Page 90 of Eat Slay Love

California.

Paris.

The Arctic.

Hell itself—I would follow her anywhere.

And nowsheknew it.

I swallowed the rush of possessiveness, let it coil low in my gut, let itfuelme, because fuck—she had no idea what she’d just unleashed.

I cupped her jaw, tilting her head up, memorizing the look in her eyes.

Wide.

Heated.

Soft with something dangerously close to devotion.

Mon dieu.

I could drown in her.

But not yet.

Not before I gave her something to remember before we ever set foot on that plane tomorrow.

I smirked and ran my thumb over her lips, pressing just enough to feel the heat of her breath. “Turn back around.”

Her breath hitched. “Fabien—”

“Now.”

Something flickered in her gaze—hesitation, desire, something caught between the two—but then, with a slow, measured movement, she obeyed.

God, Ilovedthat about her.

She had no idea what it did to me when she listened.

When she trusted me.

When she surrendered to the things she didn’t even realize sheneeded.

She pressed her palms flat against the wall again, her back arching just enough to send my mind spiraling intoeveryfilthy thought I’d ever had about her.

That perfect ass, round and high, barely covered by that fucking pink lace thong.

A growl rumbled from deep in my chest as I slid my hands down her sides, slow, deliberate, savoring the way she shivered under my touch.

“So beautiful,chérie,” I traced the dimples above her ass. “Every inch of you.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, Fabien.”

I smacked her ass again, harder this time.

She gasped, her fingers flexing against the wall, her body jolting forward before she rocked back into me.

Oh yes. She fucking likes that.

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