Chapter Forty-Three
Poppy
"C ome 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.
“ Poppy .”
I glance up at him, my lips curling in satisfaction.
“Yes?” I say, my tone sickeningly sweet.
The control - the restraint - is evident in every muscle of his body, in the way his hands grip me with barely contained hunger, in the way his breathing is heavier now, rougher.
I decide then that I very much like pushing him. Teasing him. Testing him.
Seeing how far I can take this before he snaps.
“ Freddie ,” I whisper, trailing my fingers up his chest, over his shoulders and threading them into the dark strands of his hair as I lean in, my lips barely brushing his. “Are you going to be a good boy and finish your dessert? ”
His restraint shatters .
In a single, fluid motion, his hands shift, gripping my thighs hard as he yanks me closer, forcing me flush against him.
I can feel just how much he wants this.
A gasp catches in my throat, but it’s swallowed instantly as Frederic crushes his mouth against mine. His kiss is hungry, filled with nothing but heat and desperation, and I can barely breathe, my skin flushed as his tongue sweeps against mine, deepening the kiss until I’m fully at his mercy.
And I don’t care .
I don’t care that we’re in public. I don’t care that this is reckless and incredibly risky.
I just want more.
I need more.
My fingers tug in his hair, causing him to growl against my lips.
“ Fuck, ” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”
I do , and I fucking love it.
His hands slide lower, gripping my ass as he rocks me against him again, his breath hot against my skin. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and dramatic though it may be, I swear I might die if he stops.
"You want to play games, Poppy?"
His voice is a low murmur against my skin as his lips brush my pulse.
"I wasn’t playing," I manage, my voice breathless.
My heart pounds as he pushes me down onto his lap harder, making me feel every inch of his cock right against my core, and Frederic lets out a quiet, dark chuckle, his mouth ghosting over the sensitive skin beneath my jaw.
"No? Then what do you call this ?"
He rocks his hips up, his grip tightening in response to the gasp that escapes me.
I grip to his shoulders for balance, my nails biting into the crisp fabric of his shirt as he repeats the movement, drawing another strangled sound from my throat.
"That’s what I thought," he murmurs.
Every brush of his hands, every slow, deliberate shift of his hips sends pleasure surging through me, and I’m sure I’ll lose my mind if he doesn’t do something about it soon.
"Freddie," I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for, only knowing I need more.
His hands squeeze at my thighs as he smirks knowingly.
"What is it, mon ange ?"
"I hate you," I say weakly, though there’s no venom behind it.
I don’t mean it. Not anymore.
He grins against my mouth as though he can read my mind.
"No, you don’t."
I don’t get the chance to argue.
His tongue sweeps against mine as he kisses me again, fully stealing the air from my lungs.
His fingertips dip below the hem of my dress and dig into my flesh like he wants to leave his mark, and I let out a quiet, desperate whimper, instinctively dragging my body against his in one slow, agonising movement .
"You make me insane," he mutters against my lips, his voice raw with frustration.
"You’re not exactly easy on me, either."
" Good ,” he smirks, brushing his nose against mine. “I mean it, though. You make it impossible to behave."
"Then don’t ."
One of his hands slides up in a smooth, quick motion, and he grips the back of my neck as he tilts my head and kisses me.
I barely register the way his grip shifts - one firm palm sliding down to my hip, guiding me, encouraging me to move against him, and I comply without thinking, rolling my hips in perfect rhythm with his.
The friction of the seam of his pants brushing over my clit through my panties is utter bliss, and it sends wave after wave of heat rushing through me.
I swear I could orgasm from this alone.
" Fuck ," he mutters against my lips, his forehead pressing against mine for the briefest second. His breath is ragged, his control fraying. "You’re such a fucking tease."
I grin, breathless. "I learned from the best."
His jaw clenches, his fingers flexing against my skin, and then - before I know what’s happening - his hand grips my chin, tilting my face back up to his.
"Careful," he warns, his voice rough, strained. "You’re playing with fire."
I smirk against his mouth, my fingers threading into his hair.
"Then burn me."
His control is slipping. I can feel it in the tension coiled beneath his skin, in the way his muscles flex under my touch .
But the friction between us is unbearable, and my clit pulses in agony as I grind down against him, desperate for something I can’t even name.
“You’re a fucking menace ,” he mutters, and I whimper, my fingers tugging lightly at his hair. “And this is a really fucking bad idea.”
I bite my lip, fighting back a smile.
“But you like bad ideas,” I whisper.
