Four Weeks

An Oriental-looking girl was accompanying Véronique and the two women took the recently vacated table next to hers. Annabelle took the opportunity to study the French woman as they ordered drinks—champagne, it appeared.

The woman was stunning.

Her hair hung long and wavy over her shoulders, highlighted in hues ranging from light blondes to copper. The grey designer dress was plain but displayed her figure to perfection. Her cleavage peeked over the top of the neckline and she didn't have an ounce of excess fat. Add in those full, glossy red lips and she looked every inch a model rather than one of Giuseppe Franco's closest allies.

"May I ask what you're doing here?"

The question took her by surprise. She turned her head to see the concierge standing next to her. She'd been too preoccupied to notice him approach.

"What? I'm sorry? I—"

"I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Leave? Why?"

A cold smirk appeared on his face.

"I think you know. We're a respectable hotel."

Respectable hotel? My God! He thought she was on the game. She glanced around in embarrassment. All eyes in the bar area seemed to be watching them.

"I'm waiting for someone..."

He sniffed dismissively and smoothed down his waistcoat.

"I suggest we don't make a scene. I'm fully aware of what you're doing and suggest you ply your trade somewhere else."

When he reached for her arm she dragged it away from his grasp. This couldn't happen. She'd be making headlines in every rival paper if they cottoned on to this story. How would she explain that to Griff McAffrey?

"Don't be ridiculous—" she began, but salvation came from the unlikeliest of sources.

"That's no way to treat a lady, Jonas. She told you she was waiting for someone."

The soft voice had a strong French accent. Véronique Moreau was leaning forward in her seat and addressing the concierge. She turned her head towards Annabelle.

"Why don't you join us, chérie? Until your friend arrives..."

The concierge's gaze wandered slowly from Véronique to Annabelle and back again. He appeared to be on the verge of speaking again but thought better of it and instead all but bowed as he backed away. It seemed that the French woman's influence was not to be argued with.

Impressive, Annabelle thought, as she gathered up her coat. She pushed a hand through her short blonde hair as she slinked into the vacant seat opposite the two women, aware that both sets of eyes were appraising her.

"Thank you so much," she muttered. "This is extremely embarrassing."

"It's not a problem," Véronique shrugged. "In France this is no big deal. A girl has to make a living."

"No. Really..."

Annabelle's heart began to pound. The French woman actually thought the same as the concierge!

"I ... I really am here to meet someone. I'm a dancer but since I arrived in London all I've been able to get have been a couple of waitressing jobs. But I met a guy at a club a couple of nights ago and—"

"A dancer," Véronique instantly interrupted. "That's interesting. And an escort? What a perfect combination. Don't worry, chérie, I admire your resourcefulness. And you might have fallen on your feet, as you English say, yes?"

Annabelle tried to disguise her excitement. Thank God for the concierge. Things couldn't have worked out better. It was as if the whole scene had been scripted. There wasn't any further explanation necessary. Véronique had bitten.

"In what way?" she asked, playing ignorant.

"I'm involved with some clubs. We're always looking out for ... dancers."

She nodded at the girl beside her. She couldn't be more than twenty-twenty one. Throughout the conversation she'd remained silent but her almond-shaped eyes had been sizing Annabelle up.

"Jiao is Chinese-American. She's one of my best girls. Her name translates as beautiful. Rather apt, don't you think?"

Hot would have been a better description, Annabelle thought. That tight black tube-dress stretched all the way along her hard, tight body.

"Yes, very," she diplomatically replied.

A soft smile played across the girl's lips. She half inclined her head.

"Thank you, darling," she responded.

Her clipped Oriental accent fit her perfectly and the way she drew out the final word made Annabelle shiver.

"I'd say you'd fit in perfectly," Véronique continued. "Dancer. Escort. A pretty face and from what I can tell, a body to match. My clients will be impressed."

"Clients?"

Annabelle tried to keep her voice level. It couldn't be this easy, could it? The meaning was clear. Véronique wasn't even trying to disguise it.

"Exactly. We bring them to you, chérie. Believe me, it will make your life that much easier. The question is, are you good at following instructions?"

"Yes."

