Sparks (A Special Agent Novel Book 1)

by C. P. Mandara

  Having achieved all of that, I then stomped around my apartment aimlessly for a few minutes. Now what the hell was I supposed to do? I had three hours before I needed to leave, and that was a long time when your nerves were doing an internal combustion thing. My skin felt fevered, and I knew my cheeks were flushed. Thank God the makeup would hide that, although I didn’t know why I was so worried. He knew I was attracted to him. He saw far too much. After a couple of hours of climaxing, wriggling, struggling, not to mention sweat and tears, he’d see everything - every little thing.

  My thoughts were a tangled mess of confusion and anxiety. One moment I wanted to ring up and cancel, and in the next I wanted to storm into his office and demand he see me now. I just wanted to get it over with. After our chat last night, I suspected there was a good chance that I might actually enjoy it, and that worried me even more. If I had an incredible orgasm in the midst of James Leverett’s science project, what did that say about me?

  For the first time in my life, I wondered if I was about to have a panic attack, and then laughed at myself for being so stupid. Anyone who managed to achieve the nickname of “Ice Queen” at work was unlikely to succumb to hyperventilation at the thought of a little bondage. If I could kill people in cold blood and not give a flying fuck, I would breeze through a short session of ropes and cuffs. Besides, I had no choice. If I wanted to get through my psychological assessment and be handed my next assignment, there was no other alternative. Right now, I needed a distraction, and preferably one that would dispel my feelings of anxiety. I knew just the thing.

  Tying my hair back in a ponytail, I stripped off my clothes and put a neon purple tank top and a matching pair of running tights on. All of my hours of hard work would be for nothing, but I didn’t much care. Strapping my iPhone to the waistband of my leggings and donning a pair of bright pink trainers, it wasn’t long before I shot out the front door, and I didn’t look back.

  As my feet thundered along the paved streets of London, a blissful feeling of calm returned. Running was cathartic for me. It chewed up and spit out stress faster than any drug I knew, and for some reason my mind seemed to work better as my blood began to pump double-time around my body. It’s therapy. If I was out for an hour-long run, I got time to think or daydream about whatever I wanted. The hunk off the TV, how the thriller I’m currently reading might end, or how I’ll deal with the next assignment that is always winging its way to me. I guess it’s helpful, because I always feel great when I’ve eaten up a few miles and got a good sweat going on.

  Today was no different. I felt better as soon as my feet stepped outside the front door, but organising my thoughts proved difficult. They always came back to James, and I wanted to stay away from that particular topic, seeing as he was the cause of my angst at the moment. Trying to concentrate on admiring the countryside, I turned my attention to people watching. The people of London were endlessly fascinating. Tall, short, fat, thin, gay, straight, punk, fetish, elderly, young… there was always someone interesting to watch. Today proved no exception. I hadn’t run more than half a mile before an adult male appeared walking around Victoria Park in a Spiderman onesie, sporting a pair of bright red Doc Martins. He had a copy of the Daily Mail in one hand and a can of Diet Coke in the other. I waved and smiled at him on my way past, and he waved back, surprisingly enough. Most people in London do not smile or wave. I have learnt this over the years. Everyone is far too busy for that kind of thing. Before my hour was up, I added a woman walking around in a pair of leather panties and thigh-high boots and a Santa Claus. Considering it was April, he was exceptionally early for his shift, I thought.

  When I got back to my apartment, I almost felt like my old self again. It wouldn’t last, but for the moment, my blood was singing around my body and I felt refreshed and alive. I was ready to face the world, after I’d had a shower, of course.

  Eight

  Approaching the glass frontage of Elite Encounters, my mask was once again firmly in place. It had only been a short hop on the tube, and my time was spent surfing the net. The first thing I researched was Richard Mullane. I’d meant to last night, but I’d been so horny that had flown right out of the window. If James was going to ask me any more questions about him, I wanted to be prepared.

  Searching through Google images I finally managed to find a picture of the man. I winced and then groaned out loud, making the old lady next to me shuffle up a couple of inches. It was a plus - she smelled of stale cigarettes and mothballs. What wasn’t so good was the fact that Richard Mullane was about thirty years old and had platinum blond hair. Clearly they started young in advertising. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. So James Leverett knew I had been lying all along. How did I miss that? He’d given absolutely nothing away, and that tended to indicate the man was as skilled at subterfuge as I was, which meant I was in lots of trouble. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

  Mullane’s face blurred in front of me as I considered my next move. Turn around and go home or brazen it out. I rubbed my forehead as I considered my predicament. So he knew I was a liar. So what? I bet half of his clients told far bigger lies than I did. Well, a quarter at least. They weren’t going to advertise the fact they were kinky, were they? He was probably used to it, which is why he didn’t even bat an eyelid. I was just a number. Get a grip, I told myself. Switching my phone off, I tossed it in my satchel and tried not to think about the afternoon ahead.

  When I entered Elite Encounters, I was frozen to the bone, even though the ambient temperature outside was close to eighteen degrees Celsius. It must have been my blood pressure plummeting through the floor as the revolving door sucked me in and spat me out. I staggered a couple of steps towards the receptionist, and I swear the twenty-year-old brunette looked at me as if I was drunk.