He curses, his hand flexing against my upper thigh. I arch up slightly, and as my lips brush against his, I just know that I’ve won.
“ Freddie .”
His restraint was hanging by a thread -
And as his head tips back, exposing the sharp cut of his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly, I think I’ve just cut it.
Fuck.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more devastatingly attractive in my life.
His other hand moves to cup the back of my neck, tilting my head just so before his mouth finds mine again. Our kiss is a collision of tongues, of sharp inhales and muffled moans and the kind of frantic, all-consuming urgency that makes my entire body burn as his hand slides higher and higher until his fingertips finally graze the lace of my panties.
I gasp, breaking away, and his eyes lock on to mine.
A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Something wrong?”
His fingers press down, and a sharp, uncontrollable whimper escapes me.
Oh.
Oh, fuck .
“You tell me,” I manage, breathless, my entire body trembling. “You’re the one about to make me come in a fucking restaurant .”
His grin is pure sin as he moves in close, his breath hot against my ear as he nips lightly at my lobe.
“Then be quiet and let me.”
I swear, my entire body turns to liquid heat.
His fingers slide up a little further, his knuckles brushing against my lace-covered heat, and a choked whimper escapes me. That seems to be enough for him to come back into some sense, and he uses his other hand - the one that’s not tracing the outline of my pussy through my panties - to cover my mouth.
One of my hands grasps tightly to his shoulder as the other clutches at his bicep, attempting to ground myself with the solid muscles that I know lie beneath his shirt.
I’ve already failed, though.
After all, he’s not even inside me yet, and I’m completely undone.
His smirk is pure satisfaction as he watches me lose myself, entirely consumed by lust. He presses firmly against the material of my panties, and I know he’ll be able to feel how hot and wet I am for him through the fabric.
My thighs tense as he drags a knuckle over my swollen clit, the lace brushing against my sensitive skin in a way that has me trembling, and I squeeze my eyes shut, my stomach tensing .
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction as his fingers continue their slow, torturous path over my lace-covered pussy. "So desperate for me already."
I let out a muffled whimper against his palm, my hips rolling. I’m mindlessly chasing the pressure, the friction, the heat , and Frederic hums, pleased as he drags his knuckle over my swollen clit again.
My whole body shakes as my thighs tighten around his hand, helpless against the coil of pleasure building deep in my stomach.
He leans in, pressing his lips just below my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
"I can feel you trembling, mon ange ."
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus, to fight, to not give in so easily.
But he’s making it impossible.
His fingers shift, hooking under the edge of my panties, finally - finally - sliding the lace aside.
My breath stutters as my body arches up towards him automatically, begging without words.
"Now, now," he tsks, his fingers brushing over my skin ever so slightly. " Patience , Poppy."
I whimper, the frustration making my nails dig firmly into his bicep, but it only makes him chuckle again, pressing a kiss to my jaw.
And then his fingers slide directly over my slick heat.
I jolt, my entire body shuddering as a sharp gasp rips from my throat, though the sound remains muffled by his palm still covering my mouth .
"Shhh," he soothes, his voice thick with amusement, with control. "Unless you want the whole restaurant to hear how desperate you are for me, then you need to keep quiet."
Bastard .
I glare at him through heavy-lidded eyes, but it’s pointless.
He’s smug as anything, no doubt in part because he can feel how wet I am, how ready I am.
It doesn’t help that my hips won’t stop moving no matter how hard I try to stay still, either.
His fingertips gently trace over the outline of my entire heat, dragging up and down my slit as he lightly coats them with the slick evidence of my desire. My thighs tremble violently as two of his fingers reach my entrance, circling it in slow, devastating movements that have my breath hitching -
And when he finally slides those fingers inside me - stretching me out over his thick digits and curling them just right - I swear that my entire world tilts.
My head tips back as my eyes remain tightly closed, my grip on his shirt tightening as I let out a muffled groan against his palm.
"That’s it," he says in encouragement as he watches me fall apart. "You’ll take anything that I give you, won’t you, Poppy?”
I can’t even respond, because his thumb - his fucking thumb - circles my clit at the same time, pressing just right.
And suddenly, I’m hanging on by a thread.
I shudder, my legs trembling against him, my body pulsing, aching and tightening as he works me over with slow, measured strokes .
The knowledge that he’s doing this to me here - that he’s fucking me with his fingers and bringing me to my release in one of Europe’s most exclusive restaurants - is almost enough to send me over the edge.
"I want you to tell me," he demands as his grip shifts.
