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)
"You’re mine now," he says as he pulls back slightly.
It’s a challenge. A claim, even.
He slaps his hand lightly against my panty-covered core, and I bite down on my lip as my body thrums with anticipation.
"I should make you beg for it."
"You’re so full of yourself, Moreau,” I tell him, exaggerating the French pronunciation of his surname.
"And you’re still acting like you don’t want me to ruin you."
Oh, fuck.
"I don’t know why you keep fighting me, Poppy,” he says as his fingers slip beneath the lace, barely teasing over my slit yet making my hips buck against him all the same.
He’s got me so worked up, it’s almost unfair.
“Just admit that you want me to take what’s already mine."
My body wars with my mind.
I know what I should do. I should push him away, I should remind him that I don't belong to anyone - especially him.
But when his fingers nudge against my clit before swiping back down to my entrance, circling over me before pushing inside ever so slightly, all rational thought leaves my mind.
I grasp at him, my nails digging into his broad shoulders as I attempt to drag him closer.
"That’s it," he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. "Fucking finally."
His fingers slip all the way through my slick heat with devastating precision. Frederic groans, his grip on my thigh flexing as he thrusts his fingers deep, dragging out every reaction I try to fight.
"Your perfect little pussy is so fucking wet for me," he mutters. "And you want me to believe you don’t want this?"
"You’re so fucking smug," I say through gritted teeth.
His answering smirk is pure sin.
"And you fucking love it."
His fingers move impossibly faster against me, and the sound of him thrusting them in and out of my wet heat fills the room along with my ragged breaths. His movements are fast and firm, and a small slip of a noise escapes my throat when his thumb begins to draw tight circles over my swollen clit.
My thighs tremble beneath his firm grip, and I brace myself, certain that he’ll stop again - that he’ll push me right to the edge, only to leave me hovering there.
But he doesn’t.
His fingers curl deep inside me, brushing over that devastatingly perfect spot as his thumb swipes maddening circles over my clit. My abdomen clenches, white-hot heat coiling low in my stomach, my entire body tightening as the pressure builds, builds, builds -
And then I shatter.
A strangled moan rips from my throat as waves of pleasure pulse through me, my body bowing beneath the intensity. My walls clench tight around his fingers, drawing him deeper, and he watches me fall apart with unrestrained hunger, his gaze so dark, so fucking possessive that the aftershocks only make me burn hotter.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to my throat, his fingers still stroking me, wringing every last drop of pleasure from my body. "I should make you do that again."
"Or," I gasp, dragging my nails down his back, delighting in the way his muscles tense beneath my touch, "you could stop talking and finally fuck me."
His entire body stiffens against mine.
And then, in one swift, fluid motion, he pulls back just enough to grab the waistband of my panties, yanking them down my legs with no ceremony, no hesitation.
Just pure determination.
A strangled gasp catches in my throat as the cool air kisses my newly exposed skin. Frederic doesn’t break eye contact as he slides the lace down, but he doesn’t just toss them aside. No, he flicks them away lazily, like they’re nothing but a trivial inconvenience, barely worthy of his attention.
My skin burns under the weight of his stare as his blue eyes drag over every inch of my body, lingering between my thighs and drinking me in.
I should feel exposed. I should feel vulnerable.
Instead, I feel powerful.
Because I can see it. The hunger tightening his jaw, the tension lining his shoulders, the way his fists clench like it’s taking every ounce of restraint not to devour me whole.
And fuck, do I want him to lose that restraint.
Frederic sits back on his heels, his hands sliding down my thighs before he moves away completely, leaving my skin flushed and burning from his absence.
For a split second, I almost protest, almost reach for him; but then I see the way he’s looking at me - dark, ravenous, and utterly in control as he reaches for the waistband of his shorts.
He pops the button open with maddening ease, his fingers moving with unhurried precision. He takes his time, like he’s putting on a show just for me; his smirk widening as he notices the way my gaze refuses to stray.
Oh, I hate him.
But oh, I want him.
He leans back slightly, the muscles in his defined abdomen and strong biceps flexing, and I swear my mouth goes dry as he drags the fabric of his shorts and underwear down in one motion, revealing the seemingly endless expanse of golden, sculpted skin and the sharp cut of his hips.