Page 208 of My French Love Affair

But this is different.

Because it’shim.

I stare at the screen for a few beats longer. I reach out a hand, and my thumb hovers over the camera icon.

My breath is somewhat unsteady, my heart continuing to hammer in my chest.

Then, finally, I lift my phone.

The image is subtle and classy - or at least, I think so. Nothing too raunchy, but just enough to tease. The soft lace of my pajamas, the curve of my thigh, my hand resting just at the hem like an invitation I’m not quite brave enough to fully extend.

I presssendbefore I can talk myself out of it, and practically throw my phone down onto the counter.

I needn’t have bothered - the response is immediate.

Fuck.

A deep pulse of satisfaction spreads through me as I read the four-letter message.

Apparently he’s not so articulate now.

Problem?

I smirk as I send it, feeling very much satisfied with myself.

Yeah.

Now I have to return the favor.

My screen lights up with another message.

Animage.

I hesitate, blinking down at the screen. My eyes flicker over tothe locked bathroom door as though I expect one of the girls to come barging through it and catch me red-handed at that very moment.

Of course, nothing happens. It’s completely silent on the other side of the room, where my friends are all tucked up in bed and fast asleep.

So, I open it.

And holyshit.

The angle is low and intimate, capturing every inch of his lean, toned body sprawled against his white hotel sheets. His race-honed torso is bare - all taut muscle, golden skin and sharp, defined lines.

But it’s not just his body that gets me.

It’s his face - the dark, heated look in his eyes, the slight smirk curling his lips, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

A shiver rolls through me.

Miss menow?

I exhale slowly, my entire body thrumming with the need to just be near him.

You play dirty.

As is usual with him, I don’t have to wait any time at all for his response.

Only with you.

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