by Box Set
I don't say anything. I can't. I feel strange in my own skin.
Pressing into his chest with both hands, in time with shakily standing, I force him out of me.
“Hey”—Charlie tries to stop me—“hey, careful.”
“Awh!” I wince, slapping his hands away. It fucking hurts, my muscles resisting the corrupt withdrawal. I drop back onto the bed with a loud huff of relief, roll over, and curl into a small ball.
No. I don't feel sick. I am sick. One sick motherfucker for enjoying that.
A hand touches my hip. “Blaire?”
“Please go away,” I say, staring into nothingness. “You got what you wanted.”
Anything good I felt is gone now, and anything I could feel, I'm blocking it.
Charlie exhales a sharp breath and the room goes dark. There’s a burning wax scent in the air now.
“Señorita, I'm leaving,” he says, and I feel the weight of a blanket covering my body, up to my chin. “Do you want anything before I go, like a glass of water?”
Don't think. Don't think. Don't think.
Refusing to answer him, I shut my eyes, desperate for the night to take me.
11
When I wake up the next morning, everything is fresh in my mind, and I'm fuming.
I untangle myself from the blanket and roll onto my back, arching with a breathless moan. My ass is a little sore, and my hips feel like they've been banged so hard they ache. There are finger print bruises on my back where my ribs are, and parts of my neck feel like a vacuum had its way with me—Charlie's mouth. That sexually warped bastard.
Trying not to tense up with anger, I take deep, balanced breaths, but with every inhale I can smell cleaning polish. It's orange and citrusy. It reminds me of when my car has been cleaned.
My car.
Home.
Maksim.
James.
Just thinking about it all makes me so...I have no words.
I cannot believe Maksim gave Charlie permission to do that to me. I cannot believe he let that motherfucker drug me when all he had to do was tell me my orders, and I would have followed suit. How could he barter me in this sexually violating way? How could he do this to me? His most trusted devotee?
Seething, and on the verge of pitiful tears, I stuff the blanket in my mouth and scream so hard that I can feel my throat being ripped to shreds.
I'm shaking, too.
I could kill someone.
I'm so glad Charlie isn't here right now. I might do something I'd live to regret, especially when I think back on last night about what he did to me. The things he made me feel.
Not only am I fuming, but I'm so embarrassed it's beyond belief. Charlie practically had me begging for him. He even held my hand when I reached out to him and comforted me through my first orgasm.
That's humiliating.
I'm trained to kill, trained to punish and protect, and I wanted Charlie to hold my fucking hand?
Maybe it wasn't me. I try to convince myself for whatever good it'll do. I'm not weak. I'm tough. Charlie drugged me, and he had those oils burning, which he said would help me relax.
Yes, he forced my state of needy weakness.
The memory of him grabbing my hips and shoving his cock back in my ass to draw out my orgasm makes my insides tingle, and then I feel a warm gush of liquid between my legs. Fuck. I don't even know why I'm thinking about that but it seems to be turning me on.
I beg myself to put it out of my mind. It's too mentally consuming, and confusing, and as I've no idea when Charlie is going to show up today, I need to get my shit together.
I cuddle the blanket to my chest, stunned I'm still wearing my bra. I sit up in bed, squinting through the sun flooding the room. It’s so bright that my head pounds for a moment, but when my eyes adjust, I'm stone cold sober.
The room is big and airy with high ceilings and dark paneled walls, a huge brass chandelier hanging over head. The parquet floors are highly buffed but old and worn. In the left corner of the room, opposite from where I'm sitting on the bed, there's a small square table housing a chessboard and a throne like chair made from redwood. An antique armoire stands next to the chair, made from the same redwood.
It's as if I've gone back in time, and I'm in some medieval showdown.
I never expected Charlie to live in a place like this. It's just not him.
Through the tall sash window on the left wall that boasts no curtains, I see the sun burning low in the sky. It has to be morning. The sun isn't past noon yet.
