Embers: A Dark Romance Love Triangle (A Special Agent Novel Book 5)

by C. P. Mandara

  “Next time, I’m really going to make it hurt, Lois. Are you ready?”

  I give in and spread my legs. If he continues to pinch me, I’m liable to spill my coffee everywhere, and that will cause a scene. It will also mean I turn up to Il Piacere looking like a tramp and smelling like the inside of a Starbuck’s.

  “Good girl.” He leans over to kiss my cheek, just like a lover would, but I know he’s about to sink the knife in, and he does. “While I know I technically work for ‘you’ on this assignment, you should know that I won’t tolerate disobedience from my submissive. It’s your job to get into character for our little sojourn to Naples, and that starts now. You do whatever I tell you, or there will be consequences – ones that you won’t like.” I swallow. He’s deadly serious. The man is going to make me climax in the middle of an aeroplane full of people. My eyes blink furiously, as I try to figure a way out of this.

  “If I were you, I’d drink that coffee as fast as you can. If there’s any still left in that cup in five minutes' time, it will be all over the place.” James sounds mightily smug, and he has every right to be. As soon as two of his fingers enter my pussy, while his thumb rides my clit, I know I just played with fire – and I’m about to get third-degree burns.

  Heeding his advice, I do my best to drink a few hot sips of coffee, while his fingers torture me. Two days’ worth of unsated lust resides inside me, and it’s not going to take long for him to unleash it. I’m almost frothing at the mouth as it is.

  James keeps his face close to mine, as his fingers work inside me, enjoying watching me squirm. I, on the other hand, stare straight ahead, trying my best to look as if nothing out of the ordinary is going on.

  “How’s the coffee, Lois? Still hot?” James asks his question as his fingers pound inside me hard, his thumb grazing my clit with white hot heat. I can’t think.

  “I… You… Bas...” I am physically incapable of speech.

  “Basic? Well, you’re a long way from home up here. I’m sure the attendants are doing the best they can manage. What a fussy thing you are, Lois. Here, let me help you with that.” James downs the rest of my coffee and three seconds later all the rampant desire that has been running unchecked through my body for the last two days bursts like a dam as I go off with a colossal bang. My hips jerk up, my throat utters a shocked gasp, while the rest of me trembles wildly. Oh, my fucking God.

  “Is she alright?” The gentleman on the end of the row has now noticed my state of bliss/distress, and concern lines his face.

  “She’s fine,” James assures him, discretely moving his hand. “She’s just a bit scared of flying and turbulence makes her go crazy.” He motions with his finger going around his temple in circles and both of them laugh. His hands are now on top of his jacket, and for all intents and purposes nothing happened here. My body knows differently, though. I’ve been chewed up, spat out, and smashed to smithereens.

  We don’t say a word all the way to Il Piacere. The tension in the back of the car is so thick, I can’t move for fear of cutting myself on it. There’s a vein throbbing in James’s neck, just below his ear, so I know he’s feeling it, too. At least the miserable sense of desperation I’ve been feeling has lifted. I wonder if James knew how much I’d needed that release? The answer is: probably. Nearly everything James does has a purpose, and I suspect that little stunt on the plane was to get me used to a decent helping of humiliation, while he also told me who was boss. He needn’t have worried on that score. I know it’s not me.

  Looking out of the window, I find nothing but dry scrub and brush land. Naples is warmer than Monaco, and I am now being gently thawed out after the frigid air-conditioning on the aircraft. A flimsy silk dress is not an ideal travelling companion, let me tell you. It’s just right for southern Italy, though. Before long, brush gives way to industrial complexes, which burst out of the ground with shopping malls, supermarkets and petrol stations. There’s no one much about at the moment, but it’s still siesta time, so everyone’s snoozing. In a few hours’ time the streets will wake up with exuberant Italians, looking immaculate in their own brand of chic European style and class. They will be waving their arms about as they talk animatedly, while generally taking life at a more leisurely pace than us Brits. At least, that’s the impression I get. I’ve been known to be wrong before.

