KNOTTED: The Manhattan Bound Series, Book Three

by Juliet Braddock

  So lost was Maxine in the fantasy of it all, that she jumped with a squeal of shock when she felt those familiar fingers wrap around her arm. Eyes darting wide open, she turned to face Drew, her lips slackened with desire.

  Breathless, she whispered, “Bonjour, Monsieur…”

  “Ah, another American…” he muttered.

  Maxine prided herself on her own intuition with Drew. She knew what he wanted, and she planned to give it to him.

  “So…” he raised an eyebrow. “Where are you from?”

  “The outskirts of Pittsburgh…” she said, now sitting very still beneath his grip, hoping she could muster just a bit of fear in her eyes.

  “Ah, Pittsburgh…home of the Penguins. I’ve been to those parts—once…” he noted, his eyes grazing the hem of her skirt against her thigh. “First time here?”

  “Why, yes it is!” she said, her eyes downcast. “And you, Sir?”

  “Six or seven times…” he said casually. “But this could be my best trip yet…”

  Rocking on the saddle, she kicked her thick suede heels against the horse. “Well, where are you from? And what brings you to Paris, Sir?” she asked. “Business…or pleasure…?”

  “New York City, born and raised. And what brings me here? A Little bit of both,” he answered, taunting her now with just the trace of his fingers over that hem he’d been eyeing. “So tell me…what do you do with yourself back in Pittsburgh?”

  Ohhhhh, his touch nearly shattered her entire game. She couldn’t come now—not on this fucking carousel!

  “I, uh…work for a small local paper,” Maxine managed, squeezing that damn pole for her dear life. She was certain her knuckles were changing colors. “Copy desk. I edit…yard sales…and I write obituaries…”

  “Fascinating,” he said as if thoroughly engrossed in her every word. But Maxine could easily recognize that his mind was already a few steps ahead, calculating. “I bet you can find some interesting things at yard sales. Candles….old riding crops…maybe even some antique plumes…?”

  He just had to go and dredge up those damn feathers. While she shivered at the thought of a tickling anytime soon, he was driving her nearly convulsing crotch insane.

  “And what do you do with yourself…Sir?”

  “I own a few department stores,” he shrugged. “Luxury department stores—with grand salons where I entertain my best customers.”

  Just to stop herself from tipping over the proverbial edge, Maxine clamped her legs around that poor horse. If he were real, he would have likely bucked her already.

  Suddenly, Maxine’s mind wandered back to Brooklyn and their spin around the banks of the East River on Jane’s Carousel. How far they’d come since their second official date. She remembered feeling so uneasy and unsure of herself that night, wondering if Drew would decide to keep her around beyond his seven-day trial run. Seven months later, they were married and playing on a carousel across the ocean.

  When the ride finally stopped with a bit of a jolt, she wondered whether he intended to take a second spin around. They’d both forgotten the Eiffel Tower standing behind them.

  “Like to join me for coffee, Miss…?”

  “Merryweather…Penelope Merryweather…Mister…?”

  “Mack,” he returned with a crooked smile.

  Little did Maxine realize at that moment that Miss Merryweather and Mr. Mack would share many dalliances throughout the course of their marriage and in various spots throughout the world. What happened in Paris didn’t necessarily stay there…and for the most delicious reasons.

  She gripped both his hand and the railing as they made their way down the stairs. Her legs trembled so intensely that she thought they might give way beneath her. However, he was just one step ahead, ready to brace her.

  Once safely on the ground, he released her suddenly and turned to continue on with their walk. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Etienne, ready to pounce on any threat at any second, but Drew seemed to be ignoring him, so consumed was he in their play.

  At that moment, they were, for the sake of the game, strangers. She had absolutely no idea what his intentions were that late afternoon, but she was so damn curious to find out.

