Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
"Fuck," I hiss. "Already so wet for me."
I inhale the scent of her - the sweetness, the heat, the desperation - and her fingers tighten against the door.
"You were made for this," I whisper.
Then, without warning, I thrust my fingers deep inside her.
She cries out, her back arching, her body jerking against me as my other hand pins her waist to the door.
"That’s it," I murmur, thrusting again, harder and deeper.
I watch closely at the way her body moves; the way she gasps, the way her thighs tremble beneath my touch.
"You wanted to tease me, didn’t you?"
Her forehead presses against the cool surface of the door, her nails scraping against it.
I chuckle darkly at the sight of her crumbling like this.
I curl my fingers inside her just the way that she likes, finding that perfect fucking spot and pressing into it with ease, repeating the motion again and again and again.
"Freddie, I -"
"Ah, ah," I say, pressing my lips against her ear. "That’s not what I want to hear."
Her body tenses, her thighs clenching around my hand, and I feel tremors coursing through her, feel how she’s so close to the edge -
But I stop.
My fingers still, and she gasps.
My body is pressed so hard against her that I know she can feel every inch of me, every fucking ounce of my restraint, but I have to see her.
"Freddie -"
I pull back slightly and grip her chin, forcing her to look at me over her shoulder, and she quiets immediately.
I drink her in, my eyes greedy as they dance over her pretty face. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted and her pupils blown wide with desire.
Fuck.
I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.
"You don’t get to come yet, mon ange," I murmur, my grip tightening. "Not until you beg for it."
She shudders, and I raise a brow.
"Be a good girl, and ask me nicely."
Her breath is uneven, her body trembling beneath my hands.
I watch her, taking in every little detail - the tension in her jaw, the way her chest rises and falls too quickly, the way her fingers twitch against the door like she’s fighting herself.
I can see it. The struggle.
She’s stubborn. Proud, even. And she doesn’t want to give in.
But she will.
Because I don’t lose - especially not with her.
I tilt her chin up higher, forcing her to meet my gaze. I brush my thumb over her lower lip, my fingers still buried inside her, still pressing against that perfect, devastating spot.
"You don’t want to beg?" I ask, my voice low and taunting.
She swallows hard, her breath catching - but still, she doesn’t speak.
I smirk as I drag my fingers out of her, knowing that I’m leaving her achingly empty.
She gasps, her hips jerking forward, chasing the friction; but I simply grip tighter to her waist, keeping her still.
"No, Poppy," I murmur. "You wanted to be a brat, remember?"
A frustrated, desperate whimper escapes her throat, and I lean forwards in order to press a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth.
"Now, beg."
Her body is so hot, so needy, but still, she’s fighting me - fighting herself.
I press another kiss just below her ear, my tongue flicking against her pulse.
"Beg me to let you come, mon ange," I whisper, my lips brushing against her skin.
She whimpers, barely able to hold on.
But still, she says nothing.
So, I step back completely.
She gasps, instantly missing my touch. Her body moves on pure instinct as her thighs press together, desperate for relief.
But I deny her.
Instead, I keep stepping away until I’m able to lean back against the table, folding my arms across my chest and tilting my head slightly.
I watch her, and I let her squirm.
"Not feeling so smug anymore, are you, sweetheart?" I muse.
She turns her head, glaring at me over her shoulder. Her breathing is ragged, her entire body coiled tight, her thighs pressing together in desperate search of relief -
But I won’t let her have it. Not yet.
Not until she begs.
I watch her wrestle with herself, torn between stubborn defiance and pure, unfiltered need.
I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
“Go on,” I taunt. “You’re almost there.”
Her fingers curl into fists against the door as if she’s trying to ground herself against its surface, as if she’s trying to cling to some kind of control.
But there’s nothing she can do to stop this. Nothing she can do to stop me.
I drag my gaze down her body, taking my time, letting my eyes linger over the way her dress is still pushed up, revealing her arse and her wet pussy to me from a delicious angle; the way her skin is still flushed and warm -
The way she’s still so fucking ready for me.
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.