A small kitchen area had been built into one corner with a coffeemaker, countertops, and a refrigerator underneath. A high, white-painted iron bed with a slightly sagging mattress and blue coverlet stood in the center of one wall. It had long legs for storing luggage underneath.
White lace curtains surrounded one window, and an air conditioning unit jutted from the other. The walls were painted the same sunny yellow as the faded rugs on the blue cement floor.
Okay, no thugs.
It wasn’t a trap.
A memory of a small place and the scent of saltwater assailed Maxence, and he shut it out, hard.
Nothing about the room seemed personal. Indeed, it looked exactly like a substandard efficiency apartment purchased by an investor and rented out over the internet to tourists who didn’t know the shadier parts of Paris or were too cheap to care.
A nylon duffel bag lay on the bed next to a small pile of clothes and a toiletry bag.
Small hands grabbed his hips and tugged. He allowed himself to be turned around to face the woman, who shut the steel door and twisted the locks. She leaned against the door and stared up at him with huge blue eyes. “Are you still up for this?”
Max was so up for this that his cock ached. “Yes.”
“And promise me you’ll leave in the morning. Don’t wake me up. Don’t say good-bye. Just go.”
She was just an odd little duck. “All right. Are you sure—”
Maxence was going to ask her just how intoxicated she was and suggest perhaps they could do this tomorrow when she was in more of a mental state to make such a decision. But the little blonde said, “Good,” then reached up and grabbed fistfuls of his tee shirt right over his collarbones and jerked, trying to pull him down to kiss her.
Max considered letting her yank on him while he stood immovable until they had a cogent conversation about whether she was too drunk to consent, but that time had passed. At this point, his choice was to either have sex with her or defend himself.
Also, he didn’t want her to rip the shirt right off his shoulders. He didn’t need to try to hail a cab to drive him the miles back to his hotel, the Four Seasons Hotel George V, Paris, while naked to the waist. This tee shirt wasn’t even his.
Not that he planned to give the shirt back to Arthur. If Max wanted to mess with him, he’d have a case of tee shirts delivered just to piss Arthur off.
So Maxence allowed her to pull him down, then grabbed her around the waist, picked her up, and slammed her back against the door with her legs cinched around his waist. He tangled his fingers in her spider-silk hair and took her lips with his, sucking and jutting his tongue into her mouth.
She groaned against his lips and held onto his shoulders, and then she broke off the kiss, twisted her neck, and sucked and bit a path from his ear down his throat.
Maxence’s mind flashed white.
The woman in his arms consumed his thoughts. Fire flashed over his skin, and he tightened his arms around her until she squeaked while he carried her toward the bed.
Testosterone roared in his veins and thundering heartbeat.
They crashed onto the bed. The clothes and duffel bag ended up on the floor, whether from the bounce of their weight on the mattress or if she had swept them aside, he didn’t care. He was a mindless beast enraged by lust and the desire to thrust inside her.
She stretched the neck of his tee shirt, pulling at it, and he stripped off his shirt and threw it aside. He heard her murmur, “Oh, jeez, will you look atthat,and is that a tattoo?” as he fell back onto her, braced his arms by her ears, and kissed her until she panted into his mouth and squirmed under his body.
Her tiny fingers slipped inside the waistband of his trousers, plucking at his pants and tickling his ribs, but he wasn’t finished kissing her yet.
He grabbed her hands and stretched them above her head because her tickling his bare skin was driving him crazy. She moaned as he pinned her wrists to the mattress above her head and kissed her more deeply, sucking her mouth and tongue because he craved her taste. He moved away from her lips, letting her gulp air while he mouthed the undersides of her arms, her neck, and down to the tops of her breasts plumping above the low neckline of her red dress.
A tiny row of white lace lined the edge of her décolletage. He hadn’t even seen the lace trim until he licked it, and the surprise of that little feminine extra on her dress delighted him. He ran his tongue under it, feeling the roughness of the lace and the satin of her skin as she gasped and her skin rose to him.
Max held himself up on the knuckles of his hand that restrained her wrists and scooped one gorgeous tit out of her dress, and he sucked her pink nipple hard into his mouth.
She arched under him, and he sucked more of her breast. She was keening now, mewling with wanting him, too. He pulled hard enough on her to make her cry out before he yanked her dress below her other tit and went to work on that one. The stretchy dress acted like an elastic band, holding her breasts up and together so he could suck on one and then the other, biting and drawing on one until it became too sensitive and then surprising her by pinching the other one hard between his fingers.
Her breasts were so beautiful, firm and plump and round with femininity. He finally couldn’t stand just pinching and tormenting them and hearing her soft cries, so he dragged her off the bed and spun her to turn her back to him. Again, she uttered a squeak of surprise like the fluffy little animal she was, and it drove him into a frenzy of wanting to fuck her.
Maxence was quite aware that his body was being used for whatever her purposes were, so he was going to make sure she got whatever it was she was looking for, and then some.
He snatched his tee shirt off the floor, stretched it out into a rope, and tied her wrists behind her back with a quick knot.