  “Are you okay?” Her eyes looked me up and down, and obviously I was not one of the usual clients that frequented James’s sessions. She, on the other hand, was all poised elegance, wearing a fitted navy Chanel suit and high-heeled pumps, accompanied by bright pink fingernails. I immediately felt inferior, and I was wearing red lipstick.

  “I’m fine,” I said with a weak smile. “It’s my first time and I’m a bit nervous.” It wasn’t a lie. I pushed my black leather satchel over my shoulder and smoothed out some non-existent wrinkles in my skin-tight jeans, wondering what I was supposed to do next.

  She smiled at me kindly. “I’m sure it won’t be your last. James is very good at what he does.” The smile I tried to give her in return nearly cracked my lips. I refrained from telling her that I wouldn’t be coming back to sample James’s many talents again, however.

  “Umm, do I go straight through, or should I wait here for James?” My voice wobbled slightly and I swallowed.

  “You can follow me. I’ll show you to the playroom and leave you to strip. There are some coat hooks, and you’ll find a chair to the left of the door where you can leave your things. James will expect you to be kneeling on the floor with your arms folded behind your back when he enters.”

  “Right.” Another swallow.

  “My name’s Annalise, by the way,” she said.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if that was her real name, but I smiled at her back and followed the sharp click of her heels. We moved quickly down a long corridor, and there were large wooden doors to the left and right of me. They were numbered with brass letters, but there was nothing else to indicate their use. I had to go all the way down to the end of the corridor before my room came into view. Number ten. So that meant that ten sessions could be going on at the same time. I wondered if I’d be able to hear anyone else screaming, before dismissing the random thought.

  “This is your room,” she said unnecessarily. “Do you have any questions before you go in?”

  I had hundreds, but I wasn’t going to voice any of them to her. “No, no questions. Thank you, Annalise.”

  She gave me a nod and a smile, turned around on a heel, and bounced away. I put my hand on the door handle, asked myself for t
he thousandth time that day if this was a really good idea, and then pushed it open. My decision had been made yesterday. Now I just had to go through with it.

  When the door closed behind me, I felt more scared than I had ever been in my life. Considering that I regularly dance with murderers and kill in cold blood, this is a big deal to me for some reason. I am scared of feeling something for the first time in months, but I am also scared of not feeling anything. I am scared that this session will work, and drowning in anxiety that it won’t. The loss of control frightens me, but conversely excites me at the same time. I’m beginning to wonder if I have finally taken on more than I can handle, before shaking my head firmly. I can do anything. Well, nearly anything. I draw the line at skydiving without a parachute.

  As my eyes slowly take in the space around me, my mouth hangs open. The room is full of all sorts of interesting pieces of apparatus, and I whistle through my teeth as gleaming steel frames and bolts blind me. It’s more to do with the harsh LED lighting above, but the effect is dazzling. There’s also lots of black leather, a wall full of paddles and whips, and a large wooden X-frame. The exam table that James talked about is tucked neatly to the rear of the room, but features a pristine white mattress, stirrups, and heavy restraints. I start breathing a whole lot faster than I should and close my eyes. Get undressed, idiot.

  The chair and coat hooks that Annalise mentioned are indeed to the left of me, and I swing my satchel off my shoulders and open it up. It’s time to fill it with my clothes. The black sweater comes off first, and my lace bra swiftly follows it. I sit on the red plastic chair, which looks rather out of place considering all the leather everywhere, and remove my flat ballet pumps. Wriggling out of my jeans, I fold all of my clothes loosely and stuff them in my bag. Take off your panties. Oh God, deep breath, you can do this. Standing up, I hook two thumbs under either side of the black panties and drag them over my butt and down my legs. I practically throw them in my bag in my hurry to buckle it up. Perhaps I won’t feel quite as naked when I’m sitting down.

  I opt for the middle of the room and sink to the floor. I remember Annalise’s words – you need to be kneeling on the floor with your arms folded behind your back. I follow her instructions to the best of my ability. It is not a particularly comfortable position. The floor is hard, wooden and cold. My right hand grips my left elbow and vice versa, and this action seems to push my chest out. Good luck with that, James, I almost smirk. I haven’t got an awful lot to admire in that department. Sighing, I try to relax. Now that I have followed all instructions to the letter, there is nothing left to do but wait.

  Although it seems like forever, the watch on my wrist tells a different story. The second hand ticks softly with precision workmanship, and though I urge it to move faster, it ignores me. I desperately want to fidget, but instead I breathe deeply. There are cameras in this room. Although I surreptitiously noted four to the rear of the room on entry, there was no way of obtaining an accurate figure without being obvious about my observations. A girl in advertising shouldn’t be able to spot covert IP cameras, and even though James already knew that for a lie, I wasn’t going to give him any more clues. I’d play the silly girl game, and he could draw his own conclusions.