  Strolling along without bothering to look her in the eyes, Drew wondered out loud, “Ever just meet someone and have the sudden urge to kiss them? Like this…”

  Within a mere second, his lips had found hers, his tongue exploring every last corner of her mouth. He nearly bruised away that red lipstick she wore. She was no longer cognizant of their surroundings—didn’t care who might be watching. As their arms wrapped around each other, one supporting the other, she fell so deeply under his sexual spell once more.

  Breaking character for only a second, Drew muttered against her mouth, “Let’s lose that thug…”

  At last he reached for her hand, giving it a tug as he hurried along the sidewalk and opened the door to the first open taxi, he gestured for her to slip into the back seat first.

  “You were teasing me on that carousel, Miss Merryweather,” he whispered, sliding in beside her so closely that he’d pinned her in the corner between the seat and the locked door. “I’m a man who doesn’t like to be teased…”

  Now Maxine understood every nuance of Drew’s modus operandi that afternoon. He’d returned her to the moments they shared during their first week together—the carousel and their taxi ride after dinner at his favorite diner. He wanted to remind her of just how fast and furiously they fell in love with each other.

  “But Mr. Mack, I…”

  “You know what you did…” After he snapped her seat belt around her waist, his fingers circled her ankle. While he paused only for a second to give the driver some address—soixante something or other—all Maxine could concentrate on was the steady, slow crawl of that hand up her leg. “Shaking that little ass, knowing that I was watching you…”

  “Yes…Mr. Mack…”

  “Glimpses of those little lace panties…and these…” He gave a pluck to the garter strap at her thigh, stinging ever so slightly. That time, though, he had no concern for the driver. “Riding that horse like you were racing in the Kentucky Derby…”

  Kiss me…fuck me…make me come…! However, Maxine couldn’t form a sentence to save her life.

  “Do you engage in such behaviors back home, Miss Merryweather?”

  She shifted as his hand began a very slow crawl…she could feel the tiny jolts as he flicked his finger against her clit through her panties…over and over again.

  “Such control,” he complimented. “If you weren’t so fucking wet, I wouldn’t even think you were turned on right now…”

  “Yes…” she breathed.

  “You’re quite a stunning young woman, Miss Merryweather,” he said. “Especially like this…”

  Her fingers closed around the door handle. The feel of his fingertip that continued to thud in succession nearly numbed her clit. Drew always had to goad her, drive her as close to the edge as he possibly could before pulling back.

  His hand left her far too quickly, only to pinch her right nipple that poked against the fine fabric of that little dress. After sitting back beside her, he fastened his seatbelt and said not a single word until the taxi stopped.

  Naturally, she had no idea where the hell they were. After helping her out of the backseat, which was a chore with her languid limbs, Drew pulled Maxine against him, his hardness burning between them. All the while, his eyes promised her that he wouldn’t let her fall—no matter what sort of shenanigans he had in store for her.

  “So fucking horny that you can’t even stand up…and we’ve only just met,” his words hissed against her ear. “You could just…swallow me whole right now, couldn’t you, Miss Merryweather?”

  Oh, how she tried so desperately not to smile. He’d won his wager, and now it was time for her to pay what she owed him.

  Taking her shoulders in his hands, he spun her around, and as she arched her back, he continued to revea
l his plan. “See that little detour just before you get to the corner? Where the cobblestones start?”

  She couldn’t stop herself from pressing her ass against him, feeling the promise of what was to follow against her cheeks.

  “Walk, and make a left into that little…passageway…”

  Now they were about to tread on some very thin ice. It wasn’t the notion of fellating her own husband in some little corner off some winding Parisian street that troubled her. The thought of making it over those cobblestones in those fucking shoes, however, filled her with terror!

  “I’ve got you,” he whispered softly, always discerning her thoughts and reactions, even if he had to step out of scene for a moment to reassure her.

  Strolling along, she had to make this seem casual as if they both—despite both being dressed in their fine designer gear—belonged in that little corner at that very moment.

  She’d actually begun to relax once they turned to navigate through the narrow alley with a dead end at its limits. No one appeared to have been back there in ages. How he found this little corner, Maxine didn’t want to know, but Drew certainly had his ways.

