Le Français Pt. 04

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Le Français is an original Law Enforcement series playing with the Cop/Not-a-Cop trope, mixed with some social power play, and (hopefully) realistic BDSM elements. The series will jump between categories based on the content of each part. This series is commissioned by the fantastic ThL!

In this chapter you can expect mild roleplay, sexual denial, female masturbation, D/s play including spanking with toys, anal, and aggressive flirting.

Sinead makes surprising progress on her Berisha case, Marc makes deals to help her.

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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 fuckinggood, but it had also been so weirdly possessive in her mind and shewasn'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 waybecause 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 herto 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 bittoo 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, andher 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. Whatdid 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 evenbragged 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 anyactionable 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 onher 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."