Page 224 of My French Love Affair

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Frederic

Adeep, satisfied growl rumbles in my chest as I drink in the sight of Poppy Taylor on her knees before me.

My fingers flexing against my sides, my entire body coiled so fucking tight I might snap as I stare down at her.

She’s breathless, her pupils blown wide, her lips parted as she looks up at me with something dangerous swimming in her dark eyes.

She wants to fight this. Wants to fightme.

But she won’t.

Not really.

I watch her swallow hard, watch the way her hands curl into the fabric of her dress like she needs something to hold onto.

Like she’s barely keeping herself together.

Good.

My hand slides into her hair, gripping just enough at the light strands to make her suck in a breath, just enough to make her pulse flutter at her throat.

"You know, you didn’t have to follow me,” I tell her.

I tighten my grip slightly, watching her eyes darken, her body tense beneath my touch.

"You didn’t have to kneel."

Her lashes flutter as she blinks up at me, lips parting, breath shaky.

Fuck,she’s so beautiful like this. So fuckingperfect.

"And yet -" I murmur, my thumb tracing over her bottom lip and dragging it down, my fingers tangling further into her hair, keeping her exactly where I want her. "Here you are."

She lets out a soft, shaky breath, and I can tell she’s trying to hold onto her pride, trying not to break so easily.

But I see the way her thighs press together, the way her fingers twitch against her dress, the way her tongue flicks out just slightly, wetting her lips; and I know that she’s already gone for me.

I press my thumb against her mouth, just at the seam of her lips.

"Say it."

Her breath hitches, her eyes flickering with something wild, something restless. I smirk, tightening my grip just slightly - just enough to remind her that she's mine.

But she shakes her head.

Like that fuckingbratthat she is, she wants to defy me. She’sdesperateto, and she’s still clinging to what little resistance she has left.

Fucking hell - she’s stubborn.

But I like that.

I like that she fights. I like that she pushes me.

It just makes it all the more sweeter when she finally gives in.

"Still fighting me?" I murmur, dragging my thumb slowly over the seam of her lips, feeling the way her breath catches, the way her fingers twitch in her lap.

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