Le Français Chapter 82-84

Chapter 82

Sinead put her phone away and made sure not to bite her lip or smile or do anything with her face. She also prayed to God that she wasn’t blushing.

Jules looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. “Anything you need to tell me?”

“No?” Sinead said.

Her partner snorted softly and shook her head. They were on a cold stakeout watching Victor Barisha’s warehouse - there wasn’t really anything left to do until Marc was able to shake loose some information for them to act on, but they needed to know if those crates got moved or joined by more of them.

“What?” Sinead asked.

“You need to get laid,” Jules said.

“Fuck off,” Sinead sighed. “This again? When was the last time you got laid?”

“I’m not the one who’s letting it affect her,” Julia defended herself. “Who were you texting with just now?”

“A guy,” Sinead said. “Maybe someone who I’m going to get laid with, I don’t know yet.” That was all true - she hoped that Marc was going to use their meeting that night to fuck her, but she didn’t know. He was a tricky French fuck.

“How did you meet him?” Jules asked.

“He’s an international criminal mastermind,” Sinead said with sarcasm dripping through her voice. “We fell in love when we got into a fender bender, and we’re deciding whether we should run away together and open a bakery in his hometown, or a dog grooming business.”

“OK, fuck off and leave my love of Hallmark movies alone, first of all,” Jules chuckled. “They aren’t supposed to be good, they’re supposed to be heartwarming. Second of all, you’re supposed to run into each other while you’re both out of town so you’re not in your element. And third, bitch, you can’t distract me from the question. Who were you texting?”

“I actually was texting a guy,” Sinead said, deciding to lean into as much of the truth as she could. Jules would know if she was blatantly lying. “And I actually am thinking I might get laid.”

“Was that guy Marc?” Jules asked bluntly.

Sinead glared at her, having nothing else she could say.

Jules looked back at her pointedly, and they settled into an uncomfortable, challenging silence.

Sinead blinked first, mostly because she’d started glaring first, and Jules smirked just a little. But then they both broke the staring contest because the gate from the warehouse yard started opening.

“It’s 11:17 AM,” Jules said as she quickly scribbled in her notes. “Gate opens. Delivery truck arrives from the west. U-Haul rental, license plate G-Y-F-M-4-2-2, I think that’s an Idaho picture on the side. Looks like two men in the front, another one working inside the yard. Wait- a dark grey town car is pulling in behind it. Tesla. Ninety per cent sure that was Victor Barisha driving, couldn’t see the plates due to snow.”

“Fuck,” Sinead growled. That would have been a good reason to make a traffic stop, but she couldn’t show her face around Victor.

“Yeah, well, your fault,” Jules muttered. “Alright. Gate is closing, looks like the rental truck is pulling up to the main doors and- we’ve lost visual at 11:18 AM. Fuck. We don’t know if they’re loading or unloading.”

“Alright,” Sinead sighed. “Um - OK. I think we wait to see if the Uhaul truck leaves, then follow it and see if we have a reason to make a stop?”

“Better than nothing,” Jules agreed. A beat later she snorted softly. “Unless you’ve got plans.”

“Nothing I can’t push back,” Sinead said, dreading the idea that she might need to. “It’s just a maybe thing.”

“Sure,” Jules said, giving her some side-eye while she tucked her notebook back into his coat. “Sure.”

“Fuck off,” Sinead sighed.

“I’m just saying, I get why you would be attracted to him,” Jules said. “Hell, if I met him under different circumstances, I’d be attracted to him too.”

“You mean you’re attracted to him but you’re ignoring it,” Sinead said.

“Yes,” Jules grunted. “That’s what I mean. Marc, when he’s not sitting in interrogation because we think he might be a secret crime lord, has attractive qualities. But he was sitting there, across from us, and he is doing this shady work for you that could blow up in your fucking face. So if you are meeting up with him, just…”

“This’ll be good,” Sinead murmured.

“Just be careful, babe,” Jules finally sighed.

Sinead slowly turned to look at her directly, eyebrow raised. “Be careful? What happened to ‘Such a bad idea, don’t do it?’”

“If you’re not listening to the last eighty times I’ve said it, saying it one more time won’t make a difference,” Jules threw up her hands. “And you deny it every time even though I still think you’re flicking your bean to him every night. It is a bad idea but if you need to get him out of your system then just… do that. You haven’t had a good fuck in years, and maybe you’ll be more clearheaded if he can give that to you. Just don’t let him fall in love with your pasty white ass.”

