A Night In with Sinead

“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 a 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.

<U>Translations</U>
“Tu es ravissante, ma chère.” = “You are ravishing, my dear.”
Jolie = pretty
Mignonne = cute
Belle = pretty, beautiful
Magnifique = Magnificent, beautiful
Envoutante = Captivating

Breakthebar erotica is powered by Patreon, where early chapters are released ahead for all of my series. Le Francais is a Commissioned Work. PM if interested in helping fund the series, or if you are looking to commission a story of your own!