Chapter Thirty
Poppy
T he second the words leave my lips, something inside Frederic seems to snap.
A deep, guttural sound escapes him - somewhere between a growl and a groan - and then he’s on me.
His mouth crashes against mine, searing, claiming , and there’s nothing slow about it. It’s all heat and fire, tension snapping like a rubber band stretched too tight for too long.
His hands grip my waist roughly, fingers digging in like he’s making sure I’m real, like he’s making sure I can’t slip away again. I respond instinctively, fisting my hands into the fabric of his shirt as he presses me harder against the door, pinning me there completely with his body.
Logically, I know it should feel wrong. Stifling. Overwhelming, even.
Instead, it’s intoxicating .
"You have no idea ," he murmurs against my lips, his voice tinged with something possessive, "how long I’ve wanted to do this."
I shiver, my fingers curling tighter into his shirt as his lips leave mine, trailing down my jaw.
"Then why did you wait?" I gasp, tipping my head back to offer him more access.
“Because,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin, “I knew the second I touched you like this, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
His grip on my hip tightens as his lips ghost over mine again. I lean into him, chasing him, but he pulls back just in time.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
Like hell.
I tug him closer, dragging him down until my lips meet his with a desperation I can’t ignore. He groans against my mouth, something raw and almost tortured.
And then he takes over.
His hands skim down my sides before gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly as he pins me harder against the door. His hands slide lower, his fingers tightening around the curve of my ass as he hoists me up, effectively forcing my legs to wrap around his waist.
"Frederic -"
I can feel every inch of him, every hard, lean muscle pressing against me, and my breath stutters. My body is trapped between the solid wood of the door and the solid strength of him, and he knows it.
He feels it.
“Still want me to leave you alone?” he teases.
I narrow my eyes, trying - and failing - to hold onto any semblance of control.
“I still think you talk too much,” I tell him, my voice slightly hoarse.
He chuckles.
“Then maybe,” he murmurs, tilting his head, “you should do something about it.”
When his lips crash against mine again, it’s fiercer, more desperate, as though he’s proving a point all over again. I can’t find it in me to care all that much - not when there’s some depraved part of me that wants nothing more than to be unravelled by this man.
Frederic’s large hands tighten around me, fingers biting into my skin as he pushes off the door, carrying me further into the room like I weigh nothing at all.
Suddenly, my back meets something soft.
The plush cushions of a couch.
Before I can register the change of position, his forearms brace on either side of my head, blocking the rest of the world out.
His eyes trail over me, lingering on my chest as it rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths.
“Are you always this intense?” I ask.
“You have no idea.”
His fingers skim the hem of my dress, and I arch a brow as I pull my head slightly back, feigning nonchalance even as every nerve in my body sparks to life.
“Is this the part where you seduce me?”
He chuckles as his hand slides up my thigh, his palm warm against my bare skin.
“I don’t need to seduce you, mon ange ,” he murmurs, tilting his head so that his lips graze the shell of my ear. “You were mine the second I saw you at that airport.”
My stomach flips violently at his possessive tone.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
I swallow. Hard .
“You’re wrong.”
His lips twitch.
“ Liar .”
Before I can fire back, he kisses me again.
The kiss is hotter, deeper, as if he’s still trying to prove his point. I pull him closer, my hands fisting into his shirt as I drag him fully on top of me.
“You like this,” he murmurs, pulling his lips away so that he can trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck. “You like me .”
“You wish,” I counter, though the staggered rhythm of my breathing undermines my bravado.
“I do,” he agrees shamelessly, lifting his head so that those impossibly blue eyes lock onto mine. “But that’s not the point.”
I narrow my eyes. “So what is the point?”
“That you’re still here.”
One of his hands moves from where he’s bracing himself on the couch to my face. His fingers trail along my jaw before his thumb drags slowly over my bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to make my breath hitch.
He focuses intently as he brushes his thumb back up, nudging it between my lips.
But instead of letting him inside, I nip at it .
A sharp, teasing bite.