“Fuck off,” Sinead chuckled.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a nice ass, it’s just pasty white you Irish skank.”

“So much more appreciated,” Sinead said, then sighed. “You haven’t exactly had a guy you’ve been raving about for a while either.”

“Maybe not, but does this mean you’re admitting you’re gonna fuck Marc?”

“No, it’s not me admitting I’m gonna fuck Marc,” Sinead scoffed. “I just- I agree that he’s got attractive qualities. Some very attractive ones, honestly. He’s corny as shit but going out with him on those undercover ‘dates’ is a kind of a whirlwind of fancy princess shit. Expensive car, expensive restaurant, fancy people. And he’s good at it, which might be the hottest, most annoying part. But you’re also right that doing anything with him is a bad idea.”

“OK, at least we’re on the same page,” Jules said, then perked up. “Gate’s is opening at 11:33. Uhaul truck looks like it’s leaving.”

Sinead bit the inside of her cheek.

Everything with Marc was a bad idea. A really, really good bad idea. She’d been ready to take the next step for a while now - and hopefully it would happen that night. And maybe Jules was right and it would get out of her system and she could have a frank discussion with him. After all his talk about consent with BDSM she couldn’t see him getting weird about it if she wanted to call it off.

Maybe that was the play. Get fucked, get it out of her system. Even if it was anal. Then things could go back to normal.

She shifted, reminded of the buttplug in her ass as she turned on the unmarked car and pulled onto the street, following the rental truck.

Chapter 83

“Ma petite rebelle,” Marc said as he opened the door to his condo, giving the Detective a warm smile. He offered her his hand and guided her in, stopping her just inside the door. She was dressed in her leather coat as usual, but instead of her usual slacks, she had clearly made an extra effort with a green dress and heels despite the continuing cold weather.

“Hello, Marc,” she said, half-cold and half-nervous. “I wasn’t sure-”

“We’re staying in tonight, Sinead,” Marc assured her as he helped her to take off her coat. The dress was delicious even if it wasn’t of the quality he would buy for her - she knew how to dress for her body type. It was a halter and had a plunging neckline that showed off the middle of her torso and small cleavage, but also left her shoulders and most of her back bare. The skirt portion hugged her hips and ass and came down to about mid-thigh, loose enough to let her walk but tight enough that it wasn’t flowing around her. Her heels, a matching green, were closed-toe but tall enough to do the job of heels and accent her legs and ass. “Tu es ravissante, ma chère.”

She sighed as he hung her coat on a hook alongside his coats by the door. “What does that mean, Marc?”

“Just an observation, Detective,” Marc smiled, then took her hand and led her deeper into his home.

“Marc,” Sinead sighed as she saw the table. “Really?”

The candle-lit dinner was a flirtatious dance. He had cooked for her, first serving a gruyere cheese souffle as an appetizer, followed by Coq au Vin prepared the traditional slow way. The chicken stew was a bit of an ordeal to eat since the chicken remained boned - well, it was an ordeal for non-Europeans, Marc had learned. Sinead didn’t comment on that, but did compliment him on the rich flavours.

The conversation was also light, and Marc enjoyed that part of the dance the most. The Detective was just off-balance enough, wondering what came next. Knowing something was coming, some turn. Or at least expecting it.

Because that was the game.

But Marc kept the conversation light. Talking about family, and travel. And Sinead rose to the challenge, digging for little nuggets of information. He discovered that the Detective had considered being a lawyer while she was in high school because she had an aunt who was one. She pried a couple of his stories out of him about the three months he’d lived in Italy in his twenties. They laughed, and Marc loved both of the looks in her eyes - the one where she was piecing together the little bits of him like he was a puzzle or riddle, and the one where she was eyeing him like she was expecting him to climb across the table and eat her whole.

Still, however, Marc kept up the game.

When he stood and took their finished plates to the kitchen, he could feel the Detective's eyes following him, and when he returned he could see she was expecting that the night was about to move on to other things. He took her hand and she stood, licking her lower lip with nervous energy.

“Come, ma petite rebelle,” he said. “I think it will be fun to teach you something new.”

“I think so too,” she said, a little breathless.

