Flames (A Special Agent Novel Book 3)

by C. P. Mandara

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” she whispered. Getting to her feet, somewhat unsteadily, she kept her eyes downcast as she approached his desk. It was a pity, as he would have quite liked to have seen the expression of apprehension, or perhaps even fear that might have lingered there.

  “Well, get on with it,” and he pushed back the castors of his chair to allow her to pass in front of him. His impatient tone was not lost on her. Practically flinging her body over his desk, he watched

  her shaking hands as they reached down to grip the hem of her skirt. As they slowly rolled the fabric upwards, he realised that the pace of her fingers was not purposefully tantalising because she fumbled more than once at her task.

  “Are you nervous?” Her hands faltered yet again, but quickly resumed the act of displaying the beginnings of a very pert set of buttocks.

  “Yes,” her voice was throaty. She appeared to take control of herself and began rolling the material back with renewed purpose.

  “Your tanned flesh is beautiful. I’m going to enjoy taking that backside later. When was the last time you indulged in anal sex, Marianna?” He was being mean and he knew it, but watching her squirm uncomfortably on the desk, he wanted to know if he aroused her.

  “When I was under the instruction of James Entwell, Sir, about two years ago.”

  Good Lord, had she been in his office that long? He wondered who had had the pleasure of using her. Without realising it, he found he’d asked the question out loud, because the next thing he knew she was answering it.

  “No-one Sir, since my induction about eighteen months ago.”

  “You mean to tell me that you have had no penetrative sex in eighteen months?” Mark’s voice was somewhat incredulous and he shook his head in amazement. Surely that little snippet of information couldn’t be true. Distracted for a moment, he watched as the uppermost curve of her ass was gradually revealed and already his cock was pulsing behind his trousers. He suspected that Marianna’s body would have to be fucked several times and in many different ways for it to be sated. If she’d really gone eighteen months without sex, he’d have to go gentle, dammit.

  “Does a vibrator count, Sir?”

  Mark slammed his head against the backrest of his chair. She was serious. He knew full well that she’d had no partners, because he paid for the security which guarded the apartment block which housed all of his submissives and they were not allowed callers of any kind except for family members. When they were out and about, they were watched and any fraternisation of a sexual nature would guarantee instant dismissal. The idea was to keep them hot and horny at all times, but the thought that not one of the dignitaries, clients or visitors that were allowed the use of his staff had picked her, made him somewhat perplexed. She was a beautiful woman, so why had no-one required her services before now?

  “No, it does not.” He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the tips of his fingertips. Fine, he’d go gentle, but she was still getting a taste of his belt. He’d been looking forward to that part.

  The skirt moved higher and higher. The further the skirt peeled back, the harder it became to breathe. He noticed the disobedient woman was wearing panties, which she’d pay for later, and the only thing it did was fan the flames.

  “Were you aware that I require my submissives to forgo their underwear at all times when in the confines of my office?” He generally let them get away with wearing a bra, especially if they had a generous-sized cleavage, but there were zero exceptions to the ‘no panties’ rule.

  “Yes.”

  At least she was honest. Now that her fingertips had stopped moving, he admired the whole expanse of her tanned backside and noted that she either sunbathed ‘au natural’ or used one of the tanning tubes in the beauty salon that all his ‘ladies’ had an account with.

  He stood up and bent his large frame over hers. “Place your hands beside your head.” His long arms, still encased in his suit jacket, helped guide them into place. “And what made you think you could flaunt my rules?” He bent down to whisper the sentence in her ear and noted that her body trembled. For the second time, he wondered if she would be wet for him. He would soon find out.

  Marianna made an audible gulp before she answered his question. He noted, with some amusement, the two bright spots of colour that had just bloomed upon her cheeks. It took a moment for her to reply. “After a year of not being called upon, I figured no-one would mind too much if I wore panties.”

  It was a reasonable answer, but it didn’t excuse her behaviour in the least. “Do I, or do I not pay an awful lot of money to have you at my beck and call, Marianna?”

