by Box Set
I continue through the kitchen in search of Charlie. One guy, I can never remember his fucking name, smirks at me as I pass him. “When is Maksim-Markov going to give it up already?” he says, watching me with glossy eyes as he leans over the kitchen worktop on his elbows.
I don't even look at him. I round the dining table, shoulder barging the girls who smell sweet with perfume, and steal through the French doors.
Outside, my breath mists the cold night. A few more of Maksim's friends surround the illuminated swimming pool in the heart of the patio area. I also note James, who nods at me from the other side of the pool. He's dressed in his combat uniform, standing about with his work partners, Oliver and Shane. I lift my hand in a small wave. A gentle smile reaches his candid, affectionate eyes. Fuck. His eyes are a little black and blue. He's still bruised from our fight, dark green-gray patches marring his cheeks and his nose.
I remember what he did for me last week as if it happened just moments ago. He let Maksim fuck him in an attempt to spare me of sexual attention.
Overwhelmed with guilt, I have to shut off my thoughts and emotions. I can't think about how bad I feel for him. I have to endure Charlie Decena soon.
To the left of the pool, Maksim's dogs—his girls—stand on all fours with leashes around their necks. They're all naked. Some of them are absolutely petrified, crying and cringing from Maksim's friends who are copping a feel. The other girls aren’t bothered. They seem used to what's happening to them, staring ahead blankly.
As usual, I fight to ignore my instincts telling me to teach these perverted bastards a lesson. I'd tear them all apart single-fucking-handed.
I go over to James so I can quickly say hello, and nod with respect to Oliver and Shane. They return my gesture before walking off, I assume to give James and me a moment.
“Hey.” James smiles down at me, and also offers up his beer. “It's still cold.”
“No. You keep it,” I say softly. I can't seem to return his affectionate smile. He looks a mess. His left eye is bloodshot from the impact of my punches.
My eyes crinkle with guilt.
“Don't worry”—reaching out, he gives my hand a squeeze—“it's all superficial. Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I lie, noticing he's got red strangle marks around his neck. “I'm fine.” I look down at my feet, then back up at him. “I can't stop. I have to...” I gesture out, “you know? I just wanted to make sure.”
“I know.” There's that sincere smile again. I wish he wouldn't do that. It makes me feel like crap.
Leaving James, I go off and find Charlie at the other side of the pool. He's wearing jeans over white trainers and a black round-neck t-shirt that hugs his masculine body. His hair is tied back. The silvery-blue water reflects on his handsome face, lighting up his olive skin, shimmering against that perfect black hair. He's got his arm around a blonde who is wearing a white bikini. She has to be cold. It's freezing out here. I know she is because her nipples are like bullets and goose pimples are racing down her arms.
Charlie is whispering something in her ear, making her giggle like a frivolous teenager. Even the other girls standing about him are giggling, indulging him.
“Iisos Khristos,” I scoff to myself in Russian, continuing for him.
To think that most women are like this, giddy to the sweet nothings, makes me want to vomit. A man would have to work a lot harder than that to make me laugh. Mind you, no man has ever made me laugh before.
When I reach him, I ask, “Can I speak to you for a moment, Charlie?” We meet each other's gaze, and I add, “In private?”
I'm surprised that I'm not anxious to see him. If anything, I'm grateful that I have to endure his disappointment as oppose to Maksim's.
The girls surrounding Charlie raise their eyebrows at me, affronted that I would even attempt to approach him. I'm fully clothed in black sports trousers, trainers, and my leather jacket, hardly dressed for the occasion.
I don't bother returning their gestures of abhorrence. Enough blood will be spilled tonight. My blood, probably.
One of the girls seems to know exactly who I am, because she tells the others to look away. “Say nothing,” she urges.
“Hello, Señorita Blaire.” Charlie's Latin seasoned voice is soft and inviting. It reminds me of Hannibal Lector.
He scans my appearance, just like he always does, a dirty grin twitching at the corner of his mouth.
The blonde under his arm doesn't know whether to glare at me or him, her eyes flickering between us.