His resulting grin is wicked ; a depraved flash of amusement mixed with something entirely unrestrained.
“Freddie,” I breathe, testing the nickname, and then his lips are on mine again.
Frederic Moreau kisses like I can already guess how he races - fast, intense, and all-consuming.
And right now, I think I just lost control of the wheel.
My silk dress slides up slightly as I shift beneath him, my legs parting to guide him closer. He settles between them without hesitation, and oh -
He’s hard .
A low, satisfied hum rumbles from his chest as he feels the way I arch up into him.
" Mon ange ," he groans against my lips, his voice strained. "You keep pulling me in like you want something from me."
I slide my hands around his back and under his shirt, exploring the smooth expanse of skin.
"I don’t want anything from you," I reply.
His mouth ghosts along my jaw, stubble scratching my skin as he makes a teasing path towards my throat.
"I don’t like it when you lie to me."
I gasp when his lips find my pulse, his teeth scraping lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue.
"You feel that?" he chuckles, pressing his hard length further against me through our layers of clothing. " That's what happens when you play your little games with me. When you tease me. When you bite me like you want to be punished for it. "
His grip on my thighs tightens as he rolls his hips harder into mine.
"Is this what you wanted?" he taunts.
I bite the inside of my cheek, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, and he chuckles.
"It is, isn’t it?" he muses. "Is this why you’ve been so difficult? So defiant?"
Despite his demanding tone, he groans softly as he rolls his hips again, drawing out the contact with lazy dominance.
"You’ve been fighting me all this time," he continues, his voice like silk, "but really, mon ange … was it because you wanted this ?"
His fingers slip beneath the fabric of my dress, his thumb brushing painfully close to where I need him most as he moves straight towards my panties.
"Is this what you’ve been waiting for?" he teases, pressing a kiss just beneath my ear. "Is this why you’ve been such a fucking brat? "
I inhale sharply, my body betraying me as my hips shift.
"Go on," he coaxes, dragging his teeth over my pulse point. "Be honest, Poppy."
I stiffen at the way my name falls from his lips - low, rough and laced with pure, unfiltered want.
"Did you want me to pin you down and fuck the fight out of you?"
Intense heat floods through me, but I’m not quite sure what turns me on the most - the sound of my name rolling from his tongue, or his filthy words.
My head is spinning as my nails dig into his back, and I swear to god I feel my clit literally pulse.
I still don’t answer, but he knows.
I can feel it in the sinful way he grins against my skin.
"That’s what I thought."
Frederic’s grip on my thighs tightens, his fingers pressing in with a force that borders on proprietorial. His hands shift, pushing my dress higher, his fingers tracing the bare skin of my waist.
“You drive me insane, chérie ,” he mutters, his voice rough, almost strained. “All that fucking attitude, and for what ?”
A choked gasp escapes my lips before I can even attempt to stop it.
“There she is,” he breathes, pure arrogance as his thumb strokes over my hip. “Finally giving in?”
Flushed and breathless, I glare at him.
"Not a chance."
“You’re so stubborn,” he muses, shifting just enough to bring his face level with mine, his blue eyes burning into me. “But tell me, Poppy …”
His fingers trail lower once more, leaving heat in their wake and causing my hips to buck instinctively.
“Would you really be gripping me like this if you didn’t want it?”
He kisses me again - hungry, bruising, possessive - almost like he’s daring me to pretend this doesn’t mean something. But as his lips work over mine, I force myself to remember who I am - who he is .
This arrogant, insufferable man who has done nothing but torment me since the moment we met .
"I’m starting to think this has been your plan all along, Freddie ," I purr, leaning back enough to break our kiss. "All that teasing… was it just to get me under you?"
Frederic growls - a sound deep and primal that vibrates deliciously against my skin - and then suddenly, my wrists are pinned above my head, his grip firm and unyielding.
"Believe me," he murmurs, his tone edged with amusement. "You’ve had my attention since the second you stole my car."
I scoff and shift beneath him, but he doesn't budge.
“And now, I have you exactly where I want you," he adds. "No more running from me, Poppy . No more pretending you don’t want this."