  “Yes, Sir, you do.” Marianna’s bank account had a ridiculous sum in it to testify to the fact.

  “I have very few rules in this office. I wonder if a disobedient little slut such as yourself, would be able to remember them all?”

  She remained silent, but then, he hadn’t expected anything else. Placing a palm underneath her body, just below her left breast, he smiled when he felt for her heartbeat. It was easy enough to detect, the thing was trying to make a break for it. “Calm down, Marianna. I’m not an ogre.” His fingers caressed each little bump of her rib cage and he smiled when her heart appeared to pound harder. So, at least she found him attractive. “What were those rules again, my dear?” His voice was that of a master seducer’s and dripped with hunger.

  “Sir. All submissives are required to be clean shaven, wear no panties and not indulge in any sexual activities unless prior permission from yourself or staff has been given, Sir.”

  “Where did you obtain permission for the use of your vibrator?” Mark was curious. He’d never spoken to the girl on any matter remotely sexual. She would be aware that if she was caught in her rooms bringing herself to orgasm she would be liable for instant dismissal, as per her contract. All of the rooms in each submissives apartment had cameras and although they were not monitored 24/7, it was usually a good enough deterrent for them to behave.

  “I asked your secretary, Sir.”

  “You asked Cecilia?” This time, his jaw dropped open. Cecilia was his private secretary. She was approaching her sixtieth birthday and had been with him right from the start, over fifteen years ago when he had first dipped his toes into the world of commerce. Whilst she knew about his sexually

  deviant nature, she chose to distance herself to that side of his dealings and few of his submissives would dare to approach her with anything more than a perfunctory request. Her stern glance and vicious-looking shoulder pads usually kept the girls at arms-length.

  “Yes.” “What did she say?”

  Marie paused for a second. “She took pity on me because I was a brunette. She did say not to bother her with ‘these type of requests’ too often, though.”

  Mark laughed. “I’ll bet she did.” That woman would have some great tales to tell when she retired, had she not signed an NDA, of course. His curiosity had been piqued yet again, though. “How many times did you ask her?”

  “Just the once, I couldn’t summon enough courage to ask her again.”

  “You mean to tell me, that in the past 18 months, you’ve had precisely one orgasm?” Mark could not believe what he was hearing. She simply nodded in response. “Have you missed sex, Marianna?”

  “Oh, yes, Sir.” There was no doubt that her answer was in the affirmative bracket.

  “Well, on the plus side, I guess you’ve got a lot of joyful catching up to do.” Spanning a hand across her cheek, ensuring that her head would stay on the table, he entwined a lock of her beautiful chestnut hair on his index finger and then tugged at it sharply. Her eyes became luminous with need. “Do you like pain, Marianna? Would it arouse you to suffer a little, under my hand?”

  “Yes Sir. I would like that.” It was a standard response; whether it was true or not remained to be seen. The girl had been expertly voice trained; her breathy little whisper gave nothing away. He’d see how good she really was, when they tested the theory in a few min
utes. If she could school her features under the cruel bite of his belt she’d be a bloody good actress.

  “Have you broken any more of my rules, by any chance?” He pressed his lips to the pulse point on her neck and lathed at the area with his tongue. Thud, thud, thud went the traitorous beat.

  “No, Sir.”

  “Let’s check, shall we?” He stood up and let his right hand trace a leisurely path down the side of her body until he reached her ass. He then let two of his fingers walk down the valley of her backside until the soft peaks denied him further access. He scooped his fingers under the thin, white lace of her panties and pulled roughly. The flimsy elastic didn’t stand a chance. Ripping the offensive material away from her body and discarding the remains on the floor, he cupped her sex. When his fingers brushed the smooth expanse of her soft, shaven pussy, she jumped up like she’d been shot. She was wet alright. Letting his fingers arch into the fluid heat of her body, his efforts were rewarded when he felt a trickle of liquid slide down his finger. She was aroused, ripe and oh-so ready for him. He curved both his middle and index finger into a crook shape and began to torment her clit. Marianna was certainly due an orgasm, but seeing as how she hadn’t had one in months, a few more minutes here and there probably wouldn’t hurt. He stopped fingering her and laughed at the little petulant moan she gave him.