I don't react to his intense, penetrating gaze. Or I try not to. I cannot control my cheeks. I strive to appear impassive, with my hands in my leather jacket pockets.
“Sure you can speak to me,” he rasps out eventually, taking his arm from around the blonde. With his hair tied back, his features are sharper and harder. He's so handsome, and for some bizarre reason, I can't help imagining he's tan all over.
Stop imagining, I admonish myself internally.
“Hey,” the blonde grips his arm, rubbing her hip against his cock, “you're coming back, right?”
Charlie gives her a deadly stare and snatches her hand off his arm, before he pushes her back a step. She stumbles to find her balance, so stunned by his dominant-aggressive behavior that she just gawps at him. I'm not stunned. Men like him are often assholes.
I lead the way into the house with cool composure, through the luminous white kitchen.
“Look at that tight little ass,” that fucking guy is still going on. “Maksim-Markov really does have to give it up.”
“What'd you just say?” Charlie asks, and the kitchen pauses in silence.
I peer back on instinct. Charlie is glaring at that guy with evil authority. His eyebrows are so furrowed that he looks wickedly dark.
“I-I wasn't talking to you, man.” That guy shakes his head, lifting self-protective hands. “S-sorry.”
“Keep your fucking mouth shut.” Charlie stalks up to him and points a steady finger in his face. “You understand that, boy?”
Rolling my eyes, I carry on through the kitchen and into the living room so we can be alone and undisturbed. Charlie's heavy footsteps follow me in.
“What'd you want to speak about in private, Blaire?”
“I can do no more than eleven minutes,” I say while facing him. I just want to get this over with so I can go home. “I'm sorry, Charlie, as is Maksim.”
Charlie stops right in front of me, literally. We're toe to toe. My eyes are level with his chest. He doesn't say anything for a moment, and my anxiety peaks because I can sense he's staring down at me. I fight for my composure, thinking about being at home reading or something. It's easier to control my mental state if I'm not spiritually near him.
Lifting a hand, he runs a thumb over my jaw line, using the sharp of his nail when he reaches my chin. I'm mentally back in the room now. His touch seems to ignite my body. Hairs raise and my blood pumps a little faster.
I don't understand this, the sensation of when he touches me. No one but Maksim has ever touched me like this before. No one but Maksim is allowed to touch me.
In the moment of thinking about my master, I aim to slap Charlie's hand away, that black switch going off in my head, but it's Charlie's voice that stops me in my tracks. “Maksim told you, Blaire, fifteen minutes,” he whispers, his voice deeper than usual. It somehow carries above the music coming from the kitchen.
Lifting my shoulders, I repeat, “I'm sorry, Charlie.” I don't sound like myself. I sound a little breathless, and anxious. “I can't give you what I don't have.”
“Is that right?” Stepping forward, he practically puts us flush against each other.
I scowl up at him, defiantly meeting those powerful blue eyes. Why does he do this, ensure close proximity?
I step back, but he steps forward, smirking. Another step, and another, until I'm pressed against the wall. Charlie cages me in from the front, and his legs are slightly open as if he's readying himself for a fi
ght. I can feel the warmth from his large body, and smell the clean muskiness of his skin. It's all so bizarrely inviting.
“No one is allowed to touch me,” I counsel him with all the will I have, lifting my chin so I can hold his consuming gaze. He towers over me by at least eight, maybe ten inches, but I'm not afraid of him. He knows I'm not. He smiles down at me, and I'm not sure, but I think he looks excited.
“Maksim will let me touch you,” he says, matter of fact.
My heart stutters. I know where he's going with this. I can see desire burning in his eyes.
To steer clear of a conflict, I try to walk past him, but he grabs my wrist in a solid grip. A black switch goes off in my mind and all I can hear are Maksim's words echoing. No one is allowed to touch you, ever. No one but me, My Little Pet. He's told me this for years. He used to play a recorder on repeat while I slept until his words sunk into my subconscious. That's why I live to serve him.
I smirk back at Charlie. “You shouldn't have done that.”
