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)
I take the bite, letting my lips brush against the spoon ever so slightly before I pull away.
And then, slowly - deliberately - I swipe my tongue over my lower lip.
Frederic drops the spoon onto the table with a quiet clink, his voice low and commanding when he speaks.
"Come here.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Poppy
"Come here.”
I obey immediately.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.
At the sound of his voice - low, firm and completely in control - my body moves on pure instinct, shifting in the booth and sliding towards him.
But before I can reach him fully, he closes the gap, his hand curling around my waist and pulling me the last of the way until I’m nestled comfortably against his side.
But he doesn’t kiss me. Not yet.
Instead, Frederic studies me.
He raises a hand, his fingers brushing featherlight against my jaw, his thumb skimming over the edge of my cheekbone with a touch so gentle that it makes my stomach flip.
His blue eyes flicker over my face, drinking me in, something unreadable in his expression. Almost… soft.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry, and my tongue instinctively flicks out to wet my lips.
And just like that, his entire expression changes.
The softness disappears as his grip on my jaw tightens ever so slightly, and his gaze darkens; that slow, consuming heat rolling back into his eyes like a storm.
My breath shudders, and then his mouth crashes onto mine.
His lips move against mine with purpose, with that same intensity I should have expected but still feel down to my very core. My hands fly to his chest, pressing against the crisp fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath.
But it’s not enough.
I need more.
My fingers trail up, over his shoulders and around the back of his neck as I arch into him, pressing as close as I can, frustrated by the booth, by the space, by the fact that I can’t just have him the way I want to.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair as he deepens the kiss, as his other hand grips my hip, keeping me locked against him, right where he wants me.
It’s intoxicating, dizzying, maddening - and I never want him to stop.
Frederic doesn’t break the kiss as his grip on my waist tightens. Instead, with zero effort, he shifts, adjusting his hold on me; and before I can even process what’s happening, he pulls me onto his lap.
I move with him eagerly, my knees pressing into the booth as I straddle him, my dress hiking up over my thighs on account of the change in position. His hands immediately slide lower, gripping my hips and guiding me into him.
And fuck.
I can feel him, hard and insistent beneath me.
Heat floods my body, my stomach flipping wildly as I instinctively shift closer.
A low growl rumbles from deep within his chest as his fingers dig into my waist, stilling me instantly.
I try to move again - trying to push my luck, to keep grinding against him - but his grip tightens just enough to warn me.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice like rough velvet and thick with warning. “You don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”
That should be my sign to stop. To calm down.
To remember that we are in a public restaurant - in a private booth, yes, but it’s still a restaurant - and not somewhere that I should be fully draped over him.
But my body is burning, and my self-control is almost nonexistent, thanks to him.
And as his thick fingers flex on my waist and his jaw clenches just so, I find that I really, really want to push my luck.
“I don’t know,” I murmur, trailing my fingers down the crisp fabric of his shirt, pressing lightly against the hard muscle beneath. “Maybe you’re the one who should be careful.”
His lips twitch, but his eyes - those maddeningly blue, impossibly intense eyes - don’t waver.
“No, Poppy,” he breathes, his voice a slow, deliberate tease. “Because I am always in control.”
I shudder, my entire body tingling from the way he says it - so certain, so dominant, like it’s an undeniable fact.
“Now, be a good girl -”
His hands shift, squeezing my waist just enough to make me let out a small gasp.
“- and let me enjoy my dessert.”
My breath hitches, but despite his cool, calm exterior, I know that it’s all an act.
The long, thick, hard evidence of that is literally pressing right against me.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I purr, trying my best to be sultry and seductive. “I’ll make sure you have something sweet.”
Frederic stills beneath me.
“Oh, mon ange…” His voice is nothing but velvet and sin, teasing and taunting in equal measure. “Now you’re just asking for trouble.”
“Am I?” I hum, shifting in his lap and rolling my hips against him.
His fingers flex into my waist.