  Stopping suddenly, he grabbed her as he leaned back against the chilly brick wall. Tossing her head, she writhed against him. He dared to take a quick nibble at her nipple, glancing to the side to make certain that they were indeed shielded from the street. Between the curves in the alleyway and the dumpster next to them, this was the perfect spot for her to make good on their bet.

  “I bet you’d like to come…”

  “Yes, Mr. Mack, please…”

  “And then you’ll get down on your knees and suck my cock,” he told her, pulling at her ponytail. “Won’t you, Miss Merryweather?”

  “Suck your cock, please…Mr. Mack…”

  “Whoever your Master is back home—he taught you well…”

  His hand maneuvered its way between them, taking the skirt of her little schoolgirl dress with it as he found her clit and fingered her into ecstasy. While he gripped her backside with his other hand, she moaned in sheer delight, and he continued to hold on to her as she slipped down until her knees touched the cold stones beneath them.

  She couldn’t reach for his belt buckle fast enough. His groan echoed through the alley as he exulted in the sight of those dainty fingers that worked so fastidiously to release him.

  Lips slithering over him, she moaned, the sound resonating against him as he wrapped her ponytail around his fist and urged her to take him deeper. However, she’d been waiting far too long to fulfill this little fantasy they’d shared. She pulled back to lap at him—teasing Drew just as he’d teased her—before drawing all of his length into her mouth once more.

  “Take me…all of me…” he muttered, his hands weaving into her hair and knocking the barrette to the ground. The adventure, coupled with Maxine’s skills and her own eagerness to please, forced him into overdrive.

  Her cold knees grew sore against the rough stones, but her pain was always a pleasant reminder of her submission to him. However, it was at that moment, just before he erupted so warmly down her throat, when she always felt at the helm of control with him. That tiny taste of power allotted Maxine her own fulfillment again as she rubbed her thighs together, scraping toward another orgasm herself.

  “How nicely,” Drew began, his voice now cloaked with his own settling passion, “you swallow, Miss Merryweather…”

  Gently, she eased her lips away from him, then bowed her head. “Thank you, Mr. Mack,” she murmured and took him into her mouth once more for another suckle.

  “And you clean up after yourself…” His fingers patted the top of her head appreciatively as she lapped away. “Such a good girl…”

  Those words—those words! Now, she just wanted him inside her…and disappointment washed over her as she dutifully began to tuck him back into his jeans.

  After helping her to stand, he pulled her against his chest and simply held her there.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Mack,” she whispered, feeling his heartbeat pounding against her cheek, “you won…”

  “You talk as if we had a bet running—with a blowjob in some back alley in Paris as the prize, Miss Merryweather,” he teased, lifting her chin. “We just met this afternoon.”

  “Ah, yes,” she switched gears to play along. “Must be some other guy I’m thinking of…”

  “I’ll have to kill him,” he teased. “You do realize that?”

  “Of course, Mr. Mack…”

  “You still haven’t had enough,” he observed. “Have you?”

  She shook her head. “Never…”

  His nimble fingers found her breasts again, cupping and kneading. She swayed in his arms, but he caught her hips and held her still…then returned again to tease her all the more.

  “Sensitive, are they, Miss Merryweather?” he asked, now pinching.

  Now, while still growing into her burgeoning sexuality, she indulged in this exhibitionistic play—in front of a major tourist attraction, in a taxi, in an alley where anyone could theoretically stroll by at any second…

  “I bet you’d love nipple clamps,” he suggested. “The kind with the sharp little teeth…”

  “Oh, fuckballs…”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Now?”

  His hands stopped as he pondered, then continued on with his sweet mode of torture. “I think we’ll wait a bit on the clamps. I haven’t even had the chance to fuck you properly yet…”

  Eyes flashing from left to right, she suddenly found herself sobered by the reality of that alley. Even with her own impulses, she couldn’t possibly envision how they could…what they might…and where…?

