Le Français Ch 18-24 (Patreon)

Sorry about the re-post, folks. For some unknown reason the last one was showing up as Locked to patrons. Hopefully this fixes it.

Commissioned by ThL.

Chapter 18

“Slower, Detective,” Marc ordered, following Sinead up the stairs.

While the redhead has a small bust, her ass was a perfect example of what a slender woman would aspire to carry around. It was full and firm without looking huge on her, built over what Marc could only assume was years of athletics as a teen and long into adulthood. It jiggled just enough to entice, and her hips naturally swayed as she walked. Especially as she climbed the stairs up to his loft.

Sinead looked over her shoulder at Marc and realized why he was demanding she walk slower and shot him a scowl, but she followed the order.

Marc smiled to himself and watched as the beautiful detective climbed his stairs. It was a simple pleasure, but one he enjoyed immensely.

At the top, in the loft portion of the apartment, he directed Sinead with a light hand in the centre of her back, just below her shoulder blades. She tensed slightly, her skin goose-pimpling under his touch, but didn’t object. He turned her toward the bed and stopped her at the foot, standing next to her.

“These are for you, Detective,” he said. The dress was sleek and black and would hug her body tightly at the stomach and hips but remained loose and daring at the bust. Only a woman with the build of Sinead would be able to carry it off - he bought different styles of dresses for Felicity with her exceptionally large bust, and it had been a fun diversion to find something he thought would suit the Detective. Along with the dress were matching heels - he’d been conservative with the stilettos and chosen a simple three-inch heel and closed-toe since it was winter, though he had a feeling Sinead could wear taller. He had also lain out a simple necklace and earring combo in silver, which would match her silver French-tipped nails by kismet.

“Um…” Sinead said, looking at the outfit. Well, that and the final piece of accessory that was laid out for her. “Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s a plug anal,” Marc said with a soft smile. “A buttplug, though I think it sounds better in French, yes?”

Sinead shook her head slowly, not responding to him.

“Detective, I am surprised,” Marc said. “You have not used a plug anal before?”

“No,” Sinead said, then looked at him. The anger and frustration were gone for the moment, replaced by uncertainty. “I’ve never, ah…”

“Ah, je comprends,” Marc nodded and rubbed his hand softly on her bare back to assure her. “This is new for you. Don’t worry, petite rebelle, it is simple and I think you will find it pleasurable after the initial surprise. And it is fairly self-explanatory to use, but it is necessary.” He let his voice harden a little, to make the following an order even though he offered her options. “Would you like to put it in yourself, or would you prefer if I help you?”

She swallowed and looked back at the dress, shoes, jewellery and buttplug. She picked up the silver device and held it, feeling the weight of it and rubbing her finger along the smooth, metallic surface. “I- I’ll do it,” she said.

“Bien,” Marc nodded and then gestured her towards the en suite. “You may go into the washroom. There is anal lube ready on the counter for you.”

Sinead was flushed a little pink as she gripped the plug tighter and stared at the open door to the washroom and then walked toward it without looking back at Marc again. Her expression was conflicted, which told Marc that he was walking a fine line here. An anal virgin, he thought, still a little surprised by that revelation. With her ass, tough demeanour, secret kinky side and the fact that she’d been married - Marc had assumed she would have at least experimented herself, if not with her ex-husband. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it; at his age virginity was almost a turn-off because it meant the woman wasn’t sure what she wanted or liked. It was one of the many reasons he’d taken up his arrangement with Felicity to begin with.

But he had Felicity, and Astrid’s quips were still in his head. About breaking in his new playmate properly, and how Felicity had been ‘too easy.’

Sinead was a challenge, and a woman who seemed worth the effort.

“Marc?” Sinead called. She’d entered the washroom and had mostly closed the door, but left it open a crack. Marc hadn’t even noticed that until she called for him, and he wondered if she’d done that on purpose hoping that he would peek. Or checking if he would after he’d offered her privacy.

Marc went to the door and opened it fully, finding Sinead standing in front of the sink and mirror, looking at him with that same conflicted expression with a touch more embarrassment thrown in now. The bottle of lube was in front of her and she was holding the plug. “Yes?” he asked.

“I… Can you…?” she asked.

“Can I what?” Marc asked back, knowing he was toying with her a little.

Her embarrassment subsided slightly to be replaced by frustration. “If you want this in my ass, you’ll need to do it yourself,” she said. “I can’t.”

Marc tutted as he smiled and entered the washroom, moving to stand beside her. “Of course, ma petite rebelle,” he said. “Now, bend over slightly and spread your legs.” She glared at him in the mirror but did so, pushing her bum out slightly. “Good,” Marc encouraged her. “Now, take this hand and spread your perfect little buttcheek for me.” She swallowed and did that, exposing some of her most intimate parts as she watched Marc like a hawk. But Marc didn’t even look, knowing the power he was holding over her. She wanted him to look, to be the monster that would abuse her vulnerability.