  Closing my eyes, I straightened my back and tried to clear my mind of the swirling rubbish that insisted on residing there. It was obvious that he was going to make me wait, so I might as well use my time productively. Employing some meditation and breathing exercises, I managed to get some perspective on the situation and calm myself down. Whatever happens, I have a safe word. One word and I’ll be out of here. It wouldn’t come to that, but the bottom line was that this was a reputable agency and James wasn’t going to do anything I didn’t want him to. He would push, yes, but that was to be expected. All I needed to do was to rely on my training and keep my wits about me. How hard could it be?

  When the door opened behind me, there was no sound. The only indication that another person was in the room was a draft of air against my back. Remaining ramrod straight, I didn’t move a muscle, but my heart was considering an escape plan outside of my body.

  There was a pause, and then heavy footsteps began approaching. The first thing I saw was a pair of black leather boots, and as my eyes trailed up from the floor, my vision swam with black - black jeans and a black dress shirt. Did he think he was going to a funeral?

  “Head down.” He placed his hand against the top of my head and pushed down, as if I was an imbecile who couldn’t understand direct orders. My eyes stared at the wood grain beneath me and smarted. This was a mistake.

  His voice softened. “You never look a dominant directly in the eye unless you’re ordered to. Etiquette generally requires that your eyes be dipped towards the floor. Judging by your inability to look at me yesterday, I shouldn’t think you’ll have too many problems with that. Right, stand up.”

  I got to my feet unsteadily, mostly because my hands were still behind my back, but eventually I stood tall and awaited his next command. My eyes were firmly on the floor, and my cheeks were flaming.

  “Look at me.”

  James had barely been in the room thirty seconds and already I found him infuriating. “You just said I wasn’t to look you in the eye unless…” My voice trailed off as I realised my own mistake.

  His lips twitched. “You have two ears and one mouth, young lady. If you want to survive this session, you’ll need to listen twice as much as you try to speak. Failure to do so will have… consequences.”

  The way he said consequences made me shiver, but I still couldn’t bring my eyes up to his. Gah. I needed to get over this. A finger under my chin solved the problem for me. “How do you feel?”

  My mouth opened, but it took me a couple of seconds to formulate a sentence. He waited patiently whilst I drank in the sight of his face and the view that his open shirt provided. My eyes trailed up his abs, which I was not at all surprised by, and then they found an intricate web of tattoos. It was official. The man was swoon worthy, and could probably model for Versace. Reluctantly raising my head up to his beautiful face, which hadn’t seen a razor since yesterday, I found his piercing blue eyes once more. They went right through me. “Umm, nervous, tense, and a little bit of scared witless,” I said.

  He raised an eyebrow, “Did you fill out that limits form?”

  I shook my head, and his expression was furious. I resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. I was getting emotional, which was exactly why I had come here, but it was far too soon. The effect the man had on me was startling.

  “Then you have every right to be nervous, because I am an utter bastard.” James looked downright evil as he spoke, and I didn’t doubt his words.

  “Then show me what you can do,” I whispered.

  His mouth hardened into a tight line at my insolence. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he placed his hand in the small of my back and marched me over to a padded leather bench. “Drape yourself over that. Legs stay on the floor, shoulder width apart, and your arms should be stretched out in front of you.” It was clear that Mr. Nice Guy had left the building, though I wasn’t really sure he had ever entered. James Leverett didn’t look like the type to play fair. He looked more like my type, but that didn’t mean I wanted to date him. He just had a ruthless air about him, and he struck me as one of those guys that didn’t only want to win, but needed to. I suspected he pushed the envelope in every direction and took no prisoners. He was exactly what I needed right now.

  Obeying his orders, I pressed my naked body into the firm, cool leather and stretched out. I felt less naked like this, although the thought was absurd. When a band of leather circled my left ankle, I jumped. He didn’t make a sound behind me, but I could almost imagine what he was thinking. She’s a crackpot, and she’s going to lose her shit within ten minutes. I had news for him. It would take the full two hours, possibly more, if he wanted to “break me” as he put it, though I hoped not. Another band of leather encircled my other foot.

&
nbsp; “How long do you think you’ll last, Ms. Reeves?”

  Ha! I was right on the money. He came around to face me, and though he stared at my eyes intently, I made him wait for my answer.

  “Probably the full two hours.”

  “I have news for you. No one has ever lasted the full two hours with me.” Another band imprisoned me, this time around my wrist.

  “Ooh, a challenge,” I said, and I had to bite my tongue from saying anything more.

  “Do you know, Ms. Reeves, never has a pert backside looked so damned inviting.”

  I laughed. The last band was fastened, and I tested them for good measure. “I think they’ll hold,” I said impishly.

  “I know they will. What I’m more worried about is whether you’ll hold it together. I’m going to be very disappointed if you safe-word within the first ten minutes.” I couldn’t see his face behind me, but I guessed he was rolling his eyes.

  “You wish. I’ll hold it together. I just hope you have the stamina to keep up with me.” The truth was, I’d been holding it together for so long, I seemed to be physically unable to do anything else. That was my problem.

  He snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

  Then James did something unexpected. He began to unbuckle my wristwatch.