Page 172 of My French Love Affair

Because before I can move, Frederic grips my ankles, his fingers curling around the delicate bones as he spreads me wide beneath him.

My breath catches.

He drags his gaze down my body, slowly, deliberately, drinking in every inch of exposed skin, every detail of the way I look beneath him. His hands reach for the waistband of my underwear, and he drags the lace down my thighs and calves before tossing them somewhere behind him as his eyes return to my core.

His lips part, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“Look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself, his voice rasping, low and reverent.

I shift beneath him, pressing my thighs together in desperate need of friction.

“Poppy,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing the inside of my knee, dragging slowly, torturously upward before pushing my legs apart once more. “I can’t explain this feeling. Thisdesire.I… I want toruin you.”

My hands fist into the sheets.

“You already have,” I whisper.

He descends on me, his lips trailing fire down my throat,down the curve of my collarbone, his fingers skimming higher and higher up my thighs. My hips lift from the bed, my body straining for him, my pulse pounding, my skin burning -

And then,finally, he does exactly what he promised.

He ruins me.

Chapter Forty-Six

Poppy

Frederic’s lips trail lower, hot and insistent, sending shivers across my overheated skin as he moves down my body.

His hands, firm and unyielding, slide up my thighs, fingers spreading as he parts me wider, his grip possessive.

The warmth of his breath ghosts over me as his hands flex, his thumbs dragging slow circles against my inner thighs. My stomach tightens in anticipation, my hips lifting in a silent, desperate plea; but Frederic just hums in response, his mouth hovering just above where I need him most.

“Patience,mon ange,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement and sin. “There’s no rush this evening. I’m going to take my time with you.”

I fight the overwhelming urge to close my thighs around his head and pull him closer.

“Freddie,” I plead, my voice barely a whisper.

His fingers dig into my thighs, and then - before I can brace myself, before I have to beg again - he gives in.

His mouth is on me.

A sharp, desperate cry escapes my throat at the feel of his lips brushing against my swollen, sensitive clit.

I am completely at his mercy as he points his tongue and flicks it over me, working with a slow, agonising precision.

It’s almost too much. The heat of his mouth, the firm, expert strokes of his tongue, the way he devours me like he’s starving - like this is his favorite thing in the world - and I moan, my fingers tangling into his dark hair as my hips roll instinctively, chasing more, chasingeverything.

He presses against my entrance, the combined lubricant of my arousal andhimallowing two of his thick digits to slide in with ease. He isn’t careful or gentle as he pushes them in and out of my pussy, his rhythm rapid and relentless, the resulting noise almostobscene.

“You taste sogood,” he says, his voice muffled against my skin.

I cry out when he purses his lips around my clit and sucks,hard. My thighs tremble around his head when he repeats the motion again and again and again, my body spiralling into something dangerous as he continues to fuck me with his fingers.

“Freddie,” I pant, breathless, my hands tugging at his hair, my chest heaving. “I’m -fuck, I’m going to - ”

“Then do it,” he commands as his tongue pressesexactlywhere I need it. “Give it all to me, baby.”

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