The game wasn’t to give her what she wanted on the surface.

Marc picked up the bottle of lube and quickly applied a small dollop to his fore and middle finger, then placed that hand on the small of her back, slowly sliding the fingers down the cleft of her ass until he could feel the dimple of her asshole. At the same time, he maintained eye contact with Sinead in the mirror, and he could feel himself getting hard as she shuddered and her body clenched a little as his fingers found their target.

“Now breathe in,” Marc told her, and she did. “And out.” She exhaled slowly through her nose, and as she reached the end of the breath out Marc inserted his middle finger into her asshole up to the first knuckle.

“Tres bien, Detective,” Marc crooned softly. Her body was stiff now, her asshole clenching around his finger, but she didn’t cry out. Didn’t even tear up. She looked at him with an expression caught between shock and surprise.

“Now breathe again,” Marc ordered her, and after a moment she sucked in another breath. “Good,” Marc said softly. “We’ll go slow. Don’t worry.”

Chapter 19

Sinead looked at herself in the mirror, trying to reconcile everything that had happened in the last five minutes.

Her ass felt full. It wasn’t a feeling she was used to, and for some reason the fact that it hadn’t really hurt was the confusing part about it all. Also, the fact that she’d had a man’s fingers up there.

Marc had forced her to let him finger her butt, and then push that plug up there. It was smooth and cold at first, but it was already coming to a neutral temperature so it just felt… there. The problem was, had he forced her? She’d asked him to do it.

Maybe that was the part that was confusing her so much.

Once it was in, he hadn’t even so much as patted a buttcheek before he’d left her. He’d just said she’d done a good job, and that she could take a minute to collect herself. And she’d been thankful for that when he said it.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Sinead muttered to herself.

A simple, elegant clock on the wall told her that their reservation was approaching fast, and she shunted her worries and confusion to the back of her mind. All of this was to serve her case, and she wasn’t about to let all of this go to waste by not getting to dinner on time. Standing, Sinead took a breath and looked at herself in the mirror again, shifting the lock of hair that had fallen askew over her face back into place. The stylists had… she still couldn’t really believe how she looked. She’d always known she was attractive and had put effort into that, but this was on another level. She didn’t look different, she looked like an idealized version of herself.

It was just another confusing thing Marc was doing.

Clenching her fists, Sinead walked out of the washroom to find Marc waiting for her. With that fucking smile of his.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Weird,” Sinead answered truthfully.

“It will for a while,” Marc nodded. “Let me see?”

Sinead narrowed her eyes and might have even flinched a little at the request.

“Sinead,” Marc said sternly. “Bend over the bed.”

She did, moving to the foot and putting her hands down on either side of the gorgeous dress she was supposed to wear. And then she reached back with one hand, like in the bathroom, and spread one ass cheek. Why am I doing that? She asked herself. He didn’t ask for that. She didn’t have an answer, so she kept doing it, letting him look at her. She felt the heat rushing up from her chest again into her cheeks. When it became too much she released her ass cheek and put her hand down to brace herself again.

Marc came up behind her, standing just next to her, and Sinead felt her body tense. He was going to spank her for stopping. Or for hesitating. She could practically feel his hand striking her skin, anticipating it. Anticipating the crack and the sting.

“Magnifique,” he said. “You may dress now, Detective. I will be a moment changing, myself, and then we must leave to make our reservation.”

He left, and Sinead stood up, gulping a little. Marc went into the walk-in closet, leaving her alone.

What was that? She thought. Her pussy was fucking wet! She could understand, sort of, how everything in the washroom might have turned her on, but why the hell was she more horny now than before? This wasn’t supposed to do that. Why would imagining him spanking her do that? Why would she imagine it to begin with?

Frustrated with herself, Sinead let out a grunt and sigh, then turned to the dress.

“Marc?” she called after a moment.

“Yes?” he called back.

“There’s no underwear here,” she said.

“You don’t need any with that dress, petite rebelle,” he called from the closet.

She’d known that would be the answer, and wasn’t sure whether she’d hoped he would have given her an out or not.

Sinead picked up the dress and examined it some more. The fabric, whatever it was, felt amazing in her hands and she immediately knew it had to be expensive as hell. Why did he have a dress like this? How many other women had worn it? Was he actually some serial killer freak, and this was his ritual before he killed her?

She knew that was ridiculous, and she put on the dress. It fit her perfectly. The fabric felt sexy against her skin, which she wasn’t sure how to take. Her breasts felt completely exposed without anything cupped to them, but when she looked in the mirror she saw the cress exposed a swathe of the centre of her chest but fully covered her from any danger of exposing herself. Unless she decided to pull it aside, there wouldn’t be any nip slips.