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “I…uhhhhh…”

  “You, what?” Now his hands were under her dress—feeling, tickling.

  Suddenly, she didn’t care where they were. “I need you…please, Mr. Mack?”

  “Right here?” he asked as his finger made its way along, pulling her panties aside before sliding inside her. “In this filthy alley?”

  “Ohhhh, yes…”

  “Miss Merryweather!” he scoffed, his hand raising her dress upward, nearly to her waist. “I couldn’t possibly take you next to a garbage dumpster—there’s likely vermin in there. And I’ve heard that Parisian rats are bigger than they are in New York…”

  “And I’ve heard the rats in New York are the size of small dogs,” she shivered. “Mr. Mack.”

  With a shrug of his shoulders, he said, “Small to medium.” His hands made a perfect circle around her waist. “But we seem to be at a standstill with this quandary. I’m just not sure what we should do. That is…if you want me…”

  “I usually don’t sleep with strangers, Mr. Mack,” she began, “but I’m seriously considering making an exception.”

  “Well, then,” he said haughtily, “we’ll have to figure something out here.”

  Seven days of abstinence took its toll upon them both. Now, they couldn’t keep their hands away from each other for seven minutes. Fuck, he always needed her like no other woman he’d ever known, but now her adventuresome spirit left his cock in a raging semi-state.

  “My hostel,” Maxine began to improvise, flirtatiously batting her eyelashes, “it’s all the way in the hills of Montmartre. And I can’t have any gentleman callers.”

  “Oh, how sad,” he said. “There are some very kinky hotspots in that neck of the woods.”

  “I know…” she said, having actually done some research on her own.

  And then he squeezed her…right there…and she thought she might just collapse from the all-consuming need of her own arousal.

  “You know, what, Miss Merryweather?”

  “I know, Mr. Mack…”

  “Good…girl…”

  Maxine twisted, her thighs tightening, as his finger made its way inside her again, pulsing while his palm rubbed her clit.

  “Oh, what are we going to do?” he baited her. �
�Where could we possibly go?”

  Swoosh.

  Slam!

  And gone was Maxine’s orgasm—just as she was about to tip the old Richter Scale—when someone opened a window just three flights above them.

  The angry voice shouted, “Putain!”

  “Oh, fuck, Maxine…!” Drew panicked, turning her around to face the street. It was one of those moments when they simply had to have a little break in scene. “Scoot…now!”

  Chapter Twenty

  “What the hell did they just say?” Maxine nearly choked on her own words with her breath in spurts as he shuffled her along the cobblestone alley.

  “I think he called you a whore,” Drew said and picked up his pace behind her. This unexpected rush of adrenaline only served to heighten his arousal. “And I would go back and defend your honor if you hadn’t just blown me beneath that guy’s window. Move!”

  “So much for this back alley, Mr. Mack!” she groused, then cursed her shoes under her breath.

  “Yeah, well, if you weren’t moaning so loudly, Mrs. Mack.”

  At last, with her haute couture heels planted finally on the steadiness of the concrete sidewalk, she spun around to face him. “What now, Mr. Mack?” she challenged, her green eyes burning with the rage of their collective angst and desire.

  He turned his head sharply to the lovely little boutique hotel right down the street. It was literally just a few steps away. “There…”

  The hotel—so boasted the brochure that she read while he dealt with the concierge at the front desk—was the creation of fashion designer Christian LaCroix. But the lobby certainly had Drew McKenzie’s name written all over it.

  With a quick glance at her surroundings, she’s taken note that her husband and the haute couture icon shared an almost obsessive attachment to pop art. In fact, Maxine’s eyes simply couldn’t focus from one corner to the next. The wallpapers. The jewel-toned, velvet furniture with wild stripes and prints. The renderings by the designer’s own hand covering the lobby. Nothing seemed to match but somehow, everything sort of came together in this eclectic mix.