Chapter One: The Paris Encounter
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Paris was at its most intoxicating in the summer evenings, when the setting sun bathed the city's winding streets with a golden light. The warm air was heavy with the scent of cigarettes, wine, and opportunities. CIA Agent Samantha "Sam" Richards relished these Human Intelligence (HUMINT) gathering assignments by the Directorate of Operations, as if she were a cat relishing the chase with a mouse. She sat at the cocktail bar of the opulent Hotel Lutetia, scanning her blue eyes across the leather seats of the bar as she slowly sipped her French 75 and pretended to be a ditzy, well-to-do American tourist.
An international economic summit had brought together an eclectic mix of diplomats, economists, financial elites, and political power brokers, all cloaked in the grandeur of a city that reveled in its own sense of history. But for Richards, the leisure class were just noise in the background. She was on a mission to infiltrate the evening soiree and gather HUMINT on Edouard Durand: the French investment banker with concerning ties to Chinese government officials. She narrowed her eyes on the prize - documents in an encrypted tablet that Durand brought with him.
For now, her role was simple: blend in, smile at the right people, ask seemingly harmless questions. She was good at this game. Too good, perhaps, since it was the only life she'd ever known after graduating. She took another sip of her gin and champagne, her eyes narrowing as she spotted her target across the room, deep in conversation with a group of African Union delegates. Durand was mid-fifties, balding, with a predatory sort of charm--dangerous, yes, but not smart enough to know how many people had their eyes on him.
It would be easy to approach him, spin a conversation, and slip out of the party with everything she needed. But as she made her way through the crowd, her instincts--those finely honed instincts--pricked at the back of her neck.
Someone was watching her.
Richards smoothly navigated through the chattering elites, her steps slow and deliberate as she inched closer to Durand. Her eyes briefly flitted over the delegation, noting the stiff posture of their aides and the careful glances they exchanged. No surprises there. What caught her attention was the Chinese man standing just behind Durand--tall, with a sharp jawline, neatly combed obsidian hair, and dark, calculating eyes.
He didn't quite fit the profile of a banker. Too sharp, too composed. Dressed impeccably in a charcoal-gray suit, his stance was relaxed, but there was something in the way he scanned the room that felt...familiar. Like her, he was hunting.
Their eyes locked.
Just for a second, but it was enough. There was an unspoken recognition--both of them knew they weren't like the others mingling here. His gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have. For the briefest second, the corner of his lips twitched and his eyes glinted, as though he'd found something amusing.
Richards felt the prickle at the back of her neck intensify. She tore her eyes away and continued walking toward Durand, but her senses were on high alert. She could feel the man's eyes on her even as she approached her target.
She sidled up next to Durand, her expression the picture of playful innocence as she brushed her tousled blonde hair from her cheek. "Oh my God, Edouard Durand?" she exclaimed with just the right amount of breathless excitement, flashing a brilliant smile. "You won't remember me, but I'm sure we met last year at the Montreux Symposium. I remember you being absolutely fascinating--something about the Shanghai Stock Exchange?"
Durand, ever the predator, turned to her, his eyes flicking over her as he smiled indulgently. "I'm afraid I don't recall," he said, though the predatory glint in his eyes showed he was more than willing to play along. "But I'd be happy for you to refresh my memory."
As Richards leaned in, making polite conversation, she could still feel the man's gaze--cool and steady, like he was waiting for her to make a mistake. She'd done enough surveillance to know when she was being observed, and this wasn't some casual onlooker. No, this was a professional.
She flicked her eyes back toward him, just for a heartbeat. He was closer now, mingling with the crowd, but still watching her--watching them.
Richards' stomach twisted with something unfamiliar. It wasn't fear, but anticipation. Excitement.
"Well, Mr. Durand, thank you for your WhatsApp" she said, her smile never faltering, "I'd love to discuss China more in depth, but I have to mingle a bit before they think I'm monopolizing you. I'll catch you later?"
"Of course," Durand replied, his eyes following her as she drifted away.
She retreated toward the bar, every step measured, her mind racing. Who was this man? And why did she feel like she'd just walked into a game she wasn't entirely in control of?
