My Dirtiest Secret: Fucking the French President in His Private Boudoir
The direct ends. Lights dim. Crew packs up. Heart hammers in my chest. I’m the BBC journalist. Tall, sharp-suited, accent crisp. He nods at me. ‘Private interview now.’ We slip into his boudoir. Door clicks shut. Thick carpet swallows steps. Velvet walls. King bed looms. My Private Locker creaks open. No more holding back. Adrenaline…