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)
Enough so that I can breathe again.
But then he opens his mouth, and I feel my head spin.
"Get on your knees for me."
His voice is low, lethal, unwavering.
It’s not a request, or a suggestion.
It’s a command. A test.
A lesson.
My entire body tenses even as heat coils low, my pulse hammering, hammering, hammering.
He might have stepped back, but the weight of his dominance presses down on me, and my nails dig into my palms as my breaths come too sharp, too shaky.
It’s my mind battling my body all over again.
What I should do, versus what I instinctively do.
I should refuse. I should push back.
I should walk away and remind him that he doesn’t get to pull me away from my friends, drag me into a private room, pin me against the wall and order me to my knees like I belong to him.
But I don’t.
Because when it comes to this, when it comes to him -
I never fucking do.
So, I sink.
Slowly. Smoothly.
My dress glides against my thighs as I lower myself to the floor, my breath shallow, my chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm.
My eyes lock onto his, refusing to waver, refusing to give in completely.
But the way he looks at me then - like he’s about to fucking devour me whole - I know, without a doubt that I am so, so gone.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Frederic
A deep, satisfied growl rumbles in my chest as I drink in the sight of Poppy Taylor on her knees before me.
My fingers flexing against my sides, my entire body coiled so fucking tight I might snap as I stare down at her.
She’s breathless, her pupils blown wide, her lips parted as she looks up at me with something dangerous swimming in her dark eyes.
She wants to fight this. Wants to fight me.
But she won’t.
Not really.
I watch her swallow hard, watch the way her hands curl into the fabric of her dress like she needs something to hold onto.
Like she’s barely keeping herself together.
Good.
My hand slides into her hair, gripping just enough at the light strands to make her suck in a breath, just enough to make her pulse flutter at her throat.
"You know, you didn’t have to follow me,” I tell her.
I tighten my grip slightly, watching her eyes darken, her body tense beneath my touch.
"You didn’t have to kneel."
Her lashes flutter as she blinks up at me, lips parting, breath shaky.
Fuck, she’s so beautiful like this. So fucking perfect.
"And yet -" I murmur, my thumb tracing over her bottom lip and dragging it down, my fingers tangling further into her hair, keeping her exactly where I want her. "Here you are."
She lets out a soft, shaky breath, and I can tell she’s trying to hold onto her pride, trying not to break so easily.
But I see the way her thighs press together, the way her fingers twitch against her dress, the way her tongue flicks out just slightly, wetting her lips; and I know that she’s already gone for me.
I press my thumb against her mouth, just at the seam of her lips.
"Say it."
Her breath hitches, her eyes flickering with something wild, something restless. I smirk, tightening my grip just slightly - just enough to remind her that she's mine.
But she shakes her head.
Like that fucking brat that she is, she wants to defy me. She’s desperate to, and she’s still clinging to what little resistance she has left.
Fucking hell - she’s stubborn.
But I like that.
I like that she fights. I like that she pushes me.
It just makes it all the more sweeter when she finally gives in.
"Still fighting me?" I murmur, dragging my thumb slowly over the seam of her lips, feeling the way her breath catches, the way her fingers twitch in her lap.
I can see it - the way her body betrays her, the way she’s already surrendering without saying a single word.
And then, her lips part.
Softly. Tentatively.
And she wraps them around my thumb.
Heat slams into me, sharp and unforgiving, and I know I’ve won.
She keeps her brown eyes on me, watching the way I react as she slowly, softly, sucks on my thumb, dragging her tongue over the pad of it.
My jaw locks. My breath stutters.
Because fuck.
Her tongue flicks over the pad of my thumb, warm and slick and so fucking teasing, and I swear I almost lose it right then and there.
Her eyes stay on mine the whole time. Watching. Waiting.
Testing me.
She knows what she’s doing. She fucking knows.
"That’s my girl."
The words of encouragement fall from my lips without my permission, rough and strained as my free hand curls into a tight fist at my side, every muscle in my body wound too tight.
But then she pulls back just slightly, her plump lips grazing over my skin as she smirks, all slow and wicked and looking far too pleased with herself.