  As we leave the industrial zone and head towards the marina, things get more exciting. I can spot a few sexy Italian men loitering around the city, and the women are breath-taking in their elegance. I immediately feel out of place, even though Alain made sure I had a full pampering session before I left. My hair has been neatly trimmed and styled, and I’ve been plucked bald and made smooth practically everywhere else. I have also been supplied with ample quantities of make-up and all the feminine care products I could ever hope to need. At least I’ll smell nice.

  When we hit the cobbles, a good indicator that we’ve arrived in town, the traffic draws to a standstill. Mopeds and bicycles weave in and out of cars, and honking your horn seems to be a national pastime. Our taxi jolts and shudders painfully past beautiful historic buildings, colourful open-air markets, burbling fountains, and swaying palm trees. Without the threat of death everywhere, I could almost be on holiday. Almost.

  My head is glued to the window, soaking up every little detail until we reach our destination ten minutes later. When the taxi comes to a stop, an imposing stone town house looms in front of me, with sculpted archways and Ionic columns. It has a row of balconies above me which stretch out as far as the eye can see. This place is large on a grand scale. The garden is immaculate, the lawns are verdant, and the massive lake to the rear of the property is stunning. It screams money, and the staff scurrying everywhere in neat linen uniforms confirm this.

  James waits for the electric wooden gates to close behind us before he turns to me.

  “Take your shoes off and get ready to enter on your knees.”

  My eyes blink at him. We are ten metres away from the house and a long line of cobbles lead up to the entrance. This isn’t going to be pleasant. How can I be graceful doing that from the side of a car? Nevertheless, I will obey and try to look like I know what I’m doing.

  When the taxi driver opens the car door for me, I have no idea what he thinks as I immediately drop to my knees and begin crawling, but I have better things to worry about.

  I can hear James thanking him in Italian, ‘Grazie, Signore,’ before he enquires after the fare and pays our tab. Meanwhile, I am trying my best to crawl up the stone steps to the front of the house. The stone is abrasive underneath me and it rips my stockings to shreds. Moving forward as carefully as I can, I try to limit the damage to my wrists and knees. As I approach the front door, James catches up with me, and fastens a leash and chain around my neck. I feel like a pet poodle.

  Pausing at the entrance, we wait to be acknowledged. James stands tall and looks sartorially elegant in his fitted suit and brightly polished shoes. I do my best to look as poised as I can on a little red mat beside him, with my eyes dipped to the floor. When a liveried butler finally rounds the corner and spots us, he apologises for keeping us waiting and shouts several orders which send people running towards us in all directions. The staff are mostly concerned with our room and luggage, and everything is dealt with efficiently. James then talks about the itinerary for this evening, and he is informed there will be a copy of it sent up to us soon. With that, we are led away to a grand wooden staircase, which is hell on my knees, but at the top of it, I am greeted by a thick, plush carpet. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I almost sigh as my knees sink into it. I swear James can hear me because I hear him chuckle.

  Crawling as fast as I can, I try my best to keep up as we are shown to our room. Half my ass must be on display because the dress was short to begin with, but I guess that’s the point. I have no idea why I’m worrying about this stuff, anyway. I have much more important things to occupy my thoughts with these days.

  “Welcome to Il Piacere
, Mr and Mrs Reyes. I do hope you have a pleasant stay with us.” The porter beams at James, which is appropriate because I suspect he’s going to have much more fun in this place than I am. No one bothers to glance my way, even though half of my ass is hanging out of my dress. Actually, maybe that’s why I’m studiously ignored. Awkward? Not much.

  “And here we are.” The porter inserts a brass key in the door, twists it carefully, and then stands back to let us in. I shuffle forwards with James tugging at my leash. “If you need anything else, Sir, just dial 812. We are at your service.” With that he hands the key to James and closes the door quietly behind him.