The air breezing in is refreshing, cooling my warm skin. He must have opened the window for me. How fucking nice.
“Mudak,” I hiss to myself, twisting my lips in anger.
I want to go outside and take in the morning's freshness. I want to feel free for a moment. I don't want to be here. I miss home so much, my apartment, Maksim and James, and it's only been one night. How does Maksim expect me to do this for three whole months?
If James was here, I'm not sure this would be happening. I know he'd be fighting to do whatever he could to spare me. He always does.
“No,” I whisper, my voice choked up. The guilt I feel for even considering letting him take my place is horrible. Dealing with Maksim is one thing, but Charlie is another. None of us really know him and up until now, he's not actually hurt me. I can't be sure he wouldn't hurt James.
I hope James is okay with Maksim.
“Don't think about it,” I say, speaking to the empty room. I put last night and James in a little black box in the back of my mind and hope the thoughts will stay there.
Hooking my feet over the side of the bed, I get up on shaky legs, my muscles aching from head to toe. Something crispy and sticky draws my attention to the flesh between my thighs.
Charlie's cum, and my morning's arousal.
I recoil, trying desperately not to think about it. I focus on the clothes at the foot of the bed: a pair of skinny fitting jeans, a black long-sleeved sweater, and a pair of knee high flat heeled boots.
These aren't mine. Where are my clothes and trainers?
The clothes are all right, I guess, but the underwear isn't exactly what I'd call underwear. The bra is black lace and the matching panties are just a scrap of material. I pick up the thong with my finger and thumb.
I'm not wearing this crap.
I toss the underwear back on the bed and find my way into an en-suite bathroom that leads off the bedroom. I head straight for the triple width shower. I need to get clean. I feel so dirty.
Flicking on the faucet, I snap off my bra and step under the flow to shower in ice cold water, shivering as it sprays over my face and my body. I wash with a bar of lime colored soap that smells strong of mint, using my hands and fingernails. My ass stings against the soap, but the cold water is numbing. The soap dries out my hair as I lather, making the strands feel a little wiry, but there's no shampoo or conditioner in here.
I briefly wonder if Charlie pre-planned bartering me. He doesn't seem prepared. Or, maybe he is. Maybe he just won't offer me luxuries like Maksim does.
That wouldn't surprise me.
When I'm done, I can only find a small hand towel in the bathroom. Definitely unprepared. I dry myself as best as I can, patting my hair. There's a toothbrush and some toothpaste on the vanity sink under a long mirror, so I brush my teeth, and then I go back into the bedroom to dress.
I'm grateful for the clothes, given it's a little chilly in this big room. I don't put on the bra or the thong. They're so trashy. They're not me. I wear sports bras and comfortable underwear, not this shit. My breasts aren't that big anyhow, so going braless won't matter.
The sweater is made from cashmere. It's so soft. I hug my middle, missing home a little more. Now, if I was there, I'd be making myself a coffee, casting my eyes out over London until Maksim calls for me or texts to say I can have the day to myself. Here, I don't know what the day has in store for me. More sexual infringement? A beating? That is what men like him enjoy, as far a
s I know.
I'll take a beating any day of the week. At least I know how to feel about that. I'm in emotional limbo when it comes to what happened last night.
My usually sleek red hair is damp and heavy around my shoulders and my waist. I notice it's frizzy, too, seeing my pale, freckly reflection in the bedroom window. I don't even recall walking over here. I'm in such a weird place mentally.
I comb out the damp kinks in my mane with my fingers, wondering where is my hair tie. I glance over the messy bed behind me, but I remember that I let my hair down last night at Maksim’s house.
I go cold on the spot as the main door clicks open and closed, and dominating presence fills the room.
12
Turning my head, I look at Charlie by the door. It's suddenly like there's no air in the room.
He's wearing dark blue jeans over black boots and a black long-sleeved sweater, his muscles clearly defined under the soft material. I remember the weight of his hard body on mine. The musky scent of his skin, and the way he kissed me.