The word came out quickly, confidently. The French woman was playing right into her hands and this was an opportunity not to be missed.

"Then let's check it out," Véronique murmured.

She gracefully rose to her feet and asked the nearby waiter to have the champagne delivered to her suite. The smile she gave Annabelle was full of meaning.

"There's no time like the present, chérie."

*

The suite was opulent. Annabelle walked in nervously, wondering what lay in store. If there was an opportunity to quiz Véronique further she had to take it. Griff McAffrey wasn't easily pleased but even the grizzly editor wouldn't be able to help being impressed. She was already halfway there.

The French woman sashayed through a door at the far end of the suite and Jiao appeared at her side.

"This way," she softly said, nodding towards the open door.

She stayed behind Annabelle as they made her way across the room. When the blonde reporter entered, her breath caught in her throat. The four poster bed dominated the room and Véronique stood beside it, her dress at her feet. The French woman was naked. From the back, she looked incredible. Her olive skin appeared to glow in the dimmed light and her firm buttocks were flawless.

She turned towards the two women and gracefully sat on the end of the bed.

"Sit there, chérie," she instructed Annabelle.

She indicated the armchair not more than a few feet from the bed and then turned her head towards Jiao. A smile was enough.

The young girl reached for the zip of her dress and with a shimmy of her lean athletic body, it slid to the carpet. She was naked underneath.

Annabelle glanced at the half-open door. It wasn't too late to leave, was it? This was a step too far. She should draw the line. The whole point of the investigation was to expose illicit sexual activity, not witness it.

And yet...

This was different. These two women were consenting adults. Behind closed doors. She wasn't condoning their behaviour by staying. Besides, if she left the room now then any chance of being able to prise out further information would be gone. She had a reporter's duty to remain there.

Even as she had the internal debate her eyes were drawn back to Jiao. She had small breasts but incredibly long nipples. But what intrigued her even more was that she was clean shaven. Annabelle had often objected when Jenny expressed the desire to go bare but the look perfectly suited this young woman.

"Don't keep me waiting, chérie."

The voice drew her eyes back to Véronique. She had rested back on her elbows, legs wide ... an open invitation.

Jiao turned her head to glance at the blonde reporter as she sank to her knees in front of the French woman. The sexual electricity in the room was intoxicating and Annabelle felt a rush of heat to her groin.

How long was it since she and Jenny had made love? It was partly her fault that the excitement had long since gone out of their relationship. The long hours she was working didn't help ... but it was more than that ... it was—

She shook the thoughts away. Now wasn't the time

Jiao was gently sweeping her studded tongue along the divide of Véronique's labia. She heard a gasp and realised it came from her own mouth. Her eyes found Véronique's. The French woman was watching her, observing her reaction. Was she testing her? She thought she was a prostitute, after all.

"Good, isn't she?" Véronique murmured to her.

It was true. The way the younger woman went about her work was sublime. Annabelle could almost feel the exquisite pressure of the girl's mouth and tongue between her own legs. She wanted to feel them. The need to touch herself was suddenly overwhelming.

"Get undressed, my darling. There's a good girl."

Annabelle heard the words but they took a moment to register. This was surreal. She couldn't do this. Yet she was rising to her feet. There was something incredibly exciting about undressing under the French woman's gaze. The morality should have worried her but instead she found herself wondering if Véronique would approve of her body.

The dress slid away and she nervously placed it over the chair.

"Exquisite," Véronique praised.

She reached forward and rested a hand on Jiao's long locks, pulling the girl's head further between her thighs. For a moment she looked approvingly down at her but then her eyes were back on Annabelle's body.

"No need to be shy. Let me see, chérie."

With a swallow, Annabelle unhooked the front fastener and allowed her full breasts to bounce free. When Véronique licked her lips, her pink nipples hardened. She'd always thought of her breasts as her greatest asset and Jenny had always said so, too. The encouraging look on the French woman's face put her in the same category. She eased her thumbs into the waistband of the thong and pulled it over the gentle curve of her hips and down over her thighs.

A frown passed across Véronique's face and she tut-tutted as her eyes settled between Annabelle's thighs.