His free hand slides beneath the hem of my dress, fingers teasing the lace of my underwear, but I am not letting him win this easily.
"Who says I'm done pretending?"
Frederic chuckles darkly, his fingers pressing just a little harder against me.
" Me ."
His fingers hook into the delicate lace of my underwear, shifting it to the side, and my breath catches.
The warmth of his touch combined with the sheer confidence in his every movement sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through me as the cool air meets my slick, wet core.
He strokes two fingers over me, brushing them repeatedly up and down the length of my slit. I suck in a breath, my legs instinctively opening further around his waist.
"Look at you. All of those protests, and yet you’re still so eager to spread your legs for me. ”
I clench my jaw, wanting nothing more than to hold onto my last shred of dignity, to pretend I’m not completely unraveling beneath him; but I know there’s no way I can hold myself together as burning heat courses through me from head to toe.
"You fight so hard, Poppy," he muses, his fingers pointed as he drags them from my entrance right to the hood of my clit, barely grazing over me there before sliding back down again in a smooth, devastating stroke. "But why ?"
Frederic presses his forehead to mine, his breath heavy, his voice deceptively soft.
"Why, when you like it when I take control?"
My pulse is a wild, erratic thing, and I swear that my clit literally thrums in synchronisation with it as my abdomen clenches tightly. My hands slide from around my back to his front, and I dig my fingers into his shirt, torn between shoving him away and pulling him closer.
"In fact, I think you like it even more than I do," he continues, amusement laced in his tone.
I narrow my eyes, my pride flaring up. "You are so -"
He presses his fingers firmly against my clit, dragging them in quick, small circles over the sensitive nub. Whatever insult was about to come out of my mouth immediately blends into a long, loud moan, and my hips buck slightly off the couch at the overwhelming and unexpected sensation.
"Go on," he teases, his tone infuriatingly cocky. "Tell me how much you hate me."
I open my mouth to retort, but all that comes out is a small, stifled moan.
“Do it,” he says in encouragement .
I think of everything he’s said and done over the course of the last few days to piss me off and channel that energy to glare up at him.
“I hate you,” I bite out, trying to sound convincing.
The bastard grins, triumphant as ever.
“ Good ,” he says, his blue eyes flashing. “It turns me on.”
I gasp as his fingers move over my throbbing clit with expert precision, pushing me closer to the edge with every calculated movement, swirl and flick.
He uses the perfect amount of pressure and gathers up my arousal to use as a lubricant as he works them over me, switching it up every now and then in order to use both fingers to squeeze and pinch at my sensitive nub.
My breath hitches and my thighs tremble as my body winds tighter and tighter, and I fight to keep my eyes open so that I can drink in the sight of him watching me like he's committing every reaction to memory.
"You can fight me all you want," he says, his voice thick with possession, "but this ?"
He coats his fingers before thrusting them deep inside in one fluid movement.
"This belongs to me now."
I swear I almost shatter there and then.
My fingers tangle into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him down as his mouth crashes onto mine again - hot, hungry, and demanding. His control is unshakable, his dominance absolute, and as he fucks me with his fingers and slides his tongue against my mouth, I surrender to it.
To him .
Because no matter how much I try to fight it, there's no denying the truth:
When it comes to Frederic Monreau, I never stood a chance.
His mouth and fingers move against me with an intensity that sends fire licking through my veins. There’s no hesitation now - just heat, need, and the sheer force of whatever this is between us.
His hand stays between my legs, his fingers working me over with infuriating precision while his other hand rests beside my head, caging me in. I can’t escape him -
Not that I want to.
His fingers alternate between thrusting inside me and teasing my clit in a way that makes my head tip back in surrender. He presses his advantage, nipping my jaw, throat, and just beneath my ear - all the places he now knows unravel me.
It’s almost too much.
“I can feel you trembling,” he says. “Are you still going to pretend you don’t want this?”
I bite my bottom lip, stubborn even as my body betrays me with every arch and shiver. His soft chuckle is laced with amusement as his fingers thrust again, curving upward to coax another wave of pleasure.
