Into the Lion's Den Again

Sinead blew out a breath and considered bailing again. The Victor Berisha angle wasn’t her only lead, but it was the one with the best chance of succeeding. It wasn’t the risk that made her hesitate though, it was that feeling she’d had in her gut since she’d asked Marc for help.

She pushed it down and got out of her car, fetching her bags from the back seat before heading into the building. Marc had been vague when she’d asked again why she needed to be at his place this early if they were going to dinner at 7 PM, so she assumed that they were going to do… things. Then she would need to get ready to go out and blend in at the fancy restaurant.

With her dress and knapsack of shoes and things over her shoulder, she took the elevator up to his loft and walked down the corridor, hearing every step of her boots along the way. Her nerves were spiking like she couldn’t believe it, and her thumb was digging a nail into her finger, but she also had this sensation that she’d been thinking about more and more as the week went on. Of a hard-yet-soft, smooth and warm, pulsing cock between her lips. She could almost taste him already and it made her so fucking mad.

She was acting like a fucking whore. This wasn’t her.

At the door, she hesitated before knocking, but not because of her thoughts. She frowned as she heard the dull sound of voices from inside. She waited, closing her eyes to listen closely, but she couldn’t tell what was being said.

Sinead swallowed nervously. He wasn’t planning on… she wasn’t even sure what. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to organize a gangbang and **** her to do that, but… an orgy? He was French, and that was a very European thing, right? Could she do that? Be in an orgy?

Swallowing again, she steeled herself to be ready to say no to anything too wild. And definitely not anything she’d never done before. She wasn’t trying things for the first time in an orgy, or with Marc in general. Sinead knocked.

The door opened quickly, and he was there with that fucking smile.

“Detective,” he said warmly, holding out a hand to offer to take her bags. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“Mr Fornier,” she said cautiously, lowering her bags from her shoulder but not handing them to him.

“Please, come in,” Marc invited her, opening the door fully and turning his spurned offer into a gesture through the hallway. The voices beyond in the kitchen area hadn’t stopped talking, but it wasn’t so many that she was worried it was a crowd.

Sinead entered the apartment and kicked off her boots, regretting the loss of the two inches they gave her as it just made Marc seem that much bigger than her. She followed him down the hallway and found three people waiting around the kitchen island, along with a bunch of travel cases.

“Sinead,” Marc said, turning with that goddamn smile still as he introduced the others. “This fine young man here is Lorenzo. He’ll be your stylist for this afternoon, c'est un magicien, tu verras. This is his lovely assistant Porcia, and this is my good friend Tina and she’ll be giving you your mani-pedi.”

“Oh,” Sinead said, feeling overwhelmed in a way she hadn’t been expecting. “Hello.”

Lorenzo was a true Italian and spoke with a thick, lisping accent. He was immaculately put together, every detail carefully chosen to make him look like he’d stepped right out of a fancy fashion cover shoot. He was also very gay. Porcia, his assistant, was a Caucasian woman with a full build and her hair tied up in a bun, but her makeup was almost show-quality as she immediately started fussing with Sinead, taking her bags from her and getting her onto one of the tall island chairs. Tina was also a shock, as she was staggeringly statuesque with a hard jawline and strong Adam's apple that hinted at her being trans, but she also had a massive rack and long hair almost down to her ass.

All three of them were talking to her at once and she struggled to keep up with their notes and comments. Porcia was turning her face this way and that, while Lorenzo was feeling her hair and checking where her hairline fell on her brow, neck and behind her ears. Meanwhile, Tina was checking her hands, and then pulling off her socks to check her toes and tutting that they were completely uncared for at the moment.

Marc shouldered his way in between the stylists and whispered to her. “I’ll be back soon,” he said. “If they finish first, I’ve lain out your outfit upstairs on the bed. Feel free to try it on.”

“My what? I- You’re going?” Sinead asked with a crease in her brow.

“I have a few things to take care of. I won’t be long, amuse-toi bien,” Marc said reassuringly, squeezing her shoulder softly and then slipping away. She watched him go, feeling… strange. She couldn’t place what she was feeling. Not happy that he was leaving, nor relieved. But not sad.

She decided it was frustration, even if she knew that wasn’t right.

“Now, bella,” Lorenzo took her attention. “Mister Marc, he says he does not want you to lose any length to your hair, yes? But if you want, I can do this for you. You have some split ends that need fixing, and I can make it like he won’t even notice.”

“Um,” Sinead stammered. “I- try to leave as much as you can.”

“Of course, bella,” Lorenzo smiled and winked.

“Honey, how do you feel about French tips?” Tina asked her, stealing her attention.

“I work, so I can’t-” Sinead started.

“Oh, I know,” Tina interrupted her. “Marc told me all about you. I just need to know what style you like.”

“He did?” Sinead asked. “Um… French tips are fine, they just need to be short.”

They were a whirlwind around her, and Sinead was caught up in it.

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