Or if he does.

She was fairly certain he wouldn’t though.

The bottom hem of the dress hugged her thighs - it wasn’t a mini skirt, and she wasn’t at risk of flashing anything, but it was still short enough that she was keenly aware of the fact that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. She put on the heels, which again fit her perfectly and made her wonder how he knew her shoe size, but they matched the dress perfectly.

Another glance in the mirror and she felt… she wasn’t sure. Sinead knew how good she looked in that moment. Knew that she didn’t just look like a snack. She looked… beautiful wasn’t right either.

She looked sophisticated. She looked like she could have been going to a gala.

Marc came out of the closet as she was putting on the earrings - silver hoops that were well under the size of looking slutty, but much more than the studs she usually wore.

“Ah,” he said, smiling as he came up behind her holding the necklace. It was a thin chain with a silver rose pendant, and she automatically pulled her hair to the side as he reached around her and fastened it behind her neck. It was an intimate gesture, something she remembered from the very earliest stages of her marriage. Something that had gone by the wayside within months, and years before the divorce.

“La perfection. Quel beau couple, tu ne trouves pas?” Marc said, looking at her over her shoulder in the mirror. He looked handsome himself in the dark suit. “Come, Detective. Your investigation awaits.”

Chapter 20

Marc drove, escorting Sinead down to the parking structure under his loft building and opening the car door for her. She was wearing her leather jacket over the dress, which he was happy to see worked as he’d suspected and looked stylish. Getting her a whole new coat or jacket to go with the dress seemed overkill.

Sinead seemed nervous and quiet during the ride - not in a timid way, but in a focused one. Her dress rode up a little sitting in the passenger seat, exposing a good deal of her thighs, but Marc limited himself to a couple of glances. He pulled right up to George and got out, coming around the car as the valet opened the door for Sinead. He got there in time to offer the redhead his arm to help her stand, and she took it. Dropping the keys with the valet, along with the twenty as a pre-tip for the service, he escorted Sinead into the restaurant. They were met at the front by Sophie, the maitre d’ who had arranged his last-minute reservation, and he noticed that she raised an eyebrow seeing him accompanied by someone other than Felicity.

Still, she began leading Marc and his ‘date’ towards his usual preferred table but he hesitated to follow as Sinead put a hand on his arm.

“We need to sit over there,” Sinead whispered, nodding towards the far end of the restaurant.

“Sophie,” Marc called quietly. “Would it be possible to move to the east side of the dining room?”

Sophie came back to the host stand, checking the reservations quickly. “That can be arranged, Monsieur Fornier.” Marc could tell by the gleam in her eye that Sophie was definitely intrigued by the changes to Marc’s usual desires. He certainly didn’t patronize George on a weekly or bi-weekly basis, but once every month or two was certainly enough that the highly trained staff knew of his usual wants and needs.

“Thank you,” Sinead whispered quietly to Marc as they followed Sophie through the restaurant. It was the middle of their service time, so the place was about two-thirds full and likely to reach capacity within the next half hour.

“Merci, Sophie,” Marc said as she presented them with a table. He quickly palmed a twenty into her hand as he shook it with both of his and then stepped around to pull out a chair for Sinead. She sat, and Marc slipped into the seat across from her. “Have I mentioned that you look radiant, Sinead?” he asked. “Comme le soleil qui perce à travers les nuages.”

Sinead gave a little grimace of a smile as her eyes flicked to the table next to theirs where three men were sitting. “You know I’m not fluent,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re saying when you speak that quickly.”

Marc smiled to himself. “I suspected,” he said. “But that makes complimenting you all the more fun.”

She rolled her eyes and looked at the other table again.

“Is that?” Marc asked, trying not to draw attention while keeping his voice at a normal speaking level.

The Detective nodded.

Marc took his own surreptitious glance. Of the three men, one was white and the other two were darker skinned. The white man seemed to be in his mid-thirties, with what Marc judged to be an Eastern European look to him, maybe from somewhere in the Balkans. He wore a decent suit, though it could use a little tailoring to fit him properly, and had the beginnings of a widow’s peak forming that Marc had a feeling the man would fight as long as he could. The two other men were both black, one wearing his hair in dreadlocks arranged into a neat tail, while the other was bald with his scalp polished until it reflected the light. From the sound of their accents, they were from the Caribbean, maybe Jamaica.

“So a good table, then?” Marc asked with a grin.

“Very,” Sinead said and shot him a thankful look.

The sommelier approached, and Marc smiled as he greeted the man, then glanced across at Sinead again. “Do you mind if I order for us, Sinead? I think I have a good sense of what you might enjoy.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Surprise me,” she agreed.