My lungs are so tight.
His eyes are striking blue against the sunshine, against his tan skin, though they're black in the corners, I assume from taking a punch from me.
“Morning, Señorita.” A sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
His ink black hair is a little chaotic, curling around his neck and face, but annoyingly sexy. I'd love to rip his hair out. I'd love to rip out my own hair for responding to him this way, feeling flustered at the sight of him.
I don't say anything. I'm just looking at him, trying not to think of last night. If I do, I'm not sure what I'll do. I don't trust myself right now. I don't trust that I won't hit him, or worse, kiss him.
I can't stomach this. I've never not trusted myself.
Charlie proffers a steaming cup, his eyes trained on mine. “I'm told you like coffee in the morning.”
I wonder again, just for a split second, if he is using me to get back at Maksim. One day, I'll ask him, when the time is right and I'm not terrified that he might say yes.
“I'm not really interested in coffee, Charlie.”
“No?” He smiles at me, mischief flashing in his eyes. “What are you interested in then?”
I arch a brow at him, suddenly so angry I could murder him. “Are you going to do that to me every night for three fucking months?”
“Do you want me to?” He's deadly serious and a little amused.
“Eh, no, I don't want you to.” My expression is hard like stone.
He sighs and brings me the coffee. I flinch when he takes one of my wrists.
“I'm also told you like eggs for breakfast.” He carefully puts the hot cup in my hand and lets me go, stepping back.
“I'm not hungry,” I say, my voice weaker than I was trying for.
Coffee topples over the cup, scalding my wrist. My hand is shaking. I hate this. I never shake. Not under anyone but Maksim.
Charlie doesn't say anything for a moment. He's just staring at me with a look of wonder gleaming in his eyes. The silence is unbearable, louder than any scream or cry I've ever heard. I can't stand it.
I need to get out of here.
Dropping my gaze to the floor, I start for the door to put some distance between us, but a hand closes around my forearm.
“Where do you think you're going?” Charlie turns me to face him.
Baffled, I search his eyes. “Outside.”
“I don't think so.”
“What?” My eyes widen. “You expect me to stay in this room for three whole months?”
He shrugs, like that's exactly what he expected.
“You're insane if you think I'll stay cooped up in here.” I squeeze the cup in my hand, restraining myself from throwing it at him. “I need to train, Charlie. I need my own personal space.”
He's quiet again, as though he's contemplating something. It feels like hours before he says, “If I let you out, you're not gonna run screaming for the hills, are you?” He flicks up his eyebrows. “Theoretically, I mean.”
I scoff at him with a smirk, on the verge of laughing my head off.
“What's so funny?” He doesn't look confused by my laughter, his expression even and focused, but he sounds a bit confused.
“You flatter yourself.”
“Oh yeah?” He's back to smirking.
“Yes,” I huff. “Trust me, you're not worth screaming for.”
For a second, just a split second, I think he looks insulted. But then he grins, hunches down and puts us nose to nose, making me sink into my shoulders. “You screamed pretty well last night.”
My cheeks burn. I'm more embarrassed now than I was when I woke up.
I don't know where it comes from, but I snatch out of his grasp and slap him across the face, wallop! hard enough to make his head whip back.
He slams me against the wall with his forearm over my chest.
“Ah!” I pant out on impact, dropping the coffee cup. It smashes at my feet and scatters across the floor.
“You know,” Charlie says in my face, his expression taut with darkness, “you're the only girl I won't hit, but don't think you have the advantage because there are other ways I can punish you.”
I gulp, pressing my hands back against the wall.
“I'd rather you hit me,” I say, my voice small.
His gaze burns into mine. My breathing accelerates. I don't know what to do. Should I fight him off?
Maksim said not to fight him.
Maksim said to indulge him.
Maksim said to please him.
