Violetta is an executioner… of vampires. Famed for her fiery beauty and mesmerising personality, she has never failed an assignment.

Monsieur Martinet is no ordinary vampire, though. He is a master at his craft and can control humans with the merest flick of his eyelids. The vampire huntress with the porcelain skin and flaming red hair has killed all of his brethren, without exception. He now seeks the ultimate revenge: her submission in HIS bed.

If he’s allowed to stay alive long enough, that is.

Do You Want to Fight Me?

‘Do you want to fight me, princess? Do you want to slam those little fists of yours against my chest and call me names?’

She didn’t answer him. Her voice was locked away within her throat once more, at his request. He had obviously heard enough this evening. Her job was to lay there and look pretty, she guessed. Oh dear God.

Black ropes slithered up her limbs, and they coiled around her flesh in a serpentine fashion, winding themselves tighter and tighter, tugging at her limbs. No.

‘I want you spread wide open for me, Violetta. That way you’ll be ready to be taken at a moment’s notice. I’ll also be able to see how aroused you are for me, and I think you like this body of mine, don’t you, Vi?

Her grunt of protest remained trapped inside her head, but she knew he heard it.

‘Oh, I know you find me attractive. Now we’re going to work on needs, wants and desires. I’m going to train you to be desperate for the slightest touch my hand may choose to bestow upon your flesh. We’re going to make you a hungry, panting, pathetic little slave who lives for nothing more than to pleasure and serve the capricious notions of her master. I’ve developed quite an overactive imagination over the years, I’ll have you know. We’re going to have so much fun together, you and I.’

The words were lost in her head, but they echoed over and over. The rope was reeling her arms and legs tightly into the wooden corners of the four poster bed and she was beginning to resemble a large ‘X’ shape. Try as she might, bracing her arms and legs against the firm tugs did not help in the slightest. Finally, she was splayed out to the ropes satisfaction and the pressure against her wrists and ankles lessoned slightly.

Martinet ran his index and middle finger up and around the small ridge of her ankle. He watched intently as she sucked in air. At this moment in time her mind did not like his fingers upon her. Her body called her a liar, though, and trembled at the ridiculously light touch.

His fingers then dived under the glistening organza of her gown and crept up a shapely calf. Tiny little steps that did little more than tickle her, but she got noticeably more nervous as they tiptoed higher and higher.

‘You never thanked me for the arm, you know.’

Violetta told him, in no uncertain terms, just what he could do with his thank you.

‘Tsk, tsk. A lady never swears.’ He grinned at her, letting the pads of his fingers brush up against the delicate skin of her inner thigh. The nervous pounding of her heart and the flush of heat that turned her cheeks from alabaster to cherry almost instantly, told him all he needed to know. His fingers wandered higher.

‘Don’t. Stop.’ The whispered plea inside her head was frantic.

‘Oh, I don’t intend to,’ he said, deliberately misunderstanding her and without warning his hand clamped around her sex. She rose up into him and gasped. It appeared that her body was once again under her control. Oh who was she kidding? The vamp played her better than Hendrix played the guitar. He knew when to stroke, when to cajole and, more importantly, when to strike.

‘My goodness, you’re not wearing any panties,’ he exclaimed with a devilish gleam in his eyes. ‘Why you wanton little…’ Martinet didn’t finish his last word. Now that Violetta had regained the use of her voice, she was about to use it at the top of her lungs. Unfortunately, Martinet was once again one step ahead of her, and his face was rapidly descending towards hers. The scream that had been bursting to escape just seconds ago, curdled in her throat. Her body pulled against the ropes. Not to get away from him, as it should have, but to move closer. She wanted those talented lips on hers. She wanted his hands on her fevered, naked flesh and already, she craved the intense pleasure that he could so easily bestow upon her. Covering her lips with his own, he breathed her in. She, on the other hand, couldn’t breathe at all. His hands were running up her arms, tracing delicate, rambling patterns on her flesh, while his tongue might have been forked like a dragon’s, for it spilled sparkling flames of fire wherever it landed. The ropes rubbed tightly against her wrists and ankles, but she didn’t give a damn. She drank him in whole and writhed sinuously underneath his body, begging for more of the same.

‘Isn’t it hideously embarrassing to be this attracted to your jailor?’ His lips left hers with a soft pop and for a moment she just blinked in surprise. Her body was still pulling against her bonds, trying to get ever closer to her talented antagonist. It was horribly humiliating. That alone made her furious.

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Christina (C.P.) Mandara was born in the UK, but has spent most of her life travelling the world. She speaks three languages and has been chiefly employed in the fields of finance and travel. Her favourite city is Sydney and her favourite holiday destination is the south of France.

She loves keeping fit and enjoys running, cycling, surfing and sailing. 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 woman 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.

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