Private Paris (Private 10)

Lourdes did a provocative striptease that left her naked except for her backstrap high heels.

“You are a goddess,” Mfune said.

“I want to see you too,” Lourdes said.

“Not yet,” Amé said. “Lie back, Lourdes. Lose yourself in pleasure.”

The woman hesitated, but only for a moment before scooting onto the bed and looking at them saucily. “I have to admit, being naked like this and you both in your clothes is a total turn-on.”

“Just you wait,” Amé said.

Mfune walked around to Lourdes’s feet and began stroking them with the gloves, moving his hands slowly up her calves and pressing her knees apart.

“God. Kiss me there,” Lourdes whispered.

“Not yet,” Amé said, climbing onto the bed behind her. Reaching over Lourdes’s shoulders, she caressed the woman’s breasts. “Lie back now and shut your eyes. It will heighten your senses, make your climax more powerful.”

The captain’s gloved hands were massaging Lourdes’s inner thighs now, and she gave in completely, sliding back off her elbows so that her head came naturally into Amé’s lap, where she sighed with contentment and closed her eyes.

“You don’t know how much I’ve needed this,” Lourdes said.

“We see that,” Amé said, looking at Mfune as he moved his gloves higher.

Amé waited until Lourdes’s hips began a slow, sensuous squirm of anticipation, then reached over for one of the pillows.

With the naked woman’s eyes still closed and her mouth slightly parted in pleasure, Amé brought the pillow smashing down on the woman’s face even as Mfune pinned her legs and hips to the bed. Lourdes almost immediately began to fight and writhe. Her arms shot up, grabbing for Amé.

Her hands wrapped around the fabric of the black gloves covering Amé’s forearms and tried to tear them apart. She was strong, but Amé was stronger and threw her full weight onto the pillow even as Lourdes began to scream and whine. Muffled by the pillow, however, the noises sounded no different than other cries of ecstasy and spasm echoing from the tents all around them.

A little more than a minute later, Lourdes’s struggles lessened, and then she collapsed. They held her there long after the tension and the spirit had left her.

“Check her heart,” Amé whispered as the people in the tent to their left started paddling again.

Mfune reached up, rested his hand on her chest a moment, and whispered, “She’s finished.”

Only then did Amé allow herself a long exhale. She lifted the pillow to find Lourdes’s mouth slack and her open eyes dull and still.

“You’re a martyr to the cause,” Amé whispered. “You’re a hero, Lourdes.”

“Let’s get busy,” Mfune said. “We’ve got a lot to do.”

Twenty minutes later, after peering out a slit in the tent flap and making sure there was no one wandering this part of the swingers’ club, they exited quickly. Mfune carried the sheets in a bundle under his arm. Amé drew the flaps of the tent shut, with the Do Not Disturb sign still up. They walked away knowing that under the rules that governed the Red Rooster, no one would enter the tent before closing, and that was hours away.

They carried the sheets to the other side of the club and buried them in a hamper. Amé went into the women’s toilet, stripped off her gloves, and put them in her purse before washing her hands with scented soap to mask the odor of bleach. Only then did they head for the exit to Le Chanticleer Rouge.

“Going so soon?” the cashier said. “The party’s just getting started.”

“We’ve had our fun,” Amé said without turning back. “And we both have to work in the morning.”

Chapter 43

6th Arrondissement

April 9, 12:20 a.m.

WHEN THE WAITRESS cleared her throat, I startled.

Looking around, I realized that Michele Herbert and I were the only patrons left in the restaurant. It seemed like minutes since we’d walked in the door, but we’d been talking for nearly three hours.