“Believe me, you wouldn't want me hitting you.” With his free hand, he cups my sex over the jeans.
I cower and turn my face to the side so I can hide in my long hair, my core tightening. I remember the orgasms last night, all too well, and I can't tolerate that I liked them.
He rubs me there with the tips of his fingers. Even with the jeans between us, it feels good. I pulse for attention, the crotch of my jeans dampening with arousal. It makes my toes curl.
Why does my body react against my will?
“You like that, don't you?” he whispers, softly kissing the side of my face. “And you hate that you like it.”
Can he read my fucking mind?
Looking back at him, touching his nose with mine, I make damn sure I don't break our gaze this time, even while I feel like I'm drowning. He has to know I'm strong willed if nothing else.
“Are you sore?” he asks. I'm not sure if he's mocking me or genuinely concerned.
Raising his eyebrows, he beckons me for an answer.
I nod minutely.
“I thought you might be,” he whispers. Grabbing my hips in both hands, he yanks me up off the ground, making me yelp in shock. “Don't be frightened. I'm not gonna hurt you.” He presses one knee against the wall between my thighs and sits me there, so my legs dangle freely on either side of his.
My ass feels bony against his masculine leg and a little sore with the pressure of sitting down.
I instinctively reach out for balance, and he grabs my hands. He runs his fingers through mine. I lose my breath at the warm contact, trembling, desperately looking up at him.
What is he doing?
To answer my question, he puts my palms on his smooth face and makes me hold him, controlling my balance like this. His hands completely cover mine.
I can't breathe again.
Not once does he blink while staring right through my soul, his blue eyes full of desire. I feel so weak and small, at his mercy, and I know I look scared out of my mind.
I can't stand this!
“No one has ever been gentle with you before, have they?” Bowing his head, Charlie kisses my lips, and fire races through my veins. “Have they?” he repeats because I don't answer him, speaking against my mouth.
I turn my face so I don't have to kiss him, but he tut, tut, tuts at me. My entire body trembles. I don't want him sodomizing me again—it gives him too much power over me—so I face him.
He pecks my lips, chipping away at my will, making me want him in this fucked up endeavor of allure.
I detest that I want him. It's crazy. I should hate him—and I do hate him—but right now the desire is stronger than the hate. I can feel it in my body.
I start to say something, anything to stop this, and he takes full advantage, just like he did before. Delicately touching my tongue with his, he has me moaning and melting again, gripping his jaw in a desperate attempt to make love to his mouth.
All my anger and hate vanishes.
It seems I lose focus when he does things like this to me. I'm not myself.
He hums deeply, then forces his sodden tongue right into my mouth and massages unholy across mine. I can taste real, bitter coffee on his tongue and Charlie's natural flavor. It's such a sexy contrast of flavors.
When he sucks the tip of my tongue, I moan again. It's so hot that I forget who I am for a second. My head is buzzing with lust.
He likes that I moan. He smiles.
“Tell me the truth, Blaire, or I'll keep you in this room all day long.”
“The truth about what?” I ask, blinking rapidly at him, my head swimming.
Letting go of my hands on his face, he runs his fingers into my hair and seizes my head, holding us mouth to mouth. I don't let go of his face. If anything, I squeeze him tighter, finding the whole ordeal of us staring at each other while kissing too intimate.
“Has anyone ever been gentle with you?” he says, and then he's kissing me as though he really means it. His wet licks are unhurried, and his lips are gentle, shaping around mine, making my mouth water.
In a haze, I shake my head.
“No,” he whispers in my mouth, blinking then. “I didn't think so.” Wrapping his huge arms around my entire body, he forces me up his leg so we are chest to chest, crushing me to him.
Now, it feels like he's all over me, all over my mouth, all over my body, and I'm not sure I don't like it. He smells so good, like he's just had a shower.
My heart is hammering, trying to jump out of my ribcage, and I'm so damp between my legs that I feel clammy and hot.
“Did I hurt you last night?”