Marc smiled and turned, ordering in French.

Chapter 21

The fact that the food was distracting her from trying to listen in on Victor and his Jamaican guests was annoying the hell out of Sinead.

Marc had ordered a bottle of wine for each of them, and then they’d started with a gazpacho  - definitely not something that Sinead would have ordered. Who the fuck liked cold soup?

Well, apparently she did.

The dish had been overrun with flavour and she couldn’t get over how delicious it had been. Then had come some sort of tuna sashimi, but fused with French techniques and served with a jasmine-infused soy sauce and rhubarb. She’d almost fallen out of her chair on the first bite.

Now they were onto their their main course, and Marc had ordered them both the veal tenderloin which was served on a bed of fresh corn (where they got fresh corn in the middle of winter in Canada, Sinead couldn’t guess) that had been seasoned perfectly, along with a plum sauce that was nothing like what she would get in the grocery store. It was creamy and rich and she wanted to lick her fucking plate when she was done, so she was eating in little bites just to savour it.

The problem was that, even though the food was great, and when she focused she could listen in on the conversation happening over at Berisha’s table, she was also having fun.

“So, go back to the last story,” Marc said, smiling that fucking smile of his in-between bites. “You had a look when you talked about graduation from college.”

Sinead smiled and rolled her eyes a little. “It was nothing,” she said. “Just a silly dare between a few of us.”

“Well, clearly it wasn’t nothing,” Marc chuckled. “I can’t tell by the way you’re smiling.”

“Stop,” Sinead laughed, reaching over and patting his arm. “Fine. There was a group of us that only wore our underwear under our graduation gowns. One of the boys even went naked.”

“Lingerie, or something more normal?” Marc asked.

“Lingerie, obviously,” Sinead grinned. “If I was going to risk getting caught, I had to wear something worth getting caught in.”

They both laughed, and Sinead felt a twinge of realization. She was laughing. With Marc. The man who was making her wear a buttplug at that very moment just so she could get close to Victor Berisha. And she was flirting with him. Her mind flashed back to just an hour earlier, flushed as she looked into her own eyes in the mirror of his bathroom as he fingered her ass, preparing it for the buttplug. To him walking up the stairs behind her, staring at her naked ass. To kneeling in front of him, being forced to suck his cock.

She was flirting with the man who was leveraging her for sex. Except he wasn’t fucking her.

Sinead grit her teeth and leaned back in her chair, trying to focus on the conversation over at Victor’s table. That movement shifted her centre of gravity just slightly, and it was enough to make her keenly aware of the buttplug all over again. She sniffed softly, not at any pain, but at the tingle of… naughtiness she felt. Sitting there, in a fancy restaurant, with a fucking buttplug in her. It was so wrong.

“Sinead,” Marc said, a little more quietly. “You know work can mix with play, yes? You can enjoy yourself.”

“I do enjoy my work,” Sinead said, a little tersely. Taking a bite of the amazing food made her feel a little guilty.

“Tell that to your face, petite rebelle,” Marc said.

Sinead fought the urge to sneer at him and just took another bite of food.

“Then let me ask you this,” Marc said. “Are you getting what you wanted out of this lovely night out?”

Sinead swallowed and took a breath. At least he was talking in code. “Yes,” she said. “And no.”

Marc pursed his lips for a moment, his eyes glancing at the other table, before focusing on her again. “When you met with the accountant, I assume that is what led you to the business you’re considering?”

Hesitating a moment, Sinead sighed. “Indirectly,” she said. “And the due diligence on the business isn’t turning up anything favourable.”

“Favourable, or useful?” Marc asked.

“Favourable,” Sinead said. “Useful is relative. It’s reinforced some of my other theories, and seeing who they do business with is helpful if I can identify the other party. Favourable would be something more actionable, and that’s not happening. It’s a lot of dancing around and making nice, I think.”

“Mmm,” Marc nodded. “Well, that is an important part of most business deals. People want to know who they are dealing with, and socializing is a good way to build rapport. It’s also good for networking. Something that comes up now could be useful in a way you don’t expect in the future.”

“Marc,” Sinead said sweetly. “Don’t try to tell me how to do my job.”

Marc held up his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare,” he smiled.

Sinead sighed and leaned forward, resuming eating. “There is something to be gained. The sheer breadth of the contacts and how wide-ranging they are means something. It’s just hard to know what, and I can’t start anything more official without the proper paperwork.”

Marc nodded and glanced over at Victor’s table again, then finished the last bit of his veal and folded his knife and fork on his plate to signal he was finished. “Perhaps there is something else we could do to speed things along,” he said. “I think we should make another stop tonight.”