- - - - -

This motherfucker, Sinead thought to herself.

Her thong felt like it was a soaked piece of napkin wedged up her cooch, she was so turned on. The whole dinner had been fucking ridiculous, and the fact that he’d cooked it for her and hadn’t just ordered it in or something was another layer of annoyingly sweet and hot. It was like he was trying to prove that he was fucking Man of the Year or something.

And then he took her hand and said something about teaching her new things, and her knees had gone weak because she had the buttplug in and she knew that he was going to have her doing things she’d never done before. Scary things. Hot things. And he was going to make it good.

But he didn’t take her up to his bedroom. He didn’t even take her over to the couch.

Hell, he could have stripped her down and done her on the fucking floor and she would have probably done whatever he wanted.

Instead, he had her fucking helping make dessert.

She wanted to grab him and shake him and shout, ‘Just fuck me already!’ She wanted to strip down naked and jump on him like a wildcat. Hell, she wanted him to fucking grab her ass or something, at least.

But he was a perfect gentleman. The most he touched her was on her arms or hands as he showed her what he needed her to do to make these fucking crepes. He would stand close, but not too close. Not close enough to press against her. Just close enough for her to lean back into him if she wanted.

Except that he was in charge. Frustratingly, aggravatingly in charge.

Her agreement to that felt like it was stuck in her damn throat.

“Ah, perfect, Sinead,” Marc said as he took the orange butter sauce from her. “Now watch closely.”

She did, and fuck him for making the whole process interesting as he dipped the crepes into the sauce, then put them in a hot pan with Grand Marnier and lit the fuckers on fire. The fact that he had to make sure she knew to use the blue label in the future, like she would be just casually making them at home, and not the cheaper red label was funny and annoying and put a tingle through her.

Once they were done, and he’d plated them on one plate, Marc led her back to the table and he fucking cut one in half and offered her a fork like she was a little kid, or they were some disgusting lovey-dovey over the top couple out on Valentine’s Day date. And she hated herself for letting him feed her, even if it was just one bite, and feeling a little gooey inside as she did it.

The fact that the crepe suzette was fucking delicious didn’t help clarify things.

Sinead ate more than her half of the plate and didn’t give one shit about it because Marc was playing her and she knew it. He was going to send her home without any dick again and she was going to end up masturbating to her thoughts of him and those fucking crepes.

When he took her hand and led her towards the stairs, she realised she was tongue-tied. As he gestured for her to go ahead of him she forgot to even put a little oomph into her hips as she climbed them.

Is… is it happening?

Is it FUCKING happening!?

- - - - -

“Have I mentioned you look absolutely delightful tonight, ma petite rebelle?” Mark asked Sinead as he led the Detective over to the tall mirror in his bedroom. She allowed him to lead her and he stood behind her and gently swept her fiery copper hair back over her shoulders as she watched him in the reflection.

“You said something when I first came in and then teased me for not understanding you,” she said, her eyes piercing.

“Ah, yes,” he chuckled. “Well, let me translate for you then. When you first arrived and I saw this dress, and your shoes, and how you had done your hair so nicely, I was struck by how ravishing you were.”

She sighed, tilting her head to one side and shaking it a little. “Ravishing? Really, Marc?”

“Yes, really,” he said, smiling but frowning with his eyes a little. “What’s wrong with ‘ravishing?’”

“It’s just… a bit much,” she said.

Marc brushed his fingers along her shoulder and then moved her hair to the side, bringing his lips to the bare skin of the crook of her neck. “Are you sure about that?” he asked and then kissed her.

Sinead breathed in, deep and slow, at the feel of his lips on her. “Yes,” she finally breathed out.

“Well, then,” Marc said, slowly lifting his lips and shifting to her other side, taking her hand in his and lifting it up to kiss her fingers as he gazed into her eyes through reflection. “I’ll need to find another word then, won’t I? Perhaps… Well, jolie and mignonne are both too immature for a woman such as yourself. Belle is too simple, too base. Magnifique, perhaps? Envoutante?”

“You’re a real ass, you know?” Sinead murmured, but all the vitriol was out of her as she continued to meet his gaze and his lips brushed her fingertips in between words.

“Do you trust me, my envoutante, magnifique, sublime Detective?” he asked her gently.

Sinead swallowed and nodded.

“Please say it,” he prompted her.

