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)
“What if someone sees?” I murmur, my voice unsteady.
His responding grin is pure devilment.
“Let them watch.”
I suck in a sharp breath, my stomach tightening at the absolute audacity of him, at the low, husky way he says it -
At the way his smirk deepens when he sees how flustered I am.
I shake my head, half in disbelief, half in frustration, but my lips curl upwards all the same. Before I can say another word, his hand slides higher, gripping around my thigh once more.
I swallow hard, my breath shaking, my lips parting as his thumb brushes dangerously close to the lace outline of my panties.
He leans in, his breath warm against my ear, his voice silk-wrapped sin.
“If they want a show…” he pauses, his grip flexing, the heat of his palm searing into my skin. “…Then maybe we should give them one.”
My heart slams against my ribs, a whimper slipping free before I can stop it.
“Don’t you think?”
“You wouldn’t,” I whisper, though the words come out weak, breathless and utterly unconvincing.
“I wouldn’t?” he chuckles, tilting his head and watching me with mock curiosity as his hand slides even higher.
My nails dig into his forearms, my pulse roaring.
“No,” I rasp, but I know he sees through me.
Because as his knuckles finally reach the place I want him most.
He brushes them gently against the damp centre of my panties, and I know that he can feel how much I want him.
“Do you want me to behave, Poppy?” he asks, his breath a whisper against my lips.
His fingernails rake over the crease of my skin, so close to slipping beneath the fabric and meeting me where I want - no, need him most, and so I can’t breathe, never mind think, and I shake my head in response to his question.
“No?”
I swallow, my throat tight, my pulse hammering, my body burning.
“No,” I whisper.
His responding growl is all the warning I get before his fingers slip beneath the lace fabric and his mouth crashes into mine.
I gasp against his lips as his fingers slide roughly through my slick heat, and my entire body shudders against him. My nails dig into his broad forearms, desperate for something to hold onto as he moves with that infuriatingly slow yet firm precision that makes my mind go completely blank.
“So fucking wet for me already,” he rasps.
A whimper slips past my lips, and he drinks it down, kissing me deeper. His tongue slides against mine with the same aching slowness that his digits tease me with, and it’s maddening and it’s perfect -
And I am completely at his mercy.
He traces lazy, torturous circles over my clit, just enough to make my thighs shake, but not nearly enough to satisfy the ache pooling in my stomach. My hips cant against him, my body chasing more, and he chuckles as he keeps me pinned against the glass.
“Look at you,” he murmurs as he dips lower, teasing my entrance and pressing inside me just barely.
I writhe against him, my moan a desperate plea.
“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you? Tell me, mon ange," he purrs, his fingers sliding in deeper, his thumb circling my swollen clit with devastating accuracy. "Who’s making you feel this good?"
His voice is pure sin, smooth as silk and wrapping around me like a spell.
"You," I tell him, barely coherent, my thighs shaking and my abdomen clenching as pleasure bubbles within.
His smirk brushes against my throat from where my head tips back against the glass.
"Say it properly."
I let out a shaky, needy breath.
"You, Frederic."
His responding groan is low and filthy, and he thrusts deeper, a silent reward for my submission.
“That’s my girl.”
His fingers fuck in and out, pressing deep inside and sending shockwaves of pleasure through every nerve in my body. He curls them just right and my breathing stutters, my legs trembling as I grip him tightly in an attempt to keep myself upright against the glass.
But Frederic doesn’t make it easy for me. In fact, he makes it impossible.
"That’s it," he praises, his lips brushing my heated skin. "You take my fingers so well.”
My thighs threaten to snap shut, my entire body betraying me, but he doesn’t allow it. Instead, his knee wedges itself between my legs, keeping my legs spread wide, keeping me open for him -
Keeping me helpless.
My hands claw at his arms, desperate to anchor myself, desperate to hold onto something as he drives me higher. His fingers continue to thrust in and out, curling just right as his thumb swipes almost cruelly over my clit.
"You feel so good like this," he says, his voice strained as though he’s just barely hanging onto his own control. "So fucking perfect. Remind me: you were made just for me, weren’t you, Poppy?"
His voice sends heat pooling between my legs, his possessive tone making my head spin.