"A real blonde," she murmured, "But I do prefer the bare look. We'll get Jiao to take care of that later. Meantime, the look in those pretty blue eyes tells me you're thirsting to join the action. Why don't you come here, my darling?"

She lightly tapped Jiao's shoulder. The girl licked her lips as she gradually pulled her head from between Véronique's thighs. Her mouth was glistening with the woman's juices and a pouting frown covered her face.

"More soon, my darling," Véronique told her. She cupped her chin and smiled benevolently. "But our guest would like a turn. That's only fair, mais oui?"

Annabelle hesitated only briefly. Both sets of eyes were on her now. She was no longer weighing up the morality of her position, or considering how to probe for more information. Véronique Moreau had assessed her need perfectly. She and Jenny had never had a threesome but she'd had a few before they'd met. That was far too long for a woman with a healthy sexual appetite.

"You wanted the job," Véronique murmured as she crossed towards the bed. "It's time to show your credentials."

*

Annabelle stepped out of the shower and glanced at her naked reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her neck was still painful from where Véronique had sat on her face and her jaw ached from the pressures of taking her to orgasm.

And not just once. Shit, she had no idea that French women were so uninhibited.

The intense session had exceeded her expectations. They'd made love for hours without as much as a pause. She'd never experienced such raw carnality, even in her younger days. She and Jiao had been there to serve, of course. That had been pretty much a new experience but one that had brought the best out in her.

Perhaps this might kick start her and Jenny again? Except that making love to Jenny had never been like this. And now she needed to get back to the office. With any luck, Griff McAffrey might have gone home on time. Just for this one night. She had no idea what to tell him about today.

Shit, where did she start?

The thrill of taking turns with Jiao licking Véronique stayed with her as she wandered back into the suite bedroom. They'd worked together, kissed one another, lapped at the French woman, and then kissed again. It had become a torrid contest. Who could make Véronique moan loudest ... could make her cum.

The sight on the bed stopped her mid-step. Jiao was lying on her back, one hand between her thighs and the other curled around one of the French woman's thighs. Véronique was mumbling in French as she undulated on her face.

For a second time that afternoon, Annabelle was a voyeur.

She glanced at her dress and lingerie. They still lay on the floor from all those hours ago. She tiptoed towards them at the same moment that Véronique leant forward and supported her weight on her elbows. Her round buttocks took Annabelle's breath away. How long had it been since she'd indulged?

Not since she'd met Jenny. Her girlfriend had never been comfortable with ass play. The French woman's voice diverted her attention back to the bed.

"You like my ass?" she provocatively asked. "Come join us, chérie. It's yours."

Annabelle stood mesmerised for a moment. How could she have known? Not that it mattered. When she leaned further forward, deliberately displaying that delightful derrière, the blonde reporter's heart pounded. She was lost.

Within seconds she had joined the couple on the bed. The slurping sounds reinforced what a thorough job Jiao was doing but Annabelle didn't need confirmation. The younger girl had already proven herself to be an expert.

Véronique leant forward again, rotating her firm asscheeks in circles as she undulated on Jiao's tongue. Annabelle ran a single hand across the taut cheeks, caressing them, loving the roundness, the tightness, the smoothness. She glanced at Véronique and the French woman smiled back at her over her shoulder.

"Do it..."

She moved her head slowly forward and licked across the undulating globes ... once ... twice ... then again ... firmer, harder ... drowning them with her saliva.

She circled towards the puckered opening, her anticipation building. The heat radiating from Véronique's skin was intoxicating. Stretching out her tongue as far as it would go, she pushed softly at the French woman's perineum. It seemed to fit perfectly around the tip.

She probed again and again, a little harder each time. The solid resistance began to weaken. Degree by slow degree, it began to yield. She was no longer pushing but, rather, was being irresistibly being sucked in.

As Véronique grinded harder on Jiao's tongue, her hands went behind her. She linked them behind the blonde reporter's neck, holding her face in position as she began to hump faster. Annabelle whimpered as she fought to keep her tongue in position. The rush of the moment was overwhelming.

Maybe one day she could persuade Jenny...

JENNY

Was she really going through with this? Jenny had asked herself the same question half a dozen times already today.