“I trust you, Marc,” she said quietly, with a delicious tension in her voice. She meant it, and it scared her. The game was perfect.

“Do you consent to submitting to my sexual desires for the evening?” he asked her. This wasn’t ‘proper’ in the BDSM world - asking for consent should have been more explicit about what was being consented to, but part of Marc was used to the deep trust he’d established with Felicity, and part of him wanted to ease Sinead into this while keeping the fun of the surprise elements… surprising.

“I do,” she breathed out, then sucked in another deep breath.

“When we discussed all of this, your safe word was Jupiter. Would you like to keep that, or would you like to pick something new, ma petite rebelle? Something that you can remember even if you are in the throes of passion or find yourself in unexpected pain?”

“Um,” she gulped. “Ah, um… Change it, I guess? What about Code Eight?”

“Is this a police thing?” he asked, and she nodded. “What does it mean?”

“An officer needs assistance,” Sinead said. “Asking for backup. That sort of thing.”

Marc chuckled and nodded. “That makes sense, and you’re certainly not going to forget it. Practice it for me, Sinead. So you know I will listen if you use those words in particular.” He placed a hand on her hip, then slid it around to her stomach. The psychology behind the body could be fascinating - erogenous zones, vulnerability points. The stomach wasn’t usually a sexual, erogenous zone for most people, but it was a primal vulnerability, which was why body language experts identified covering it as a sign of someone being uncomfortable or lacking confidence. Placing his hand on her there, with her nerves and awareness heightened, was a sign of dominance.

She sucked in another deep breath, her nipples now making clear points in her dress, and her stomach fluctuated a little under his touch. She allowed it.

Sliding his hand up higher, Marc waited for her to say the words. Up to her sternum, then over the neckline of her dress to the smooth, warm skin of her chest. She didn’t say the words, so he didn’t stop. He did slow, however, and he began to slide his hand to the side, under the shoulder of the halter strap, towards her breast. 

His pinky and ring finger were pressed to her cleavage when she gasped, “Code eight.”

He paused, slid his hand back to the centre of her chest and then removed it from her altogether.

“Yes?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Bien,” he nodded, then raised his hand to her chin and tilted her face to his over her shoulder to kiss her softly. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” she said, that eager, nervous fire in her eyes.

“Then strip for me, Detective.”

She began to strip.

__________

“Tu es ravissante, ma chère.” = “You are ravishing, my dear.”

Jolie = pretty

Mignonne = cute

Belle = pretty, beautiful

Magnifique = Magnificent, beautiful

Envoutante = Captivating

Chapter 84

Sinead felt like her skin was on fire and ice cold at the same time. It was puckered in goosebumps, arms and legs, and God did her nipples feel hard.

And he’d barely done anything yet.

The feeling of control from her using the Safe Word he’d asked her for had been… powerful. Strangely. His hand on her, the thing she’d kind of been (embarrassingly) craving had sent shivers through her, and then as he’d brought it higher, and closer… And she'd said it at the last possible moment, and he’d stopped.

The reality was that he could ‘prove it’ easily, but ignore it later. That was just logic and Sinead had heard plenty of sad, frustrating stories from women mixed up in ugly domestic violence cases saying, ‘But he promised…’

And still, for all that this thing went against her logic, she wanted it.

His eyes on her as she’d stripped had only been fuel for the fire in her. And when she’d finished, standing in front of his mirror as his eyes travelled up and down her front and back equally and she’d hooked her fingers behind her to try and stop from fidgeting, she knew fidgeting would have led to her touching herself.

She was fucking horny.

But Sinead was glad she’d waited because then Marc had touched her.

His hands were the perfect combination of soft and rough. He’d touched her before - hell, he’d made her come with his fingers and his mouth before, but knowing this was going further heightened things. Her nipples were rock hard. Her pussy was wet and she wouldn’t have been surprised if it literally dripped when he teased it with just the tip of a finger along each labia.

Then he’d had her undress him, and she’d done it like some servant girl or something. And it made her feel… she couldn’t describe it. Hungry, but more than that. And he was almost fully hard already, proof that he wanted her. Proof that revved the hunger in her gut that finally, finally her fantasy was going to be fulfilled.

