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 was that?
I mean, obviously, I know what that was -
It was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.
It was raw, intense, and overwhelming in a way that makes my toes curl just thinking about it.
But why did I let it happen?
I swallow, shifting slightly beneath him, trying to collect my scattered thoughts.
Frederic notices instantly. He exhales, a low hum of satisfaction, before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to my bare shoulder.
“Stay,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin, his voice dangerously soft.
My stomach flips, but my brain is screaming at me to get a grip.
We stay like that for a few more minutes, and then we are suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door handle ratting.
We both look towards it, and my heart races.
I don’t even recall him locking it, but thank goodness he did. The thought didn’t so much as cross my mind.
Frederic tenses, cursing under his breath as an impatient knock comes from the other side.
"Ne bouge pas," he mutters - don’t move - rolling off me with an ease that suggests he absolutely will be picking up where he left off the moment he gets rid of whoever just interrupted us.
He grabs his boxers and steps into them, then pulls on his linen shorts before heading toward the door.
I watch, still sprawled out, my body still flushed from him, from us, as he pulls the door open just a crack.
Whoever is on the other side speaks in rapid French. Frederic responds, his tone sharp, authoritative and businesslike.
I push myself up slightly, reaching for my underwear. My dress lies crumpled at the foot of the couch, and I hesitate before grabbing it, watching the way Frederic’s expression barely shifts as he continues the conversation in low, quick murmurs.
He’s different like this. Focused. Serious.
Powerful.
It’s a stark contrast to the teasing, smug asshole I’ve come to know.
The conversation ends as quickly as it started, and Frederic sighs, rubbing a hand along his jaw before shutting the door and turning back to me.
“I have to deal with something,” he says simply.
I nod, trying not to look like I care.
“Go, then.”
I expect him to just leave.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he strides back over to me, leans down, and captures my mouth in a firm, possessive kiss - like he’s sealing something in place, claiming something before walking away.
It steals my breath and my resolve all at once.
Eventually, he pulls away, his thumb briefly grazing my chin as he straightens.
He reaches for his shirt, shrugging into it with effortless ease. As his fingers work over the lower buttons, he glances back at me, his bright blue eyes now completely unreadable.
“There’s no rush,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, smoother. “Take your time.”
Then, without another word, he turns and strides towards the door, pulling it open just enough to slip through before shutting it firmly behind him.
I stay there for a second as silence fills the room, staring at nothing in particular as my brain catches up to the absolute disaster that is my life choices.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
The question pounds through my skull as I sit there, my silk dress clutched tightly in my lap, my skin still buzzing from his touch, from the way he claimed me like he had every right to.
I inhale sharply, trying to will away the heat still lingering between my thighs, the ache that proves just how much I wanted this - how much I wanted him.
Why?
I had Noah.
Noah, who was sweet, and kind, and good. Noah, who looked at me like I was something to be cherished. Who would have given me the world if I had only asked.
And for no identifiable reason, I just couldn’t love him back.
I tried. I really, really tried. I told myself over and over that he was perfect for me, that I was lucky to have someone who adored me so openly, so completely.
But it never clicked.
There was no spark. No fire. No breath-stealing, pulse-racing, all-consuming need.
No butterflies. No tension.
No fucking desire.
It was easy, simple, light and fun - but no matter what I did, no matter how hard I grit my teeth to stop myself from physically cringing every time he spoke, no matter how much I told myself he was everything that I was looking for in a man, it just wasn’t enough.
And now look at me.
Here.
With him.
A man who is none of those things.
A man who infuriates me, who pushes me, who makes me want to claw at my own skin just to get a grip on myself. A man who is infuriating and arrogant and possessive. A man I barely know -
A man who just fucked me like he owns me.
My throat tightens, my fingers gripping my dress so hard that the delicate silk wrinkles under my touch.
How did this happen?