Fire (A Special Agent Novel Book 4)

by C. P. Mandara

  My head felt heavy. Was it concussion? I knew I was dreaming because everything around me had that floaty, nebulous feel that is only present when I’m locked into REM sleep. Even so, I felt distinctly odd. It was as if someone had picked up my body and was shaking it around, rattling me from the inside out. It disturbed the tracks of my thoughts and interrupted my downward spiral into a sexual vortex between James, Adie and myself. That was where I was trying to herd my thoughts in my trance-like state. I am such a glutton for punishment. I’d already had both of them today, and yet here I was, desperate for another encounter. This couldn’t continue. Although I might have the morals of an alley cat while at work, when I was on my own time, I was monogamous - or I always had been up until now. Anything else was too complicated, and life was already complicated enough. It was obvious I couldn’t have James, so my attention needed to focus on Adie, or getting the hell out of here and giving men in general a wide berth. Which was it to be?

  Adie was everything I should avoid, of course. Fucked up, cold, manipulating, brutal, and sadistic. Ninety-nine percent of women would run screaming in the opposite direction if he came within ten metres of them. I was one of the remaining one percent that could take what he dished out and beg for more. Would it be a happy ever after between us? Doubtful. But it would be the most amazing sex ever. There was something to be said for that. The man might kill me in the process of delivering it… but still. At least I would die happy, which was more than could be said if I intended to spend too much time around James. The thought was a sobering one. Make him hate you. Make him hate you. I could repeat my mantra as often as I liked, but the truth of the matter was I didn’t want him to hate me. I was in love with him. The fact that he hadn’t tried to kill me after what I’d done to him, made me love him all the more. If that hadn’t sent me over the edge, watching him offer up his ass on a plate for me in front of Alain did the rest. He would have taken a brutal whipping and let Adie fuck him. What kind of man would do something like that for a woman? Maybe he loves you, too. As much as I hoped that might be true, I didn’t let myself linger there. It was unlikely he felt anything for me after what I’d done to him, and even if he did, there was no future for us. None. We needed to stay away from one another, and I needed to put on my assassin’s face - the cold, dispassionate, and aloof one. Where had I put that?

  Cold, cold, cold. Was it weird to feel cold while out for the count? I was pretty sure it was. I don’t ever remember being cold in a dream before, but that’s probably not saying much. I rarely remembered much of what I’d dreamt about. I’m really fucking cold. Utterly bizarre. My eyelids fluttered, the first sign I was trying to pull out of my nap, but for some reason, it was harder than usual to open my eyes. The tug of sleep was intense, but I got the feeling I needed to wake up. My internal warning system was not happy. My body temperature felt like it had dropped five degrees and I felt water splashing against my feet. This was an absurd fantasy, if you could call it that, and I’d have much rather had the one with Adie and James fucking me. Why wouldn’t my dreams do as they were told? Even in sleep, I was at war with myself.

  As far as odd went, though, there were more disturbing things. My throat was sore and bruised, and it hurt to swallow. There was a strange pressure in my mouth and the air that I was breathing felt really dry. It was as if… Holy shit.

  My eyes blinked open, to find I was naked and hanging upside down in a tank of Perspex glass. Freezing cold water was cascading down over my feet and landing around my head, and my mouth was spread open by a wide plastic breathing tube. Fuck, fuck, fuck. They’d put me in the tank while I’d been unconscious. What a bunch of reprehensible bastards. Fury burned through me, hot and raw. When I got out of here, someone would suffer. When or if? A brief tug at my hands revealed they were chained together, behind my back, and they’d encased my feet in similar restraints high above me. The tank I was in wasn’t dissimilar to a fish tank, but it was much bigger. Maybe two metres in length, and one metre in height and width.

  Do not panic. Breathing was going to be very important shortly, and if I panicked now, I might not make it out of here alive. I needed to calm myself down and figure out my escape plan or last the necessary duration until Alain got bored with me. The trouble was, every single instinct I possessed screamed at me to go fucking crazy. Somehow, I kept a lid on that sentiment, but it wanted to come out. Oh, how that beast inside me wanted to break loose and begin yelling its head off. This was just the start. When the water went over my head, things would go downhill fast.

  To add to my woes, there were two clamps over my already bruised nipples, both with balloon-style floats attached, which currently dangled on the floor of the tank. Those would get interesting as the water level rose. They’d also taped something over my clit, and though I had no idea what it was, I could imagine. At a guess, this set-up had something to do with lack of air and orgasms. All I needed to know now were the rules of the game.

  The water continued to stream around my body, propelled forward by two black hoses positioned overhead. It was coming down at an alarming rate and had already reached my forehead. I was beginning to shiver, and if my mouth hadn’t been forced open by the tube, my teeth would be chattering. This was not good. Could I get free of the cuffs? Was there anything around me that could be used as a pick?