And when he says my name again, the sound drips with hunger, sending another pulse low in my belly.
My heart hammers, and I ignore the way it threatens to undo me, grounding him with a flat-toned “ don’t .”
“Don’t what?” he says, huffing out a quiet laugh.
“Don’t say my name like that. ”
“Like what?” he presses, and though my eyes are now squeezed tightly to a close, I swear that I can hear that goddamn smirk in his voice.
I keep my jaw tight, refusing to say it aloud.
Like it belongs to him. Like I belong to him.
“Still so stubborn,” he murmurs.
Before I can reply, his fingers slide out of me slowly, their obscene trail drawing a frustrated gasp from my lips.
He doesn’t relent. Instead, he drags wet fingertips back to my clit, circling with infuriating accuracy.
“But you must know I’ve won,” he tells me, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. “I won the moment you didn’t walk away.”
My heart pounds furiously, my skin burning everywhere he touches, and I hate him - god, I hate him for being right.
But his hand pulls away, leaving me cool and empty, and I barely manage to bite back the noise of frustration that threatens to escape.
Before I can even think to protest, his wet fingers slip beneath the thin straps of my silk dress, dragging them down my shoulders with infuriating slowness.
His gaze rakes over me like he’s taking his time memorising every inch of exposed skin, like he’s trying to sear himself into my bones. His knuckles ghost along my collarbone, and I shiver beneath him, my resolve slipping further and further away.
My own hands roam over him, yanking at the buttons of his shirt, frustrated by how much fabric is still between us. He pushes my dress further down, exposing my skin to the cool air and his burning gaze .
“Of course,” he murmurs when he realises I’m not wearing a bra, his fingers ghosting down my ribs to settle possessively at my waist.
“Shut up,” I breathe, though the unevenness in my voice gives me away.
The smirk I feel against my skin says everything - and I loathe how much I love this.
“You know,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement as he drags his lips to my ear. “You never did say if this was why you’ve been so rude to me.”
I scowl, lifting my hips in a desperate attempt for friction, but his hands tighten around me, holding me down effortlessly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap.
His lips brush my jaw, his nose skimming my cheek. “No?”
I shake my head, even as I feel his fingers tease the lace of my panties all over again.
“You’re still lying to yourself, chérie ,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. “But your body?”
His fingers slip beneath the fabric once more, and I swear, my whole world tilts .
“Your body doesn’t lie.”
I arch against him, a sharp inhale catching in my throat as his touch turns from teasing to devastating.
“Freddie -” I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“That’s it,” he whispers, his forehead dropping to my temple, his fingers working over me with infuriating precision. “Say my name again.”
I bite my lip as I shake my head, and he chuckles as his fingers slow to the lightest, laziest movements, barely giving me what I need.
“Tell me what you want,” he coaxes, his free hand trailing down my side, gripping my waist like he owns me. “Tell me, or I’ll stop again.”
“You wouldn’t dare .”
His smirk is slow and wicked, and before I can process what’s happening, he does stop.
He withdraws his hand completely, leaving me panting, aching and furious - again.
“Try me.”
Oh, fuck him .
“Frederic,” I grit out, dragging my nails down his back in frustration. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb along my swollen bottom lip. “You love this.”
I don’t know if it’s the way he’s looking at me, or the unbearable ache he’s left me with, but something inside finally snaps.
I grab his shirt in both hands and yank him back down, crashing my mouth onto his.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he mutters against my lips.
I let out a breathy, shaky laugh. “Oh, I think I do .”
Frederic growls , one hand sliding up my thigh and gripping hard, while the other tilts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“Tell me this is what you’ve wanted,” he rasps. “Since the moment you saw me at that airport. Tell me. ”
I shake my head, refusing to give in so easily, but the moment his fingers slide higher, the moment his grip tightens on my jaw, I feel myself falter.
“Tell me, Poppy .”
Fuck. It’s dangerous how much I like the way my name sounds coming from his lips.
