat of his palm searing into my skin. “…Then maybe we should give them one.”

My heart slams against my ribs, a whimper slipping free before I can stop it.

“Don’t you think?”

“You wouldn’t,” I whisper, though the words come out weak, breathless and utterly unconvincing.

“I wouldn’t?” he chuckles, tilting his head and watching me with mock curiosity as his hand slides even higher.

My nails dig into his forearms, my pulse roaring.

“No,” I rasp, but I know he sees through me.

Because as his knucklesfinallyreach the place I want him most.

He brushes them gently against the damp centre of my panties, and I know that he can feel how much I want him.

“Do you want me to behave, Poppy?” he asks, his breath a whisper against my lips.

His fingernails rake over the crease of my skin, so close to slipping beneath the fabric and meeting me where I want - no,needhim most, and so I can’t breathe, never mindthink, and I shake my head in response to his question.

“No?”

I swallow, my throat tight, my pulse hammering, my body burning.

“No,” I whisper.

His responding growl is all the warning I get before his fingers slip beneath the lace fabric and his mouth crashes into mine.

I gasp against his lips as his fingers slide roughly through my slick heat, and my entire body shudders against him. My nails dig into his broad forearms, desperate for something to hold onto as he moves with that infuriatingly slow yet firm precision that makes my mind go completely blank.

“So fucking wet for me already,” he rasps.

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