  A quick exploration of the cage revealed nothing but smooth, flat plastic. I couldn’t see anything on the floor, but I wouldn’t have been able to reach down there, anyway, as they tied my arms behind me. I hoped Alain didn’t have a watery grave planned for me in my imminent future. I’d rather face his knives, thanks all the same. Death by drowning sounded pretty fucking horrendous.

  The water continued to rise steadily, along with my blood pressure, and when it got to my nose, the need to panic increased, but I controlled it. Where the hell was James? Hadn’t he offered to do this for Alain? I needed someone here. Christ. What if no one came? What if they left me down here on my own? What if I dropped the breathing tube? What if the air stopped? What if…

  My world then plunged into darkness and the real fun began.

  THE END

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  Turn over for previews and more!

  EMBERS

  Book Five in The Sexy Special Agent BDSM Series

  I did the unthinkable. I slept with James. It wasn’t as if I had a choice - but now that the deed is done, I am paying the price. One more mistake, and I’m dead.

  At the moment, I’m doing my best to make sure he can’t stand the sight of me. It’s not working. Every day we spend together is torture, and the more I am around the man, the more I want him. We can’t get this close and hope to stay alive.

  Our next assignment will push us to the limit in every way that matters. I’m not even sure we can work together after what I’ve done to him, but we have to rescue Adie, who is being held hostage.

  Our goal is to kill Alain, but the chances of us achieving that are virtually impossible. I can work with those odds, though. There is no other option.

  Please Help A Starving Author By Leaving A Review

  Ok, so I lied about the starving part, but books need reviews on Amazon in order to sell. Without them, they wither and die, and so do the authors. Honest.

  You don’t have to say much, and you can stay anonymous – just set your Amazon reviewer name to something like ‘Amazon Reviewer 3982.’ Anyway, here are a few examples of what you could write if you were a truly wonderful person who didn’t mind doing a good deed every now and again:

  This book was so awesome I forgot to feed my kids. Thankfully they reminded me, over and over again, so I haven’t managed to kill them yet. Phew.

  This book sucked. It was even worse than a certain president’s infamous hairdo, and that is saying something.

  James and Adie are so hot, I want a threesome
with both of them. As long as I’m allowed a safe word – because Adie is a little bit on the seriously freaky crazy side.

  I would rather read War and Peace than this ridiculous smutty drivel and nonsense. Seriously – all Mandara talks about is orgasms, sex, and hot blokes. Who wants to read about that?

  Ms. Mandara does not write quickly enough. I need her to release a book every month at the very least and she keeps me waiting for months, and worse – ends everything on a horrendous cliff hanger. I have a love/hate relationship with this author. She should probably be spanked.

  This is not a good book to read on the train. Especially when the hot guy sitting next to me kept trying to read it over my shoulder.

  Don’t ever read this book to your wife. She will demand sex for days on end and will suddenly become insatiable in bed. Seriously, I have been considering divorce…

  Any of these will do (I’m more partial to the nice ones…) and it will give you extra karma points that will be returned to you in due course in the form of cookies, money, hugs, and wine. Honest.

  THANK YOU!

  I just need to say a big thank you to all the readers that stepped up to leave me an Amazon review for ‘Sparks, Smoke, and Flames’ when I desperately pleaded for some on Facebook. You people know who you are – and you are AMAZING.

  Another big thank you to all my wonderful beta readers who always step up to the rather tricky task of reading my books before they’ve had a good edit. Without you my books would probably be unreadable as you manage to figure out that my heroine can’t see things when she’s wearing a blindfold, and that it’s really difficult for her to talk if she’s gagged. You also help me to correct my numerous errors and give me your truthful opinions, which are more valuable than pixie dust. (The stuff that makes you fly without wings). (That is what pixie dust does, right?)

  So, for everyone who’s helped me along the way, thank you, thank you, and thank you! I don’t like to name names, given the dark nature of my books, but I am sending virtual hugs instead. They are valid for the next twenty-four hours only, though. So grab ‘em quick ;)

  Love ‘n hugs to all xxx

  Bio

  Christina Mandara is a USA TODAY bestselling author and tends to write dark romance with lashings of kinky naughtiness. Her favourite pastime is travelling, and if it involves sun, sea and... sand then it's all good.

  In her spare time she's usually cuddled up with a good book, exploring the countryside or baking in the kitchen. In fact, she loves her kitchen so much she's one of few women who wouldn't mind being tied to it! Her first and foremost love is writing, however, and more often than not you'll find her on a laptop spinning tales of romance, erotica or dark, paranormal fantasies.

  She's a big fan of BDSM in all of its glorious forms, and her favourite item in the toy closet (a box simply isn't big enough) is her riding crop.

