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THE VELVET CHAIR
by
C. P. MANDARA
Published by Chimera Books
If you would like a FREE erotic ebook come visit us at www.chimerabooks.co.uk
This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold,
hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the
subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen
years of age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to
any real person or actual happening.
Copyright C. P. Mandara. The right of C. P. Mandara to be identified as author of this book has been
asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.
"You have to have a darkness for the dawn to come." - Harrison Ford
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 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 know 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
merit. 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 trapped with nothing but ugly, dark thoughts inside your head.
Steeling myself to concentrate on the task at hand I continued to flick through several glossy magazines,
which all promised to have me in exquisite sartorial splendour for my wedding day. I couldn't help but
grimace. Throwing one across the room, I swore. I didn't care who made the damn suit, but I knew it
would be black. This whole charade was beginning to make me feel as if I was about to attend my own
funeral - so I might as well dress the part.

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