Page 213 of My French Love Affair

And then, he groans.

"Fuck,Poppy.”

The moment his voice slips through the speakers of my phone - deep, rough and completely wrecked - I shatter.

A sharp, choked whimper escapes me as my body clenches around my own fingers, pleasure slamming through me in a wave so intense I have to bite down on my lip to stop myself from crying out.

He sounds desperate. Like he’s barely hanging on.

Like he’s completely undone by this, by me.

Andthatis what ruins me.

I barely register the way my hand still moves as the aftershocks roll through me. I can’t even consider the way my body trembles, too sensitive, too hot, too much.

All I know ishim.

His voice. His body.

His breathless, desperate groans as his fist works over his cock, slick and slow and so fucking perfect that it makes my stomach clench all over again.

Another video comes through, and I press it open immediately, not even bothering to hesitate.

His cock comes into view, and my thumb swipes over my over-sensitive clit without hesitation, my own breath ragged and uneven. I drink in every little detail, from the way his abs tense, the way his thighs flex, the way his muscles strain beneath golden, flushed skin…

The way his fingers tighten around himself, his movements quickening.

And then -

"Poppy -oh,Poppy,fuck."

His voice breaks. His body shudders.

His hand stutters, tightens, jerks-

And then he comes.

Thick, white ropes spill over his stomach and onto his hand. My eyes flicker everywhere all at once, greedily drinking in the details as his jaw clenches and his head tips back against the pillows. His entire body tenses as a low, filthy groan rumbles through his chest.

And that’s it.

That’s my undoing.

My head falls back, my mouth parting in a silent cry as a second, sharper climax slams through me.

I can’t be loud, Ican’t,but it’s so hard to keep quiet as my legs tremble violently. My fingers falter against my pussy, my vision blurring.

Still, I can’t stop.

Not when the image of his perfect, muscular body is seared into my mind.

Not when his name is still on my lips, falling from my tongue in a whispered plea.

Not when I know that he just came thinking of me.

It takes me longer than I care to admit to come back down, and my heart is still racing when I lower my phone.

There’s another text waiting for me to open.

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