The handcuffs had sent tingles through her. And again, he showed her that even though she was going to be restrained, she could get out. They weren’t like her service handcuffs - though they were just as sturdy. They had a rubberized interior that cushioned the bite into her wrists, and they had a little latch that would release them in an emergency. 

He picked her up and placed her where he wanted her on the bed, her arms over her head as he fed the longer-than-usual chain through what she’d thought was a decorative loop in the headboard. It lifted her arms over her head and up, but he also made sure she had pillows under her shoulders so that while her arms would probably ache after a while she wasn’t being tortured.

Then came the bar.

“This, ma petite rebelle, is a spreader bar,” Marc explained as he came back from the closet with it. It was maybe three and a half or four feet long and had round clasps at either end. “It attaches like so.” She looped the clasps around her ankles and clicked them into place, one after the other. The bar immediately made her spread her legs, which was obviously the point, and other than bending her knees to try and close her thighs closer together she couldn’t close her legs, which meant her soaking wet pussy was on display to him.

No, for him.

That thought made Sinead gulp a little.

Then he made sure to take the time to show her how she could detach the spreader bar if something unexpected happened. Both with her hands as normal, and if she twisted her legs how one end of the bar would detach from itself and allow her freedom to move.

Then he reattached the bar and knelt on the bed at her feet, giving her that fucking smile of his as he slowly lifted the bar, which raised her legs into the air, until her body was at a full right angle and she was looking at him through the gap between her legs and knew he could see every vulnerable, private part of her. Including the buttplug between her ass cheeks.

Was this how he was going to take her?

“Marc…” she said - actually, she gasped it, and it sounded fucking whorish in her own ears and she didn’t like that but also kind of did.

“Shhh, ma jolie poupée,” he hushed her, giving her another one of his smiles and rubbing the backs of both her thighs before lowering her legs again. She had no idea what that meant, but the tone in his voice was warm and just a little teasing, so she assumed it was some sort of sexual endearment. She still gave him a little glare because he knew it annoyed her.

He got back off the bed and she watched his ass as he walked back to the closet. It almost wasn’t fair that he was older than her and looked that good. She really needed to figure out what his exercise regimen was. Then again, maybe this was part of his exercise regimen.

Marc came back with a black silk length of fabric, and Sinead gasped again as he climbed up onto the bed and straddled her torso, his cock - hard and hot and ready - bounced slightly and tapped her between her tits. But she was busy looking up into his eyes as he continued to smile.

“Now I am going to take away your sight, Sinead,” he said softly, gently gliding the silky fabric across her lips and chin. Why did that feel so… sensuous?

“You’ve already got me handcuffed to the bed and my cooch out,” Sinead said back, trying to joke about it and hoping it didn’t come across snarky because that ‘I don’t want a Brat as a submissive’ thing had been rolling around in her head. The idea that she could be a ‘brat’ was really off-putting. “Do we really need to do a blindfold, too?”

“Would it be more cinematic if I used a sack instead?” he asked with a smirk. “That is what the criminals use, yes?”

Sinead rolled her eyes. “In the movies, sure,” she said. “But I’m not a dirty cop, Marc. I’ve never had to go to a meeting with a crime lord with a bag over my head.”

He tutted softly, shaking his head, but with that teasing look in his eyes. Then he lowered the fabric down, running it across her neck and shoulders. “Are you asking for me not to use the blindfold, or are you simply tempting me to spank you?”

Sinead worked her jaw for a moment, then shook her head. “Neither. I trust you.”

“Merci,” he nodded, then dragged the fabric up from her chest and positioned it, folded in half, over her eyes. “Removing a sense does not work like in the movies, obviously,” he said. “But it does provide some delightful benefits. It helps you concentrate, and the surprise of sensations… well, you’ll see.”

“I guess I will,” Sinead mumbled as he gently tilted her head forward and tied the blindfold securely around her head. Then he dismounted from straddling her and she knew he was to her right, but that was all.

Then his lips pressed to hers and he kissed her like she fucking wanted to be kissed by him, and she moaned like a slut into that kiss and pulled against the cuffs which was kind of a turn-on to not be able to grab him or anything.

Oh, hell, this whole thing is a fucking turn-on, she cursed herself. Sinead knew she was putty in his hands and he could do pretty much anything to her and she’d probably love it and ask for more.

Which was dangerous, and scary.

And just made it even hotter.

Then he pulled his lips from hers and she tried to follow but couldn’t, and she fell back onto the mattress and pillows with a whimper.