He flicks up his eyebrows to challenge me.
I twist out of his grasp so fast that I land on my knees and elbow him in the nuts. He gasps out, doubling over, and lands on his hands. “Fuck!”
I sprint forward and stand, turning around to face him. He lunges at me before I can register he is on his feet. He grabs my throat, runs back with me while groaning in anger, and slams me against the wall.
“Ah!” I gasp on impact, closing and opening my eyes, gripping his wrist with both hands.
He laughs in my face. “I'm not your little friend, James.”
I choke in his grasp, my head getting dizzy, then I whack the inside of his elbow to buckle his arm.
“Neither am I.” I draw back and punch him in the face, causing his nose to burst open.
He isn't bothered. He tries to grab me again but I fight him off, cross-whacking his hands away, but he keeps coming at me. I've nowhere to go, so I boot him in the stomach with lower body force. He bends over, winded, and I try to dash out of the living room but he fists the back of my hair.
“Aargh!” I spin around and pound at his chest, forcing him to free me. I can't go too crazy. Maksim is going to kill me for this as it is.
When Charlie is a few feet away, forced back by my attack, I jump up on one foot to kick him in the face with my other. He catches my ankle and yanks me forward.
“Awh!” I grimace as my back slams against the hard marble floor.
I don't let my pain take over my process. I bolt upright and snatch for his hand on my ankle but right now, he's quicker than I am. I'm not on par tonight. He catches my wrist, still gripping my ankle in his other hand, and manages to flip me over so my face is sliding against the cold floor.
“That's more like it,” he says in my ear with humor. He battles to get both my arms behind my back and holds them there in one of his hands. He then grabs a fist-full of my hair, hauls me to my feet like this, and turns me around so I'm facing him. I hiss against the discomfort, struggling to free at least one of my hands from his but my efforts are useless.
He bends at the knees, nearly putting us eye to eye. I have no choice but to stand here against him. If I fight while in this position and he pushes my arms up my back, they'll snap.
“You're fast.” He tugs on my hair to make me look at him, bending my neck back. His chest is hard against my breasts, crushing me to him.
I pant angrily, a little out of sorts. If only I had grabbed my gun and shot this bastard.
Through heavy eyes, he glances between my eyes and my mouth. Then smirks like he's won. “Tell me, Señorita Blaire, why shouldn't I have done that?” He's enjoying this. I just now realize.
Is this what he wanted? To fight me?
I glare at him with wrath, at the stark perfection of his face. He's so fucking handsome it's stupid, even with his nose running red, smothering his top lip. His eyes are the most perfect shade of blue, darker under this light. His olive skin is flawless, begging to be marked.
“You really are a bonita little thing,” he whispers, his expression softening as he tips his head.
Are we thinking the same thing, of each other's beauty?
“I've never seen a girl so pale with a million freckles who is so wildly pretty.” He leans down, putting us nose to nose.
“You need to let me go,” I say in a panic, trying to shove away from him because he's going to try and kiss me.
He pushes my arms further up my back. I wince, squeezing my face in agony. My arms feel like they're going to pop out of their sockets.
“Stop fighting,” he says, then his lips seal over mine, catching my pleading, no!
Everything goes blank. I can't see a thing, nor can I breathe. The air is caught in my throat.
Charlie is surprisingly gentle in taking my mouth, humming with pleasure, his lips soft and full. I think about biting his tongue as it probes tenderly at my mouth, but I don't. I just keep my lips together, basking in the sensations of his smooth face on mine, his tongue doing this mind-blowing, slow licking thing across my upper lip.
My veins buzz with unfamiliar sensations, every inch of my body inundated with...I don't fucking know. I'm so—
In my entire life of battle and blood, I've never, ever, felt anything like this before.
“C'mon, Blaire,” he rasps. His breath smells like brandy, spicy and hot. “Let that wrought iron guard down.”
I shake my head, trying to keep my lips shut but it's so hard. My body wants this—everything that can be puckered, is—while my mind is screaming for me to shut down and attack.