“Nothing to say?” he muses, his fingers pressing deeper into my thigh, making it impossible to ignore the fact that I’m completely at his mercy right now. “You’re never this quiet.”
“Maybe I just don’t want to give you the satisfaction,” I bite out, lifting my chin defiantly.
His eyes darken.
Oh.
Oh, I pushed him.
His grip on my thigh tightens, his body pressing harder into mine, and my breath catches when I feel exactly how much he wants this.
“Pity,” he says, his voice like silk-wrapped sin. “Because I’m going to take it anyway.”
And then his mouth is back on mine - a hot, urgent, full-blown assault on my senses as his fingers thread into my hair, angling my face exactly how he wants it, how he needs it.
It’s rough, unyielding, and fuck , I don’t think I’ve ever felt this consumed in my life.
His touch is heated and relentless as his body presses into mine, his hips rolling in the perfect, punishing rhythm that has my thighs trembling around him.
“ Merde, ” he mutters, his breath ragged, voice laced with something that makes my stomach flip .
I shouldn’t find this power play so intoxicating. I shouldn’t .
But every single thing about him - his dominance, his touch, the way he kisses like he’s starving - is ruining me, and I don’t even have it in me to care.
I want more. I need more.
I reach for the buttons of his shirt, my fingers making quick work of them, parting the soft fabric so I can drag my hands over the smooth, impossibly warm skin beneath.
“You wanted this all along,” he teases, his muscles flexing under my touch.
I force a scoff, though it’s embarrassingly breathless.
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“Maybe,” he muses, rolling his hips again, pressing right against where I need him most. “But you like it.”
And fuck , maybe I do.
I shove at the material of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and allowing it to fall to the floor as my hands greedily map every inch of newly exposed skin. Meanwhile, his large hands grip my thighs, parting them wider.
“See?” he murmurs as I arch my back, meeting his hips thrust for teasing thrust. “You do like me.”
Then, with one smooth movement, he grips the silk of my dress and peels it off me completely, dragging it down my waist and my legs before tossing it aside like it was never worth wearing in the first place.
I gasp, suddenly bare before him save for my lace underwear. He drinks me in, his blue eyes molten, dark and hungry as his fingers trail back up, brushing over the freshly bared skin of my ribs, my stomach, my hips .
His hands settle there, squeezing, gripping, owning .
Heat pools deep in my core as he leans in close and captures one of my nipples between his lips. I let out a sharp gasp as he grazes it with his teeth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before sucking just hard enough to send a bolt of pleasure through me.
"No more barriers, mon ange ," he rasps, releasing me only to drag his lips across my collarbone, down the curve of my breast, his voice thick with possession. "Now, I can really have you."
He yanks me upright, flipping me effortlessly so that I’m straddling him instead.
My fingers grasp at his bare shoulders to steady myself at the sudden change in position, my knees pressing into the couch on either side of his hips.
His broad, sculpted chest - tanned and frustratingly perfect - is on full display, every defined ridge and muscle bathed in the dim light, and my abdomen clenches tightly as my gaze drifts lower.
Frederic leans back against the couch, one arm draping lazily along the back, his fingers skimming my spine like he has all the time in the world. The only thing left on him are those damn beige shorts; slung low on his hips, teasing me in a way that’s almost cruel.
I swallow hard, pressing my thighs tighter around him, but it does nothing to dull the heat pooling deep in my core.
"That’s better," he muses, his voice thick with approval as he drags his gaze over me, the corner of his mouth curling. "Now, let’s see if you actually like being in control - or if you just like pretending."
My breath stutters, even as my hands press against his bare chest, my nails dragging lightly down his warm skin, tracing the hard muscle beneath.
His own breath catches - barely, but I feel it.
Good .
I shuffle closer, my thighs tightening around his waist as I align myself with the hard length of him beneath me.
A sharp inhale catches in my throat as I grind down, the thin lace of my panties doing nothing to dull the friction. The sensation is immediate, electric , even; and my eyelids flutter slightly before I force them open, refusing to let him see how much he’s already affecting me.
But I see it in him.