He tilts my chin up so I’m looking directly into his hungry, heated gaze. I gasp, barely able to string together a coherent thought as his expert fingers continue to work over me, and my brows pull together as I answer.
"Tell you what?"
The words are muffled by his palm over my mouth, but I know he hears me loud and clear.
After all, his answering smirk is pure filth.
"That you were made to come for me."
I shudder violently, the words hitting me almost as hard as his touch, sending a new wave of arousal coursing through me. My hands grip tightly to his shoulders, my body aching, my entire world teetering on the edge of something that feels so powerful .
“Go on,” he says, and I shake my head, even though I know it’s useless.
Even though I know I am moments away from breaking completely.
Sensing my resistance, his fingers press impossibly deeper, his thumb continuing to swipe over my swollen clit as heat pools in my abdomen.
"Say it, Poppy," he demands through gritted teeth, and I whimper, my eyes squeezing shut, my jaw clenching as I try not to give him the satisfaction -
But fuck .
I can’t hold on.
“ Freddie ,” I moan against his hand.
His name is a plea, a confession, a surrender .
His eyes darken at the sound of his name on my tongue. Something almost feral flashes across his face, and he groans like he’s fighting a battle of his own.
"Fuck, I need you to say it," he commands, his voice a deep, gravelly demand. "Need you to tell me."
His hand lowers so that he’s no longer covering my mouth. Instead, his fingers brush against my jawline before moving lower and wrapping around the top of my throat.
My entire body tenses and locks up, the pressure inside me building too high, too fast, and small waves of pleasure begin to wash through me as white-hot heat licks at my inner thighs.
“Say. It.”
“I - I -” I attempt, my mouth opening and closing as my breath comes out in ragged pants. My senses are overwhelmed, and I can barely focus -
But then I feel a slight change in pressure as his thumb ever so slightly eases away from my clit, and panic shoots through enough that I’m suddenly able to find the words that he wants.
I’ll do whatever he wants, say whatever I have to if it means that he keeps his deliciously thick fingers inside my pussy.
“I’m yours,” I tell him, my shoulders sagging in relief as he returns his previous pressure to my clit. “I’m yours, and I was… I was made to come for you. ”
"That’s it," he murmurs, sounding triumphant.
He continues to push his fingers in and out of my dripping pussy, his rhythm relentless and ruthless, his touch designed to ruin me .
"That’s my good girl."
His lips brush over my temple, the tenderness of the gesture a sharp contrast to the way that his thumb draws tight, brutal circles over my clit, and the pressure combined with his praise is too much.
I can’t fight it anymore.
And as a result, my entire world shatters.
A strangled moan spills from my lips as my head tips back, my body convulsing against his, waves of pleasure rolling through me in sharp, dizzying bursts.
I clutch at him, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for something to hold onto, but there’s nothing - nothing except him and his lovely, wonderful hands.
My pussy clenches and tightens around his fingers, my sensitive clit pulsing even as he slowly removes his thumb. His fingers are soaked, and I can feel my own wetness against the tops of my thighs as my body continues to throb around him.
Every single nerve is alight, and my mind is completely empty save for the feeling of him guiding me through the aftershocks, his touch gentler, now - softer, like he’s savouring every second.
His lips graze my ear.
"You were fucking made for me. "
A full-body shudder wracks through me, and I can’t tell if it’s from the pleasure still flickering through my veins or from the way he says it so calmly, so simply.
Like it’s a fact.
I have no idea how long passes before his fingers finally leave my pussy, sliding back down to grip my thigh. Time blurs into something meaningless as my breaths still come out in shaky gasps.
I try to recover, try to compose myself with long, deep inhales of air.
He, on the other hand, is completely composed.
Of course he is.
The bastard.
My eyelids flutter open, and as I drink in the sight of his handsome face, a familiar smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. My brain is still a little slow as the last waves of my orgasm roll through my body, and I watch carefully as he lifts his fingers, running them slowly and deliberately over my bare thigh before bringing them to his lips.
They glisten in the light, and my stomach tightens as I watch him intently. I’m totally breathless and completely helpless, frozen in place as I continue to straddle his lap, my pulse practically roaring in my ears.
He licks his fingers clean, his eyes never leaving mine -
And I swear to god, I almost implode right there in the middle of this fucking restaurant.
Smug doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I swallow, my body still trembling, my brain still not caught up.
And then - the worst part .
His voice, smooth as silk and laced with pure fucking arrogance.
" Délicieux ."
Oh.
Oh, I hate him.
But fuck, do I want him again.