Sinead frowned but followed his lead and finished up her meal. The way Victor’s conversation with the Jamaicans was going, they were going to chit-chat and talk about music, women and Jamaica (Victor had an open invitation to visit, apparently) through the rest of their meal. They weren’t talking business here.

Marc must have signalled… someone, because the waiter came by and discreetly placed a bill on his side of the table. “Next time, I promise we’ll have dessert as well,” he said as he paid by card. As soon as he was finished paying, he stood and came around the table, offering to pull out Sinead’s chair for her and then, when the hostess returned with her coat, he helped her into it. Sinead felt pampered on the one hand, but also like sneering at the gentlemanly acts when she could feel the buttplug in her ass anew now that she was moving around again. Without ever seeing the bill, Sinead played her part to get out of there without causing a stir or drawing attention to herself - with any luck, Victor would never remember her being there.

Chapter 22

“So, are we going somewhere?” Sinead asked. “Or was I really that bad of a dinner date?”

Marc had led Sinead out of the restaurant and the valets had brought his car around, but after helping her in instead of driving away he’d circled the block and come to a stop just a little way down the street from the restaurant.

“You were mostly lovely,” Marc said.

“Just mostly?”

“Well, other than the sour looks you would give me every once in a while,” Marc said. “And I never did get any good stories about your time as a police officer. But I’ll forgive you for that, considering the circumstances.”

“Thanks,” Sinead said dryly. She clearly wasn’t put off by the fact that he’d seen her occasional expressions. “So what are we doing, then?”

“Waiting for this,” Marc said, gesturing ahead of them. Victor and his Jamaican guests were exiting the restaurant. “They were halfway through their desserts when we left,” he explained. “Which gave us time to be ready to follow him.”

Victor and his guests split up - a blacked-out Escalade pulled up in front of the restaurant and the Jamaican men got in, while Victor headed down the street and passed Marc’s car without a glance.

“We don’t need to follow him,” Sinead said. “He does the same thing every time he comes here. He leaves right around 9:30, heads home and changes, then he goes out to  a bar near his apartment.”

“Well, you could have told me that earlier,” Marc said with a sigh and a little smile. “Where is the bar? We can get there ahead of him.”

“Marc, all he does is try to find a woman to pick up for the night,” Sinead said. “He won’t talk business.”

“Everything can be important,” Marc said, pulling away from the curb and entering traffic. “And everything can be an opportunity if you know how to look at it properly. Trust me, Detective.”

Sinead sighed and gave him directions, then looked out the window. Marc glanced over at her and frowned. Perhaps he was playing things too tightly. Or too loose? Sinead was difficult to get a solid read on - sometimes she seemed to be perfectly happy with how things were going, or even pushing for more, and sometimes she seemed distant and possibly even disgusted, though he caught notes of her possibly being disgusted with herself as much as with him. And then she would get immensely focused on her case, and it would wash away.

Marc focused on driving for a moment and was surprised when Sinead cleared her throat and he glanced over at her. She was sitting back in the seat but was looking at him intently. “Is this still covered under my payment for the night, or is this something new?”

“It’s all part of the night, petite rebelle,” Marc said. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you for something you are not ready for. Our little adventure tonight has been enjoyable so far, hasn’t it?”

Marc could see Sinead considering her answer to that. She’d been pampered, dressed up and brought to a fantastic dinner that also doubled as undercover work for her case. She’d also had a couple of fingers eased into her butt, followed by a buttplug.

“It’s been… satisfactory,” she said. “So far.”

Marc tutted softly and shook his head. “Then we need to make sure it’s more than satisfactory,” he said. “Will you try to be open to that, Sinead?”

Her breath hitched a moment before she nodded. “I’ll try,” she said.

Marc took a chance then, deciding that if the friendly conversation from the dinner table hadn’t put her at ease, maybe swinging the other way with things would. He slid his hand from the wheel and planted it on Sinead’s bare thigh. She was warm, her skin smooth, and he let his hand curve around to hold her inner thigh, his fingers trailing under her to the back. He wasn’t touching her particularly high on her leg, and certainly not reaching up under the hem of her dress, but it was an intimate touch all the same.

Sinead didn’t react, at least verbally. He could feel her tense for a moment, but when he didn’t move his hand she relaxed. He held her like that, neither of them saying anything about it, for the entire drive to the area of the bar. Marc only removed his hand to back into a parking space half a block from the bar.

“We should make sure we are in and settled before Monsieur Victor shows up,” Marc said. He quickly rounded the car and helped Sinead out, and as he did they ended up standing close together for a moment as Sinead looked up into his eyes. He could see her internal frustration and confusion there. Her hate and want. She wanted him to kiss her, and she wanted to hate him for kissing her.

It was the strangest thing.