The air shifted, and suddenly, he was next to her. The mysterious man from before, close enough that she could catch the faint scent of his cologne--something woodsy: subtle, but commanding.
"I think you might have the wrong drink for this crowd," he murmured, his voice low and velvety, a hint of an unplaceable accent in his English. He gestured to her French 75. "It's a little too American, don't you think?"
She turned to face him, her smile calm but her pulse racing. "Funny, I was about to say the same thing about your suit," she replied smoothly. "It's a little too sharp for a banker."
He chuckled softly, his eyes dark with amusement. "Well, appearances can be deceiving."
She arched an eyebrow. "So can people."
His smile widened just a fraction, and for a moment, the space between them felt charged, like something unspoken was happening beneath the surface. "Li Yiming," he said softly, extending his hand. "Just passing through. And you are?"
Richards didn't miss a beat. "Samantha. Just a tourist."
His hand lingered in hers for a second too long, and she could feel the static crackling between them. He leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. "Be careful, Sam. Paris has a way of swallowing people whole."
And just like that, he was gone, slipping into the crowd as if he'd never been there.
But Richards knew she wasn't imagining it. The game had just begun.
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Richards found herself standing before the door to Edouard Durand's penthouse suite in the Hotel Lutetia. The hotel corridor's art-deco elegance dripped with the kind of wealth Durand surrounded himself with, but for her, this was just another battlefield. She smoothed her dress, took a steadying breath, and knocked on the door.
Durand answered with a lazy grin, his speech a little slurred from too many cocktails. "Ah, Samantha," he drawled, swaying slightly. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
She gave him a dazzling smile. "I couldn't resist. I've always found power... intoxicating."
His grin widened as he stepped aside to let her in. The suite was as opulent as she expected--plush furniture and a cozy balcony with an intimate view of a courtyard where she'd lounge on to read a murder mystery if she wasn't here on business.
Richards wasted no time. She sauntered inside, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor, her gaze sweeping the room for any sign of the encrypted tablet she was here to retrieve. It didn't take long. There it was, resting innocuously on the glass coffee table.
But getting to it would require patience. And distraction.
She turned to Durand, who had already poured another drink, his eyes lingering hungrily on her. She accepted the glass of wine he offered, making sure to brush her fingers against his in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.
"To us," he said, raising his glass with a grin.
"To us," she echoed, her lips curving into a playful smile as she took a sip. She had to play this carefully, let him think he was in control, even though they both knew that wasn't the case.
Durand was talking, saying something about the summit, his accomplishments, and deals he'd closed. Richards laughed in all the right places, her fingers grazing his arm, her body language drawing him in closer. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and expectant.
As the evening wore on, Durand's speech became slower, slurred. He was losing his edge, and she knew it was time to strike.
She moved closer, her lips dangerously close to his ear as she whispered sweet nothings, her hand trailing down his chest. His breath hitched as he leaned into her, his wine glass forgotten on the table.
She pulled tautly at the belt buckle on his trousers before tracing her hands in circles inside. Each sliding of fabric was coordinated as if she were a ballerina. When she knelt down to face the bulge of gray fabric in front of her, she pulled off his briefs in one swift motion.
Durand's cock sprang to attention in front of her, as if it were a rifle ready to fire. Richards wrapped her fingers delicately around his member and leaned in. She flicked her tongue, once, twice, before taking the head into her mouth and swirling her tongue around. She glided her tongue and mouth up and down his bulging, hard penis. Durand moaned with a lecherous satisfaction.
Richards swallowed his cock whole, wrapping her tongue alongside the underside of his penis. She began to bob her head up and down, sucking as if she could somehow procure the documents through a blowjob. She pushed her head all the way down and felt his cock reach the back of her throat, before pulling back completely and hungrily gasping for air. A string of saliva and precum briefly drooped between her lips and his cock. She went down to take his left ball into her mouth. She sucked gently, swirling her tongue, while continuing to stroke her hand up and down his penis. Durand gasped and moaned, his glutes tightening and raising his body up slightly when Richards worked her mission. Richards returned to swallow his hard dick, cupping one hand up to massage his balls. She looked up into his soul and retreated her head. With a pop, she looked at Durand and told him seductively: "I want to feel you inside of me."