  “Kneel before me.” Her body slithered down the table and she was on her hands and knees quickly. He expected the woman thought she was down there for a blow job. She was in for a shock. “Remove my belt, Marianna, using nothing more than your teeth and then beg to feel its vengeance.” Yes, there was the delightful gaze of disbelief in her eyes. He had been right.

  A few minutes later, when her teeth were still working to free the tight leather, he wished he had asked to have been blown. Having her hot breath torment the sensitive skin of his cock was a torture all of its own. If he ended up staining his suit, it would serve him right.

  When she finally freed his belt, it was not a moment too soon. The image of her grasping the leather between her teeth, with its tails poking out of each side of her mouth would stay with him for some time to come.

  “Back over the table, Marianna, and start begging.”

  Buy ‘Named and Shamed’ from Amazon, Kobo, B&N, iTunes and Smashwords.

  The Velvet Chair

  My name is Mark Matthews. I own half of London, and the part I don’t own, I’m working on.

  Life was all going swimmingly well until Michael Redcliff entered my life, demanding that I marry his daughter. Actually, swap demand for blackmail. He’s got goods on me that I want no one else to see, so for the time being I need to be his little lapdog.

  I’ll marry his daughter. I’ll give him all the status, money and power he can handle... for as long as it takes me to get a divorce. You see, I can’t renege on our little arrangement – but she can. I give her a week. One week and she’ll be screaming the place down for her legal counsel.

  I am never wrong.

  Chapter One - Mark

  It felt like a death sentence around my neck. Marriage. The mere idea was a suffocating blanket of dread that was slowly beginning to strangle me. Each step I took towards my impending nuptials had me itching to run away in the opposite direction, as far and as fast as my legs could carry me - but that wasn’t going to be possible. I would be marrying Jennifer Courtney Redcliff in exactly one week’s time and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. As my body was once again consumed by feelings of utter helplessness and fury, I had to resist the urge to punch something.

  I could not believe how easily I had been duped. I still had no idea what Michael Redcliff’s end game was, but I had now made it my mission in life to find out. Whilst it was clear he wanted me to suffer in every way imaginable, judging by what he had done to me in the abandoned Greyson building, I was still no closer to discovering what it was he actually wanted. Quite a few theories had been flying around my head but I had nothing concrete. He could be after money, property, status, power, or something else entirely. The not knowing frustrated me. Even though I had Khalil, my head of Intel, working on the problem twenty-four seven, he’d not managed to unearth anything of consequence yet. He had advised me to make the entire staff of my office redundant, and to my chagrin I had found myself doing exactly that. After one key employee’s colossal betrayal, I was prepared to take no more risks with my general wellbeing. Though I bore no scars from Redcliff’s and Katrina’s hands, I had frequently begun to look over my shoulder wherever I found myself alone, and I didn’t much like the feeling.

  The first thing I wanted to do was get my hands on Miss Morreau. How in hell she’d managed to slip through the net and enter my employment, only to betray me less than two years later, was something I clearly needed to look into. Of course I knew Redcliff was behind the mess, but I wanted to find out just how much she knew. If Khalil managed to unearth the dark hole she’d managed to hide herself in, I would show her exactly the same courtesy she’d shown me. She’d be drugged, kidnapped, and strung up, before being hung out to dry. I would find out everything I needed to know and my methods of torture were as good, if not better than Redcliff’s. I might not be quite as extreme, but I took a certain satisfaction in a job well done. Miss Morreau had better pray I never managed to lay eyes on her again, or I was going to make her wish she’d never set foot on this earth. My thoughts maddeningly returned to Jennifer.