The bar, an upscale place that was just stopping itself from being a nightclub, didn’t have a line out front but was decently busy. It was a sort of urban minimalist design, all sharp lines and edges with muted neon lighting - definitely not Marc’s style, but he could see how it appealed to the slightly younger business crowd. Happy hour was well and over, but there were still plenty of Junior Partners around, or whatever mid-level corporate rank they held, along with their counterpart executive assistants. This was the kind of bar where coworkers went to convince themselves that they only hooked up because of the alcohol or to stumble into something casual within their own business class.

Sinead drew the attention of probably a dozen men when they entered, but half of those looked away immediately after a cursory look at Marc. Those were the smart ones; the ones who could see the quality of his suit and the way he held himself, and knew they were out of their league. The other half began formulating hopes and plans.

“Where does he usually sit?” Marc asked, standing close to Sinead and whispering close to her to be heard over the din of conversation and the just-slightly-too-loud music. He also put a hand on the small of her back.

“Over there by the bar,” Sinead nodded. “He starts with a drink before he starts trolling for pussy.”

Marc nodded, took Sinead's hand and led her deeper into the bar.

Chapter 23

Sinead was slightly in panic mode, though not enough that she was hitting ‘fight or flight’ or anything like that. Marc had led her down the bar and had ordered them both drinks before offering her a hand so that she could sit up on an available stool in a ladylike manner. That wasn’t the problem - she was actually pretty happy with how he’d been offering her his arm or hand to help her in and out of the car or chairs because she was still highly cognizant of the fact that she wasn’t wearing any fucking panties or even a thong.

No, her panic was coming from inside. She’d already been approached twice by men, good-looking ones who seemed to have their shit together and the confidence to come up to her at a bar without using a lame pickup line, and each time Marc had deftly rebuffed them. And each time he did it, she felt a twinge in her traitorous pussy. She hadn’t known what to do, or think, in the car when he put his hand on her thigh. It had felt fucking good, but it had also been so weirdly possessive in her mind and she wasn’t his. She didn’t belong to him. They weren’t in a relationship. This was a business deal.

But when he turned away the other men who were interested in her, and when he stood next to her and rested his hand on her arm, or softly touched the inside curve of her knee as they continued their rambling conversation from the dinner table, she felt… fucking butterflies. In her pussy.

God, I’m messed up, she thought to herself.

Marc was talking about shoes - he knew more about men’s and women’s shoes than she would ever care to - when she spotted Victor entering the bar. Seeing the look on her face, Marc leaned in. “Just keep the conversation going,” he said quietly to her, his hand sliding fully onto her bare knees for a moment. “Everything will be fine.”

Sinead nodded and asked him whether fashion was actually different in France, or if it was just a myth about Paris, and he grinned and started to ramble again. Sinead could tell, keeping her eyes trained on Marc and using her peripherals to try and track Victor, that Marc was only answering the question in such a long-winded way because they were trying to stay low-key.

Victor came down the length of the bar, stopping just on the other side of Marc, and called an order to the bartender who approached. There was no way the bartender actually heard what he said, but Victor was a regular so they knew what he wanted anyway. As he was waiting for his drink, Victor looked around and glanced to the side, frowning for a moment and then raising an eyebrow as he made eye contact with Sinead.

“Excuse me,” he said, tapping Marc on the shoulder. “Wasn’t I just sitting next to you at George?”

Marc turned and did a very passable double-take as he looked at Victor, then broke into a grin. “Oui, yes, I believe you were,” he chuckled. “What are the chances that we would come to the same bar for a nightcap?”

“Wild,” Victor chuckled himself.

“My apologies,” Marc said, and offered Victor his hand. “My name is Marc Fornier, and this is my companion Sinead.”

“Victor Berisha,” Victor introduced himself, shaking Marc’s hand strongly and then Sinead’s as well. “I assume you enjoyed old George’s as much as I did?”

“Lovely as always,” Marc nodded. “What did you think, ma chère?”

“The food was fantastic,” Sinead said, trying to keep up with the fact that Marc had just introduced her to the subject of her surveillance. And had called her his ‘companion,’ which sounded to Sinead an awful lot like she was an escort. He couldn’t have just gone with ‘girlfriend’ or ‘date?’

“I adore the food at George,” Victor said. “Probably too much. And the ambience suits me as well, at least for dinner. I’ll admit, I probably spend a bit too much time there.”

The two men bantered for a moment, and Sinead tuned out for a moment as it all screamed ‘rich guy things’ to her. It gave her a moment to parse what exactly was going on. This had gone from a passive surveillance operation, albeit off-book, to an active undercover operation. Still off-book. Marc had given his real name, and her real name if only her first, which made ‘undercover’ sort of a misnomer. But now she needed to find and play a part. She needed to be the ‘companion’ of Marc, whatever that meant. What did that mean?

