Page 223 of My French Love Affair

"Do youwantme to punish you,mon ange?"

I should say no.

I should walk away.

I should remind him that I am not something to be tamed, to be owned, to be controlled.

But instead, I shiver.

And his smirk?

It’s devastating. It’s victorious.

It’s a warning.

He inhales a long, deep breath before he moves back slightly, putting enough distance between us that I’m no longer completely overwhelmed by his presence -

Enough so that I can breathe again.

But then he opens his mouth, and I feel my head spin.

"Get on your knees for me."

His voice is low, lethal, unwavering.

It’s not a request, or a suggestion.

It’s a command. A test.

Alesson.

My entire body tenses even as heat coils low, my pulse hammering, hammering,hammering.

He might have stepped back, but the weight of his dominance presses down on me, and my nails dig into my palms as my breaths come too sharp, too shaky.

It’s my mind battling my body all over again.

What I should do, versus what I instinctively do.

I should refuse. I should push back.

I should walk away and remind him that he doesn’t get to pull me away from my friends, drag me into a private room, pin me against the wall and order me to my knees like I belong to him.

But I don’t.

Because when it comes to this, when it comes tohim-

I never fucking do.

So, I sink.

Slowly. Smoothly.

My dress glides against my thighs as I lower myself to the floor, my breath shallow, my chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm.

My eyes lock onto his, refusing to waver, refusing to give in completely.

But the way he looks at me then - like he’s about to fucking devour me whole - I know, without a doubt that I am so, so gone.

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