  The room is massive. There’s a large four-poster bed that completely takes up the back of the room and it’s covered in deep red drapes. The cream bedcover is embroidered with lots of tiny, burgundy Fleur-de-Lys and looks very inviting. I could do with a nap. As my eyes dart around the room, I spot heavy gilt frames housing Renaissance art that features plenty of naked bodies and smiling faces. Are they supposed to get us in the mood? There’s also an old, antique armoire with curling brass handles and a matching desk in mahogany tones. Thankfully, there’s more carpet beneath me. If there’d been a hardwood floor, I think I might have cried. My eyes return to the bed, appreciating its beauty and grandeur.

  “I wouldn’t get too attached to it. You sleep over there.” James points to a corner beside the door, where a large fur rug resides. It doesn’t look particularly inviting or warm. I close my eyes and count to ten. This is just another challenge, Lois. It will all be over in a few hours. Calm down. That’s easier said than done, though.

  The shimmering gold band on my ring finger, still feels strange. I don’t want it there. It feels heavy and oppressive and is a constant reminder of my status here as the ‘little woman.’ It’s worse than the collar around my neck. Perhaps I’m protesting too much. Perhaps the real reason I hate that metal band so much is because I’d dearly love one of my own from James, and I know that’s something I’ll never have. If wishes were horses…

  There’s a rustle of clothing being removed, and I watch as James takes off his jacket and hangs it up. He then gets rid of his tie and undoes a button on his shirt. A knock at the door distracts me, but it’s just the bellhop delivering our bags. Mine is twice the size of James’s because I swear I have fifteen outfits in there. For three days! I’m going to be paraded around like a prize piece of meat, but I can cope with that. We just need to find that shipment of coke. When everything goes silent once more, I look sideways at James, wondering what’s going to happen next. I daren’t speak to him or look him in the eye, but I’m very curious. This is his world. He’s the expert here, and I’m just the interloper. I have to remember that and try to be on my best behaviour at all times. I have a feeling this might be harder than I originally thought.

  When James finally decides to speak to me again, it’s to tell me off.

  “The defiance I witnessed back there on the aircraft can’t happen here. There’s too much at stake, Lois, and you could be hurt – badly.”

  I want to groan. I hadn’t realised we were in scene back there, but to fair, James hasn’t broken it with me since we started training. I should have known better.

  “What do you say, Lois?” He squats down in front of me and tips my chin up, letting me know I can look at him.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. It won’t happen again.” My blood begins to hammer in my ears. I have a feeling I know what is coming next, and James doesn’t disappoint me.

  “You’re damn right it won’t. Bend yourself over that desk and pull your skirt up around your waist.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I whisper. All the air leaves my body as I press the side of my face into the cold mahogany of the desk. It is polished to such a high shine, that I can almost see my face in it, and magazines are scattered all around me. Dominants obviously like reading in their spare time. The glossy covers are all male-orientated, focusing on topics like finance, current affairs, and sport. There isn’t anything aimed at women. I’m guessing the ladies here don’t have much time for reading.

  Drawing my skirt up slowly over my ass, I bunch it around my waist and wait. Cool air hits my naked backside and sex, and I feel myself clench tightly in anticipation. James lets me wait, concentrating on unloading our suitcases. Only when he is satisfied that everything is in its proper place does his attention return to me.

  When he is finally standing behind me, my pussy floods with heat. This is the standard ‘James’ reaction, and I can do nothing about it. These days it’s rather humiliating, especially as he can’t stand the sight of me, but there it is. I can’t stop it, and I certainly can’t control it.

  He waits there for a minute or two, and I can feel his eyes staring down at me before his hand gently reaches out to caress my ass. The touch is gentle and unexpected. I groan.

  “Oh, Lois,” he whispers. “What am I going to do with you?” I hope he doesn’t expect an answer to that question because I have no idea.

  James begins by kneading the flesh on my ass, gently at first, his touch becoming a little firmer as time wears on. I’m being prepped for a spanking and damned if I don’t find the idea incredibly arousing.

  “Who is it that you want, Lois? I’m never sure if it’s Adie, Alain or myself? Or are you greedy and want more than one? Or is this all an elaborate act, and in reality you want none of us?” I don’t answer that question, either. I want James, but I can’t have him. Since I don’t have a bottle of fairy dust, or a genie with which to do my bidding, I’m not going to let myself enter the realms of fantasy. Thankfully, James doesn’t press me on it.