A man like Marc would be with a woman who could hold her own in conversation. Smart, intelligent. Probably well educated. Sinead could cover two of the three since her college degree wasn’t exactly the top-end of anything and she’d been middle of the road for the class. By the time she’d been graduating she already knew she wanted to join the force, so schooling had felt less necessary. Marc would also be with someone who matched him in terms of temperament and flirting though.

Sinead took a breath and then shifted in her seat, taking Marc’s hand in her own. He glanced at her and smiled, but she almost missed it as she felt that goddamn buttplug inside her again.

She jumped in and quickly found that Marc was deftly leading Victor around by the nose conversationally. They talked about real estate and investing, and international travel. Victor had travelled almost as extensively as Marc, though had less interesting stories. Sinead learned more about Marc than she had even when she’d run a background check on him before arresting him - she learned he was an adventure diver, scuba diving old wrecks in the Caribbean and the Mediterranean. The men compared notes on Michelin-star restaurants they’d visited. Victor liked Scotch, but prided himself on trying to drink the local liquor of whatever country he travelled to - Marc was a moderate wine snob, though Sinead got the impression he just liked wine as his drink of choice, rather than being a snob about it in general.

The more they talked, the more Sinead felt comfortable falling into her role. Absorbing information about both men, feeding into the conversation to keep it flowing. Keeping them talking.

More drinks were bought, and Sinead found herself… happy. She was having fun. And she was getting what she wanted. She glanced at Marc, who made eye contact with her for a moment and she saw that fucking smile in his eyes and for the first time, she didn’t want to hit him for it.

Chapter 24

At some point in the night, Victor had managed to pull a blonde woman into the conversation. She was somewhere in her thirties as well, with a cute roundish face and a figure that Sinead would have killed for. The thing was, Sinead could also tell that Christy, or Cathy, or whatever her name was, was eyeing up both her and Marc. At first, she thought the woman was suspicious, but then she realized that blondie was jealous.

Jealous of her, for being with Marc.

That was a weird feeling. She wasn’t with Marc, but for some reason knowing this woman wanted what she ‘had’ put a little thrill in her. And Marc, for all that he didn’t seem to notice, just kept doing those little things that had Sinead hoping she wasn’t dripping a wet spot onto the ass of her dress as she sat on the bar stool - hopefully, the black of it was dark enough to hide any actual wet spots.. He held her hand or rested his on her knee. He glanced down at her with little smiles as she spoke.

There wasn’t any innuendo or weirdness about it, and Sinead was playing a part. It felt natural to be like this, playing ‘Sinead, Marc’s Sexy Companion.’

She was also able to catalogue dozens of little things about Victor. Some of it confirmed what she already knew, but others were laying down more tracks to follow - he was more heavily invested in real estate than her initial searches had turned up, for one. He also claimed to be an art investor, which sounded like a tax haven or laundering operation in its own right. He even bragged about how he’d picked up a couple of pieces on the black market.

Now, it was all hearsay and wouldn’t let her do anything officially, but it was a place to start.

Sinead could also tell that Victor was eyeing her up every once in a while, particularly when Marc was distracted by ordering us another couple of rounds through the evening. That, much more than the feel of Marc’s touch, made me feel gross.

By the end of the night, other than the ‘black market’ claims, she didn’t have any actionable information about Victor but she had a hell of a lot of circumstantial claims that she could sink her teeth into. And not only that, but Marc had handed off his card.

“I’ll definitely put in a call to set up something official,” Victor had nodded, tapping the card against his forehead and smirking before tucking it into his jacket pocket.

“I’ll be happy to take a look at whatever you’d like me to,” Marc had said, and then grinned and winked. “And I promise not to hand it off to any of my juniors. For a man like you, monsieur, I will handle it personally.”

That put a big grin on Victor’s face, and Marc turned and smiled down at me, and Sinead caught herself almost falling for him. She could feel herself, right at the edge. He was smart, and well travelled, and interesting, and could work undercover. All she needed now was for him to know how to use a firearm or be a boxer or something, and he’d be the perfect guy.

Other than the pressuring her for sexual acts. Remembering the buttplug currently filling her ass helped back her away from the edge.

Victor whispered something to his blonde companion - a word which Sinead felt fit the curvy executive assistant on the prowl much more than it did herself - and then bid his goodbyes. Marc quickly paid his own tab and they followed Victor and the blonde out of the bar, the men shaking hands goodbye before they split in different directions. Sinead almost felt bad for the blonde; if she was looking for anything more than a hookup, she wasn’t going to end up happy.