The way his jaw tightens, his fingers flexing possessively against my hips.
"Careful," he warns, his voice gravelly, rougher than before. "You’re playing a dangerous game, mon ange. "
I arch a brow, my lips curling into something between a smirk and a dare.
"And you don’t like a little danger?"
"You have no idea what I like," he mutters, his hands sliding up my thighs, palms branding my bare skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
"Then tell me.”
His lips twitch at my attempt to hold my ground, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, his grip tightens, and before I can react, he rolls his hips up into me - hard .
"You first.”
I swallow hard, my pride hanging by a thread.
" Fuck you. "
"That," he chuckles, his voice drenched in heat and promise, "is the plan, Poppy ."
With a swift, effortless shift, he flips me back beneath him, pinning me to the couch again, his body everywhere . My fingers claw at his back, my thighs parting wide as he rolls his hips in slow, torturous strokes.
"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.
The slow, deliberate way he undresses is almost unbearable. It’s almost like he’s daring me to break first.
I don’t.
But I also don’t blink.
My hungry gaze follows every single movement, every exposed inch of tanned, toned muscle, every shadow and dip that only makes my stomach tighten further with pure, unfiltered need. The sight of his cock - long and thick and heavy - causes my mouth to dry as my pussy clenches around nothing.
He kicks the clothing off, tossing the fabric aside with the same careless ease he did my panties. He looks down at me - completely bare except for the wicked smirk curving his lip - but I can’t find it within me to look away .
“Like what you see?”
He doesn’t wait for a response.
Instead, he lowers himself over me again, and as his hard, naked length brushes against the wet outline of my pussy, I swear the world tilts beneath us.
"Poppy," he murmurs, “are you going to be good for me now?"
My pulse roars .
Still, I’m trying to grasp on to what little control that I can. So.
"Shut up and fuck me."
A dark, satisfied smirk ghosts across his lips, but there’s something else there, too.
Something almost feral .
"I was hoping you’d say that.”
He lines himself up against my entrance, and the sensation of his large, thick cock pressing over the outline of my core has me whimpering desperately. My eyelids flutter as he brushes the head against my sensitive clit, and my fingers thread into his dark hair as he rocks his hips against me, his cock moving easily thanks to the evidence of my arousal.
I use my grip on the strands to pull him impossibly closer, tilting my chin to press an eager kiss to his mouth. I gasp as as he brushes his cock up and down and over my wet slit, settling between my thighs like he belongs there.
I arch against him, desperate, and his answering groan is deep, ragged and full of possession.
"Such a needy little thing," he murmurs, dragging his teeth over my jaw.
I try to glare, I do, but the moment he does it again, my head tilts back, a sharp gasp escaping before I can stop it. He thrusts against me again - harder this time - and my nails dig into his shoulders.
"Are you still going to pretend you don’t want this?" he taunts, his voice a low, velvety growl. “Going to pretend that I can’t feel how wet you are? How desperate you are?”
I try to summon a response - something, anything - but my mind is fogged with heat, my body betraying me completely as I arch against him.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Smug bastard.
His mouth finds the hollow of my throat, lips brushing against my pulse, and I hate - hate - the way I shudder beneath him, how easily my body betrays me.
“You love fighting me, don’t you?”
One of his large hands snakes up in order to thread into my hair, and he tugs with just enough force for me to move and tilt my chin towards him.
“I think,” he continues, his thumb dragging slowly over my bottom lip, “you’ve been waiting for me to put you in your place.”
I scoff - or at least, I try to.
“ You ? Put me in my -”
His mouth crashes onto mine before I can finish, cutting me off with a searing kiss. His hand grips my hip, his hold possessive, like he can’t stand the idea of any space between us.
And then - finally - he gives me what I’ve been waiting for.
He presses deeper, his fingers flexing against my skin as he lifts his hips, the movement slow but devastatingly precise as the head of his cock lines itself against my entrance.
A sharp, heady gasp rips from my throat as he pushes inside, giving me no choice but to take all of him. My fingers claw at his shoulders, my body arching, and a deep, wrecked groan escapes his lips when he presses in completely, forcing me to stretch around him.