“You really know how to leave a girl wanting more, you know that?” she asked, this time with a little more snark in it.

He chuckled and she felt him get off the bed, and she could only really track him by that laugh. Then he climbed back up onto the bed from the foot and headed towards her, his weight shifting around her the only hint at what was going on.

Then the slightly rough feel of the stubble on his cheek brushed against her toes as he kissed the top of her foot, and then against her calf and he kissed the opposite leg. 

He climbed higher, between her legs, kissing her as he got to more and more vulnerable areas. But he slowed down as well, fucking teasing her again. Kisses on her inner thighs. His fingers gripping her, rubbing her, squeezing her. His hot breath making her tingle. The stubble on his cheek just a little scratchy.

“Oh, God, my pussy is so fucking wet, Marc,” Sinead blurted out. It felt like she was so horny and lubed up naturally that her entire Goddamn womb would slide right out of her - never mind that that was both kind of disgusting and entirely implausible.

“It looks delicious, ma petite rebelle,” Marc murmured and she could hear that motherfucking smile in his voice.

And then he kissed her labia, his lips soft and gentle against her heat, and Sinead let out every ounce of oxygen in her lungs and then refilled them in a gasp. He was going to fucking draw this out, and she hated that, but she also knew it was going to be good.

- - - - -

Marc hummed a laugh as he withdrew from Sinead’s pussy for the fifth or sixth time. Her juices were all over his lips and chin now, and he knew she was dying for her orgasm.

Primarily because she was vocal about it.

“Fuck, Marc,” she groaned, humping her hips up and done, desperate for more contact. “I’m so fucking close, you bastard.”

She’d been saying that for a good fifteen minutes, which was why he’d been pulling away more often.

“Ah, ah,” Marc said, giving her a slight slap on the thigh.

“I’m sorry,” she grunted. “You’re not a bastard.” He waited, knowing she couldn’t help herself. She humped her hips again, her bright red and pink pussy flowered open and begging for attention. “You’re a fucking bastard.”

He grinned and shook his head, then tugged on the spreader bar to get her legs flat on the bed again before he crawled up her body. His cock tapped against the crook between her leg and her pussy and dragged away from it, making her gasp, and he straddled her torso and shifted higher until he was over her chest.

“Open, ma petite rebelle,” he ordered her, tapping his cock against her lower lip. Her mouth was already open slightly, but she opened much wider and accepted his cock into her mouth. Her moan of pleasure as she began to suck on him for the first time that night was a delicious piece of music.

He let her work a bit - she still wasn’t as good as Felicity, but she also hadn’t had several years of practice to know all those little things his blonde companion did. What Sinead did have was the same hunger, and she sucked his cock without fear of anything outside of their little bubble. And she moaned and groaned, her body wriggling under him as she lost herself in the sexual moment. 

Then, when the moment was right, he scooped a hand behind her head and took control, thrusting his cock between her lips.

“Good girl,” he growled as she accepted this change of pace.

He didn’t fuck her face roughly - that would come, but not quite yet. But he enjoyed her mouth for a long moment, stroking between those thin lips of hers as she bathed him with her tongue and did her best to give him every ounce of suction she could.

And without warning he pulled away, taking her chin in one hand and feeding her his thumb instead, which she sucked on as she tilted her chin up into his hand.

“Very good girl,” Marc said, stroking her jawline with his fingers for a moment before letting her go and swinging his leg over her, then backing off the bed.

Sinead’s beautiful, lithe, pale body was already sweaty and panting. Her nipples were hard and standing proud, begging for attention. Her cunt, bare and open, inflamed with want. Her lips remained parted like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to gasp, take his cock back in her mouth, or something else.

But Marc didn’t climb back on the bed. Not yet.

Instead, he turned and gestured for Felicity to come over from the stairs where she’d been waiting and watching silently. She’d slowly gotten undressed once she’d arrived and had been leaning casually, a smile on her face as she watched him play with the redhead, occasionally touching herself.

She pressed her nude body to Marc’s and kissed him gently, tasting Sinead on his lips, then leaning back to look into his eyes with a playful warmth.

He winked at her and nodded towards the bed, and she grinned and slipped from him, climbing onto the bed silently.

__________

“...ma jolie poupée,” = “... my cute doll,”