“You'll let me kiss you.” His smooth face rubs across mine as he puts his mouth to my ear, breathing heavily, making me quiver from head to toe. “If you don't, I'll bend you over that sofa and fuck you right in the ass.”
Fear belts through me, and my eyes fly open. We look at each other for a split second, like there's nothing else in the world but us. His face is dark with lust. His eyes almost look black because his pupils are dilated.
A luring smile spreads across his face, drawing me into the darkness that is him. I gasp, horrified this is happening. I cannot help my panic. Maksim has never prepared me for anything like this.
Charlie takes the opportunity to invade me as I gasp. Tipping his head to the side, he dips his tongue in my mouth, moaning with satisfaction. He tastes me in endless, leisurely licks, causing something hot and heavy to gather between my legs.
My toes curl in my trainers while my stomach is flipping.
His blood tastes metallic. His lips are softer than I ever could have imagined, but demanding, making mine swell.
“You're sweet,” he says in my mouth, massaging his tongue over mine. “Eso es bueno. So, fucking, sweet.”
“Charlie,” I squeeze out his name, but before I can say anything more, he closes his mouth completely over mine, making us airtight. He groans with such passion. The sound vibrates through his chest and mine.
Now, I'm throbbing between my legs—it's the most confusing feeling—and there's warm liquid in my underwear. I've definitely not felt this before. Yes, Maksim has made me please him. He's made me suck his cock or milk him while he kisses me. And yes, I felt a little warm at times. But this is on another level.
Divorcing everything I know, I find myself melting in Charlie's arms, almost buckling at the knees. I even think I moan. I hate that, but I can't help it.
“That's it,” he rasps out. Letting go of my arms, he holds me around the waist in one arm and yanks me up so my feet aren't touching the floor, making me squeal in shock. He puts us chest to chest. His is pure, solid muscle and his heart is pounding.
So, it's not just me.
He keeps his other hand in my hair at the back of my head, holding us mouth to mouth, but right now, I don't mind. The pinching in my scalp is the only thing telling me that this is real.
I put my tiny hands on his shoulders and kiss him back, just how he's kissing me, carefully and avidly. Our lips mold as one. Our tongues dan
ce over each other’s in a twisted game of seduction.
I could happily get lost in him.
———
Someone whistles from behind us, startling me.
“She's off limits, my friend.”
It's Maksim.
My heart explodes in my chest.
Yanking up my knee, I try to hit Charlie in the kahunas but he anticipates my move, blocking my attack with his leg. He laughs in my mouth, pressing one last peck to me, smothering me in his blood. “I like you,” he says quietly, so quiet in fact that Maksim cannot hear him.
Slowly and warily, he puts me down on wobbly legs and steps back, holding out his hands as if I might attack him again. I'm not going to. I couldn't even if Maksim ordered me to. I'm in an odd state. My body is aching for Charlie's warmth and his scent, and most of all, his touch.
What the fuck is this?
I'm confused with what he makes me feel. I know I have to obey Maksim and all his requests. I know to risk my life for Maksim. I'm wired to attack anyone who touches me, anyone but Maksim, but I didn't fight Charlie when he kissed me. I guess I let him.
My thoughts are driving me nuts. I know nothing of this...this...I don't even know what the fuck this is!
“She got you good.” Maksim laughs with blatant amusement. “Don't take it personally, my friend. My little pet is trained to takedown anyone who touches her without my permission.”
“Why is she off limits?” Charlie prowls over to Maksim, who is standing in the doorway looking at me. I cannot see that he's looking at me. I just know.
I wipe my lips with a single finger, relishing in the sight of Charlie's blood coating my pale skin. I can still taste him.
That kiss was nice.
I blink up at Charlie and Maksim, my head still in a desire fueled fog. They're watching each other like dangerous predators.
“Maksim,” Charlie snaps. “Why. Is. She. Off. Limits?”
Maksim slants his head to me, his eyes thinning. “She's innocent, and I'd like for her to stay that way.”
Charlie's eyes zoom in on me and the look on his face...he wasn't expecting Maksim to say that.