He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his breath ragged, his control hanging by a thread.
“ Fuck .”
My thighs tremble beneath his grip, my body burning with pleasure as he pulls back - just enough to make me whimper - before thrusting back in, deeper this time, dragging another wrecked moan from my lips.
His hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze, and his eyes are full of something I really shouldn’t find addictive.
“Look at me,” he rasps.
He tilts my chin up, his lips brushing against mine as his thrusts pick up pace. He fucks me harder and deeper, shattering every last bit of resistance I had left with each brutal snap of his hips.
“You’re mine now.”
His words settle over me like a brand, sinking into my skin, my bones, my very being.
You’re mine now.
I want to fight him on it. I want to throw something sharp and cutting right back in his face, just to prove that he can’t have all of me so easily; but then he hits that sweet spot right inside, and all rational thought shatters.
A choked moan escapes my lips before I can stop it, and I feel his smirk against my skin, his mouth trailing over my jaw, my throat, my collarbone.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his gaze locked onto mine. “Take it, mon ange . Take all of me.”
I clutch at him desperately, my body instinctively arching against his, desperate for more.
“ Freddie -”
He groans at the sound of his name on my lips, his pace faltering for half a second before he recovers, gripping my hip with a bruising force and fucking me deeper, harder, faster .
“You should have let me have you sooner,” he pants, each word punctuated by another hard thrust that sends pleasure coiling deep in my stomach. “We could have saved ourselves so much time.”
I let out a breathless, wrecked laugh.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t jump to spread my legs the moment you tried to steal my taxi.”
Frederic chuckles darkly, his hand slipping between our bodies, his fingers sliding over my swollen, pulsating clit. I’m still sensitive from my orgasm, and I gasp, my head tilting back against the couch as pleasure bolts through me.
“You can pretend all you want, but I think we both know -” he says as his fingers press down, sending a sharp burst of ecstasy racing through my body, “- you would have saved yourself a lot of frustration.”
I could kill him. I really could.
But I’m too busy falling apart for him to care.
“Fuck, Freddie . ”
My voice breaks, my nails sinking into his skin, my body tightening around him.
And then he really gives it to me.
His pace turns ruthless , his control snapping as he drives his cock impossibly further into me, his breath ragged, his lips dragging over my skin like he can’t get enough.
The combination of his cock slamming in and out of my wet heat and the glorious sensation of his fingers circling, squeezing and pinching at my swollen clit is almost too much. My thighs tremble around his waist as heat burns through my lower body, and his name rolls repeatedly from my tongue.
“Oh my - fuck, Freddie -”
He doesn’t slow his thrusts, and with a final firm press of his fingers over my clit, I convulse around him again; waves of pleasure ripping through me so fiercely that I forget how to breathe.
Frederic groans deeply at the feeling of my walls clenching around him, and the sound goes straight to my throbbing clit. His grip on my hips and my hair tightens as he fucks into me with impossibly more enthusiasm, spurred on by my second orgasm.
I’m still high and riding through my own release as his pace begins to falter and his thrusts begin to stutter, and then he finally presses himself as deep inside as he possibly can, his whole body shuddering as I milk him for all that he’s worth.
For a long, breathless moment, neither of us move. The only sound is our heavy breathing, the distant thrum of music from the party outside, and the chaotic pounding of my own heart.
Then -
“ Merde .”
His voice is hoarse, his forehead pressing into my shoulder as he gathers himself.
"Told you you’d stop fighting me eventually."
I groan, smacking his shoulder, and he laughs - a deep, satisfied, obnoxiously smug sound.
And, god help me , I almost want him all over again.
“You know,” I tell him, my body still humming from the aftershocks of my orgasm. “If I had known you’d be that good, I would have let you win our first argument.”
He lifts his head just enough to smirk, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on my thigh.
“ Liar .”
I roll my eyes, nudging his shoulder.
“Smug.”
His grin widens, his lips brushing over mine, soft this time.
“ Mine .”