  The first spank of his hand is firm and determined. It makes me gasp. If this is James easing me in, things are going to get rather heated soon. I nearly tense up at the thought but manage to stop myself. I need to get into my submissive headspace.

  “This is going to hurt, and you’re going to cry,” he informs me. “It’s part of the game around these parts. Now I know full well you can cry to order, Lois, so if you see me rubbing my eyes in a scene, that means turn on the waterworks. It will get you out of a few awkward spots with any luck. Nod if you understand.”

  I do. “Yes, Sir,” I whisper as confirmation. “After the tank I’m going to do every damn thing you tell me to.” I mean it. We’re not taking any risks with Adie’s life on the line.

  James snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” He takes a slow breath as if he’s considering what to say next. I want to tell him to get on with it, but I’m not allowed, so I keep quiet. “I might as well mention there’s a good possibility that other men will be fucking you while you’re here. Is that going to be a problem?”

  I shake my head, remembering to answer, “No, Sir.” Actually, for the first time in my life it is a problem, but I’m not going to think about it. The L bomb fucks people over in the worst way, and it looks like I’m going to catch the short end of the stick.

  “Good.” He then ploughs his hand furiously into my backside until my legs go weak and my knees begin to buckle, and god help me, as much as it hurts, it also turns me on in the worst way.

  Chapter Twelve - James

  My hand is burning through her ass, hydrochloric acid style, as soon as she answers my question. She might not mind if lots of other men fuck her, but I sure as hell do. This assignment is a pile of crap designed to test the limits of my sanity, and I know damn well Alain has put me up to this on purpose. He knows how much I care about Lois. That fucker knows everything. Slowing my hand down because it really bloody stings now, I then say, “And how about women? How do you feel about those?” I’ve only seen her with a woman once – Sharkey, and she seemed fine, but if she isn’t, she needs to tell me.

  “I don’t have a problem with women, either. Or any other variant of men and women that you might like to come up with, Sir.” Cheeky fucker.

  “Watch your mouth and be respectful,” I grunt, giving her another series of hard whacks. There are no tears yet. Her ass must
be smarting, like flesh upon hot metal, but she doesn’t make a murmur.

  “You’re aroused aren’t you?” I don’t wait for her to answer the question, just shove two fingers inside her. The slip in like she was made for me. Jesus Christ. I could be here all day.

  “So fucking aroused, Sir. You have no idea.” I do. She isn’t getting anything else from me this afternoon, though.

  “Show me waterworks, Lois. My fucking hand aches.”

  I pick her up and cradle her ass in my arms. Moving over to the bed, I watch her closely, wondering if she’ll be able to pull off her stunt at close quarters. It takes her a minute or two, under my close scrutiny, but sure enough the tears begin to fall, and once they begin there is no stopping them.

  “Kiel?” I ask. I’m guessing that’s her trigger. I wonder if she’ll still be able to pull this off when the pain is less raw. It’s a handy talent to have in her line of business.

  “Kiel,” she confirms, nodding her head. “Permission to speak, Sir?”

  I nod, rocking her body against mine. I still can’t bear to see a woman upset, and although I have now hardened myself to it, the feeling is uncomfortable.

  “Did you kill Alaina?”

  My fingers stiffen around her body. I really don’t want to discuss this, but she probably has a right to know. If she ends up under Alain’s knives for me, it’s only fair I tell her what this is all about.

  “Yes.” Lois recoils. I can feel her body shrinking in on itself, but there’s nowhere to go. I’ve got her, and she’s not escaping until I’ve let her go. She needs to hear the whole story. “Not in the way you’re now thinking, but yes.” I feel the need to make that point clear.

  “Are you a mind-reader now?” she says crossly. “Fine, what am I thinking?” Lois’s tears are slowly drying up as she looks at me. Now I can almost look at her without my gut clenching in knots.

  “You’re thinking I either shot her or wrapped my hands around her throat, or some such nonsense.” My voice is soft and soothing. I continue to rock her until she relaxes once more.