Page 233 of My French Love Affair

When my gaze flickers back up, she’s already looking at me.

Her dark eyes burn with frustration, with need - with something dangerously close to surrender - and I raise a brow.

“Well?”

“You’re an arsehole,” she spits.

I chuckle, completely unaffected.

“I know.”

She clenches her jaw, her entire body tense, vibrating with resistance.

For a moment, I think she might hold out longer - that she might keep fighting me on this.

But then, she snaps.

Her hands slap against the door, her nails scraping against the wood as her head falls forwards. When she speaks, her voice breaks, and she finally,finallybegs.

“Please, Freddie.”

Fuckinghell.

My cock throbs, but I’m not going to give into her that easily.

“Pleasewhat?” I demand.

Her head turns over her shoulder so that she’s half looking at me, half looking away - like she can’t stand the weight of my gaze, like she already knows she’s lost.

I step forwards and reach for her, my fingers tracing the curve of her waist, my nails grazing her bare skin just to make her shudder.

“I’m a man of many talents, Poppy, but unfortunately, I can’t read your mind,” I murmur, my lips brushing against the back of her neck. “You’re going to have to use your words if you want something from me.”

She presses back against me, her nails biting into the door, her entire body bowing for me.

“Please,” she breathes again, her voice barely above a whisper.

It won’t do, though.

She’s going to have to learn.

I tighten my grip on her waist as I press my lips to the shell of her ear, my teeth grazing against her soft, sensitive skin.

“Pleasewhat, Poppy?”

Her breath hitches, andfinally, she breaks.

"Please, Freddie," she whispers, her voice soft, desperate, ruined. "Please, make me come."

And just like that, I’ve won.

A growl rumbles deep in my chest, my fingers flexing against her waist as heat surges through me, raw and demanding.

She asked so sweetly. So perfectly.

So fuckingruined.

I suppose she deserves her reward.

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