  I wanted to make that woman bleed so badly. Already, I could picture myself wrapping my hands around her neck and squeezing until every last breath of life inside her evaporated. Lucky for her, they were just dark thoughts. I was not a murderer. Well, not yet at any rate. In a couple of weeks’ time, after the traitorous, lying bitch had walked down the aisle with me, there was a possibility I might change my mind. Scrap that. Death wouldn’t be nearly as painful as the torments I had in mind for my bride, and I fully intended that she would pay dearly for her crimes. If she wanted to play with me, then I was more than capable of taking her on, except this time I would fight dirty. If Miss Morreau was in for a hard time, Jennifer Redcliff would be made to think that an eternity in hell was a summer camp, when compared to a single week with me.

  Currently, I was plotting the worst possible ordeals that I could heap upon my future wife, so that she would feel compelled to divorce me immediately. I was aiming to have her screaming for her legal counsel inside of a week, give or take a couple of days. I had considered the idea of getting the marriage annulled, but that wasn’t going to be possible if I didn’t want to lie in a court of law. Yes, believe it or not, I still had some morals, no matter how questionable they may be. You see I fully intend to fuck the living daylights out of my future wife. Even though I now knew her for a scheming, conniving wretch, I also knew that as soon as I saw her, my body was going to go into overdrive. She has an effect on me much like heroin, addictive and deadly in the wrong dose. As much as I cursed my weakness, I didn’t think I’d manage to make it through a week of celibacy if she was under my roof, and there was no possibility of playing around because the risks were too high. So, if I wanted to expend some of my ample energy and sexual tension, there would be only one way to do so. I smiled. Miss Redcliff was about to reap her own sweet rewards. Except they wouldn’t be very sugary, and when I was pissed I was a whole lot of creative. Oh, the things I had planned for that woman. Conjugal rights didn’t even come into the equation. I was going to own that body and mind for a week, and when she left my abode she’d be lucky if she wasn’t scarred for life. She might have expertly planned my downfall, but now it was my turn to plan hers. I was going to break that girl down piece by piece until her screams were deafening, and her tears formed a veritable ocean. I was going to be the ultimate bastard and I would show no mercy. Lie to me once, shame on you, lie to me twice, shame on me. I’d already decided that after our wedding day, she’d get no further opportunities to lie. She’d either learn to keep quiet or I’d have her jaw wired shut. The idea had me
rit. I’d add that to my arsenal of threats and torments to inflict upon her.

  I was prepared to pull out all the stops to get rid of her as quickly as possible. I was going to fuck with her head in the worst possible way and just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, I was going to shovel a load of new cerebral bombs her way, until there wasn’t much grey matter left. At this moment in time I honestly didn’t care what state I left her in, all I cared about was my freedom. They might temporarily steal it from me, but there was no question I would be claiming it back. I was not going to be used as a pawn in Redcliff’s happy-ever-after plan, whatever that might be. Realistically, and upon given the right incentives, I knew that Jennifer would be relatively easy to control. Getting even with the old man was going to prove a much harder task, I suspected, but damned if I didn’t relish a good challenge. Grinding his face into the dirt was going to give me an extraordinary amount of pleasure and I was prepared to spend a lot of money, and I meant a lot, to ensure the job was done properly.

  Fuck Redcliff, fuck Marianna, and Jennifer, well; she had better fucking brace herself, too. I was rip-roaring mad and my temper, which was normally tightly leashed and carefully controlled, was nearing DEFCON 1. Tension rippled through my body, bile bubbled up my throat, and blood solidified in my veins. I would have my pound of flesh, so help me god. Everyone who had wronged me was going to feel the wrath of my vengeance, and just like Icarus, they were going to burn. I might not be able to control the path of my destiny right now, but I would damn well be shaping my future. A week gave me plenty of time to plot and scheme, and I was extremely good at both. The inactivity was going to kill me, though. Seven days was a long time when you were trapped with nothing but ugly, dark thoughts inside your head.