  Christina’s Social Media Hangouts:

  C.P. Mandara’s Newsletter: http://bit.ly/1MVubkR

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  Website: http://christinamandara.com

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  Amazon Author Page: http://author.to/CPMandara

  Also By C.P. Mandara:

  BDSM Erotica

  The Riding School (Pony Tales #1)

  Learning The Ropes (Pony Tales #2)

  Hot To Trot (Pony Tales #3)

  Named and Shamed (Pony Tales #4)

  A Rough Ride (Pony Tales #5)

  The Ties That Bind (Pony Tales #6)

  The Velvet Chair (Pony Tales #7, Velvet Lies #1)

  The Velvet Caress (Pony Tales #8, Velvet Lies #2)

  Paranormal Erotica and Light BDSM

  Desiring Death

  Good As Dead

  Turn over for some naughty previews!

  Named And Shamed

  GOOD EVENING

  The Mercedes coupé slunk silently through the evening traffic, sneaking in and out of lanes with stealth and speed. Like a bullet made of liquid silver, the six litre engine had eaten up several hundred miles of motorway with sublime ease and was now purring happily in the smog-filled heart of London. Comfortably stretched out in one of its grey, Nappa leather seats, the driver was in a world of his own. His knuckles were tightly clamped around the steering wheel and it was evident that the events of his day had been stressful. The bittersweet strains of Beethoven’s Moonlight

  Sonata could be heard throughout the vehicle, but the dulcet tones did not manage to soothe its occupant.

  After forty minutes of queuing, the driver finally reached his destination, exited swiftly and tossed his keys to a waiting valet. In the heart of London, the city played its usual vibrant tune and the sounds of honking horns, noisy car stereos and cursing motorists could be heard. Usually, he barely even noticed them, but this evening they appeared to be amplified to unbearable proportions. His usual smile was absent and the state of agitation he found himself in grew with each passing second. Walking purposefully towards the revolving doors of the sheet glass skyscraper that towered in front of him, the only sound that could be heard was the receptionist as she scraped back her chair and rose to greet him.

  “Good evening, Sir. I hope you had...”

  “Thank you, Lucinda.” He shut the blonde down with those three clipped words and continued walking. Initially her eyes flared with shock, but recovering quickly, she looked carefully at the floor before re-seating herself. She didn’t quite manage to hide her disappointed expression. Although they had been intimate on several occasions, the blonde was not what he needed today. He required a brunette and not just any brunette. He wanted a trained accomplice for the deeds he had in mind. He would find one of those several metres up in the air.

  Pressing the button for the elevator he waited until a melodic ping announced its arrival. Immediately stepping inside, the doors closed swiftly behind him and he rode in contemplative silence until they opened their jaws on the twenty first and uppermost floor.

  “Good evening, Mr...”

  Another chair moved and another blonde shot up to try and greet him. “I want Marianna in my office, now,” he barked.

  Unlike the female downstairs, Kerry had the benefit of at least three years of submissive training. His surly demeanour and sharp commands immediately primed her for action.

  “And tell her to bring me a cup of coffee and an aspirin.”

  He strode purposefully to the dark panelled door to the left of him, which bore his name plate in scripted gold lettering and pulled it open wide. He rifled through the papers on his desk and checked his messages. There was nothing that wouldn’t wait until tomorrow, which was good. This evening, he had plans and lots of them. No sooner had he sat himself down, than Marianna’s high heels could be heard marching efficiently down the corridor. Kerry had obviously relayed the news of his good humour. He almost smiled.

  The long-haired brunette entered gracefully, bearing a silver salver with a cup of black coffee, a tall glass of water and a blister pack of tablets. She laid it to rest on his giant, solid mahogany desk and gracefully fell to the floor beside it. On her knees, she kept her eyes downcast and tilted her head forward. Her arms were then neatly folded behind her back.

  So, this was the lovely Marianna. He vaguely remembered employing her. Unlike most of the girls in his office, she had been hired chiefly for her computer skills rather than any other purpose. Of

  course, the girl was a beauty, but then... they all were. Her long chestnut hair framed her face in delicate waves, she had a pair of sparkling green emerald eyes which could dazzle a lesser man and her lips were full and ripe for the taking, dressed only in a thin coat of clear gloss. They were currently posed in the most deliciously sensuous pout. For a couple
of quiet minutes, he allowed himself the pleasure of admiring her tantalising form. The sheer white blouse that she wore accentuated her full breasts and he could see wisps of white lace beneath it. The knee length black skirt did nothing to cool his ardour because he was already imagining what it might be concealing. Most of his submissives knew that he preferred his women clean shaven and without the additional hindrance of underwear, but he would have to wait and see what delights this one would reveal. He suspected she’d toe the line. The penalties of misbehaviour in his office were often detrimental to the health of one’s backside... amongst other things.

  He had never used her. It was no secret that he had a preference for blondes and eighty per cent of the woman in his office conformed to this whim. The brunettes were there purely for decoration. They were often used by his colleagues or a visitor, but rarely, if ever, by him.