Each time she'd come up with the same answer. All that was happening was that she was meeting Edie again. They would enjoy each other's company and there would be no repeat of the experience in the back of the taxi. Edie could have had her that night but had respected her enough to pull back. Despite her predatory reputation, there was no reason to believe that she wouldn't respect her again.

She'd bought the skimpy French lingerie today, especially for tonight. It clung to her curves like a second skin. But going braless always made her feel hot and she'd discarded it on a whim. Why shouldn't a girl want to make herself feel good? After all, Annabelle didn't make her feel that way anymore.

All she needed was affection, to be made to feel that her girlfriend still loved her. She wanted to make love like they used to, leaving each other satisfyingly exhausted before falling asleep in each other's arms. But recently they hadn't even shared a meaningful conversation, let alone a loving kiss or hug.

Edie Phillips made her feel good about herself. She'd forgotten how wonderful it was to be wanted. Edie wanted her. She had no doubt about that. The thought made her shiver with anticipation. She'd used her vibe several times since their encounter, playing out in her mind what might have happened in the taxi.

She also remembered Edie's words.

"You need to get laid ... It's written all over your face ... You need it real bad if you ask me ... And as long as you're discreet, where's the harm? It's just sex, after all ... Even animals do it ... Every woman deserves to be made to feel good... And if Annabelle isn't interested..."

If Annabelle wasn't interested...

The words reverberated around her head. That was exactly the point. Nothing was going to happen tonight between them but that was no thanks to her girlfriend. It was Annabelle's fault that she was even meeting Edie Phillips.

She sat on the edge of the bed in just the skimpy thong and rolled the black-coloured stockings up her shapely legs. A mischievous smile brushed across her face as she clipped them into her suspender belt. If Edie could see her right now!

Still, the red dress was hot enough. It dropped deep between her breasts and was so short that if she crossed or uncrossed her legs Edie would know exactly what colour thong she was wearing. The thought made her blush.

She stepped into the sexy black pumps she hadn't worn in ages. Fuck-Me pumps, Annabelle always called them. But her girlfriend was away somewhere overnight. Working again. She wasn't there to admire them.

But Edie would be.

*

Jenny hadn't expected this. Edie had taken her to a lesbian bar.

The Black Magic club.

It wasn't just any lesbian bar. This one was full of black women. Yes, there were a few white women scattered around. But it didn't take long to work out the way of things. Black domes with their white bitches.

The thought made Jenny tingle with excitement and apprehension. Was that why Edie had taken her there? To intimidate her? It wasn't just the surroundings that surprised her. This was a different Edie Phillips to the other night. That one had been soft and seductive. This one was confident and controlling. It was as if she'd sensed that the hard work had been done and now it was time to claim her prize.

As the evening progressed her head became filled with the heavy beat of the music, the noise, the unexpected thrill of having so many black women surrounding her. She caught them all looking at her, admiring her in that short red dress, and found herself wishing she'd worn something less daring ... yet excited by the fact she hadn't.

Annabelle might not want her. All of these women did.

To begin with she found herself almost clinging to Edie. Stay close, she told herself, and she was safe. But Edie had this way about her, sending an unspoken message to the women around them that Jenny was hers.

Hands off.

Gradually, her nervousness was replaced by arousal. She could feel her juices flow. The ambience in the bar, the rush, the noise, the attractive black women, the looks they were shooting her, the mix of perfume, were like an aphrodisiac.

"What d'you think?" Edie unexpectedly asked her three quarters of the way through the evening.

She had to shout the question to be heard above the hubbub of music and chatter.

Jenny's wide eyes stared at her. She was on her fourth martini—far too many but who was counting? The adrenalin was running through her veins.

"I've never experienced anything like this."

Edie laughed. "I thought you deserved something out of the ordinary, honey. It felt like you hadn't let your hair down in quite a while, I guess. Welcome to my world. Anything goes. D'you like that idea?"

Jenny felt a lick of heat run across her body. She bashfully nodded.

Edie turned into her, pressing her against the long bar. She curled a hand around Jenny's neck and pushed a thigh between her legs.

"Your tits look incredible in that dress," she whispered into her ear. "D'you know how many women here are hoping for the chance to fuck you?"