End of Surveillance, Now Undercover

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 ****. 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.

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