Marc slipped his arm around Sinead’s waist as they walked back to the car, keeping her steady on her heels on the ice and salt-covered sidewalk, and she realized she was just a little bit tipsy. Not awful, but leaning into Marc a bit helped. He helped her in, ever the gentleman in public, and then she watched as he crossed around and got into the driver’s seat.

“Should you be driving?” Sinead asked with a frown. “We had what, four drinks in the last couple of hours? Plus the bottle between us at dinner.”

Marc smiled warmly and his hand slipped down onto Sinead’s thigh again, warm against the cold that had seeped into her during their short walk, and she sucked in a breath through her nose. “I have to admit something,” he said. “After my first drink at the bar, I asked the bartender to make mine virgins with no alcohol. I knew I was driving.”

“So you got me drunk?” Sinead asked.

“Just a little,” he smirked and winked.

“Dirty old man,” Sinead sighed, making Marc laugh.

He drove, and Sinead looked down at his hand on her thigh and chewed on the inside of her lip. She knew what was coming now. She was wearing his dress and his jewellery, and his stylists had done her up. She’d been wined and dined. She’d gotten all of the intel she could ask for other than a smoking gun in Victor’s hand.

Now she was going to get fucked.

And, thinking about it… she was OK with that. Mentally, at least. Physically, she was surprised Marc couldn’t smell her pussy. She’d almost felt like she would have developed icicles on her labia if the walk had been any longer from the bar to the car.

But she was wearing a buttplug. Was she all right with doing anal? With her first time trying it being with him?

Sex with Marc wouldn’t be so bad. It could even be amazing. Could was doing a lot of work there - she’d imagined it enough times now that the reality probably wouldn’t live up to her thoughts.

“We’re here,” Marc said.

Sinead looked up and realized she might have drifted off a bit. But they weren’t in Marc’s parking garage, or even on his street. They were on her street. Outside her building.

“I’ve had a lovely time tonight, petite rebelle,” Marc said. “I trust you got everything you wanted as well?”

No, I want some cock, Sinead shouted in her mind. “Um, yes. I did,” she nodded. “Thank you for helping. The bar was a risk, but it worked. I have a lot of leads to follow up on.”

“I’m glad,” Marc said.

“So should I bring you the dress, or…?” Sinead asked.

“N'y pense même pas!” Marc scoffed, shaking his head and squeezing her thigh with his hand. “Not at all. The dress, and the accessories, are gifts, Detective. I bought them for you, I wouldn’t ask for them back.”

Sinead’s jaw dropped, looking down at the gorgeous dress. At the shoes. “Marc, this is…”

“A gift,” Marc said firmly, and that pulled Sinead’s eyes up to his. He’d used that tone. The commanding one when he ordered her. And even though she wanted to protest, she nodded.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Marc said, and his sternness melted as he flashed that fucking smile again. “Now, give me your car key. I’ll have someone drive it over and drop it off early.”

Sinead scooped her keys out of the pocket of her jacket, taking a moment to unhook her car key from the carabiner she kept them all on. She handed it over. “I left most of my things in your apartment,” she said.

“I’ll have it all returned,” Marc said. Then he let go of her thigh and took her hand, raising it to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles. “It really was a lovely little adventure, Sinead.”

He got out of the car and crossed around, opening the door and helping her out. She expected him to at least make a move to kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he just flashed around that fucking smile some more. “Good night, Detective. Until next time.”

“Good night, Marc,” Sinead finally said and turned to head up into her building.

“Sinead,” Marc called to her when she was at the door.

She turned and looked back to him, half expecting him to be standing there with his cock out on a public street, demanding she come and suck it. It wasn’t and he didn’t, but she was a little disturbed to have a flash of imagination of her doing just that.

“Next time I see you, I expect you to be wearing that special accessory,” he said. “And I’ll ask to see it.”

Sinead, flushed, didn’t respond and just went into her building.

She managed to make it into the elevator, and then up to her apartment. As she locked the door behind her she closed her eyes and took a breath, then quickly got out of the heels he’d given her and shucked off her jacket. Then, unable to wait long enough to get into her bedroom, she flopped onto her couch and pulled the dress up over her waist and buried her fingers in her pussy.

“Fuuuck, Marc,” she groaned, hating that his name slipped through her lips. She could feel the buttplug between her cheeks. She didn’t need to be wearing it anymore. He wasn’t there. But she didn’t pull it out. Didn’t care.

Three fingers deep, she groaned as her first orgasm rolled through her quickly, her hips bucking up wanting cock and only getting fingers.

“Fuck, Marc!” Sinead growled as she panted. She hated him. Hated herself for wanting him. Hated that he’d left her wanting him because he had to know what he’d been doing.

I can’t call him again, Sinead told herself as she started sawing her fingers into herself again. This was the last time.