by Box Set
I’m not sure what’s in the third box. It doesn’t look like chocolate.
“These are truffles,” Charlie says, apparently reading my confusion. He opens the lid and shows me the contents. “I bought you an assortment of flavors because I didn’t know what you’d like. These ones”—he focuses on the colorful cookies for a second—“are macaroons. And that”—he shows me the last box—“is the best cocoa chocolate money can buy.”
I don’t really know what to say. I can’t actually believe he’s bought all this for me. So I just smile at him, my heart going a little faster. He smiles back, puts the boxes over there on the table behind the food, and reaches for my plate.
“Was it all right at the salon?” he asks, filling my plate up with fish, vegetables, and new potatoes.
“It was fine,” I say softly. “I can do that, Charlie.” I try to take my plate from him but it's too late. It is loaded with a healthy portion of everything. He puts it down in front of me, squeezes a drizzle of lemon on my fish, then he dishes up his own dinner.
We’re eating much earlier than we usually do. It’s just past two thirty in the afternoon. Maybe it’s because he knows I’m going to pig out on sweets.
“Your hair looks pretty,” Charlie says, glancing at me.
I give him a funny look, noticing there's something crafty glittering in his eyes. I'm not sure, but I feel like he's up to no good. It's the way he's acting today.
Picking up my cutlery, I dig into the salmon. It's lovely. It melts in my mouth and tastes tangy with lemon. I eat in silence, paying acute attention to him, trying to figure out if he's up to something or if I'm going mad.
“You okay?” he asks in time, chewing on a piece of salmon. “You're really quiet.”
“I'm fine,” I say, swallowing down my food.
Though he doesn't for a second believe me, he doesn't press on. He starts telling me about the phone call he had earlier in the car. “There's a gang crisis going on in North Mexico and my Congressman friend wants me to deal with it.” He looks between me and his plate, speaking after every mouthful. “I need to send funds for more weapons, so my men can get rid of the problem before it gets out of hand.”
I don't say anything. I listen intently to him, opening my eyes in astonishment when he explains how he took over three cities, so this little issue isn't a problem.
He’s achieved more than Maksim.
“Have you ever been to Mexico, Blaire?” He has some more of his beer, and that crafty gleam in his eyes is still there. He's definitely up to no good.
“Yeah.” I finish off my food and push against the empty plate.
“Did you like it there?”
I shrug. “It's hot.”
“Yeah, it is hot.” He laughs fondly. Then he wants to know where in Mexico I've visited. If I'd ever live there. It's like that moment earlier in the car, the kiss, didn't happen.
“I'm not sure I'd be able to deal with the heat,” I say, looking directly at him, studying him and his odd behavior. He's finished his food too, and now he's leaning against the table on one elbow, bestowing me his full attention.
“People climatise,” he says softly.
I gesture at my hair. “I'm a pale redhead. Not sure I'm meant for the sun.”
He gazes over my hair, utterly fixated. It's streaming down my back in sleek locks. I haven't tied it up since visiting the salon.
“If you had to, would you give it a try?”
“What?” I wipe my mouth clean with a napkin and drop it on my empty plate.
“Try living in Mexico.”
“Oh. Well, sure, if I had to. I doubt Maksim would ever live in Mexico though.” I laugh awkwardly, not sure where he's going with this.
He reaches for my hair and strokes down a length, making my scalp tickle. I don't really know what to say again, so I remain quiet, clasping my hands together in my lap.
“I reckon you'd like it in Mexico,” he says, lifting my hair to his nose. “Where I live, it's a big estate boarded by a village with only the trusted.” He goes right into saying what sort of people live there and how many people live there, which sounds like thousands. “It's completely secluded from the world—you can't even see it on Google maps.”
“Does that woman live there too?” I ask, holding my breath for his answer.
“What woman?” he says, still playing with my hair. “Celine?”
I nod a couple of times.
“Not anymore she doesn't.” He stares right at me then, into my eyes with raw sincerity. “You don't have to be curious about her, Blaire. She's not like you. She’s nothing special. Mexico is flooded with mujer like her.”
I break eye contact with him, feeling my cheeks heating up. I've no idea why I even wanted to know if she lives near him. It's not my business.
“What sort of things do you enjoy?” he says, going in a different direction of conversation. “Other than sports, I mean. I really want to know.”
“Other than sports and food, you mean,” I say, making him laugh. It seems to lighten the mood between us.
“Yeah, other than sports and food,” he teases, winking at me.
I tell him about my silly desire to travel to strange places. That I like being around normal people. “I know it's weird, but things are always so dark and intense with Maksim”—I gulp out his name—“so I guess I just like being around the ordinary every now and again.”
“That's not weird. It makes sense.”
“You think?” I ask, genuinely interested in his opinion.
He nods, completely absorbed in me. “We all have our own ways of escaping life as it is.”
“Yes, we do.” I glance down, then back up at him. “I’m not allowed to visit strange places anymore though. You know, since Maksim said—”
“I know what he said.” Charlie pulls the car keys from his pocket and puts them down in front of me on the table. “You can do whatever you want with me. If you want to go out, go out. I won’t stop you.”
I really believe him, and in this moment, I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to him.
“What’s it like where you live?” I say.
“There's no bloodshed, Blaire, or we try to make sure there isn't.” Charlie's eyes glisten with possibilities as he says that. “We all live peacefully and spend as much time together as possible, having barbeques, celebrating each other's birthdays, and that kinda thing.” He talks about this over a few hours, while we dig into the chocolate he bought me, and I don't know why, but I feel like he's trying to sell living in Mexico to me.
25
I bolt upright in bed with diamonds of sweat dripping down my face and chest.
The moon is glowing low in the curtaining black sky, set between a collection of dazzling silver stars.
Is it morning yet?
Panting steadily, I rub my face. I had a dream that Charlie broke my virginity without permission from Maksim, and I didn't stop him—didn't even try!
I grip my throat, recalling every moment, every phantom image of Charlie's muscular body rippling against mine. It didn't hurt when he thrust inside me, stretching me open. It didn't hurt when he fucked me with gentle rhythm, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, kneading my body with his large hands. I came so hard that I actually had an orgasm—that's what woke me up.
I feel between my legs, sliding my fingers over my soft folds. I'm warm and damp but there is no blood when I look at my fingers. It was definitely a dream I just had.
Why am I wishing it was real? If Charlie ruined me, Maksim wouldn't want me anymore—then again, Maksim would put a bullet in my head and it will all have been for nothing.
I scoff, disgusted with myself. Why the fuck am I thinking about this shit, betraying Maksim’s orders? What's happening to me?
Putting my face in my hands, I take a moment to adjust to the real world.
I have to stop this, what's going on with Charlie, but how? How can I stop myself from wanting something when I'm around it twenty-four s
even?
I wish I came with an off switch. I've never mulled over so many things in all my life, and I've certainly never remembered my dreams.
Climbing out of bed, I get dressed and brush my teeth, then I head straight for the gym to relieve some of this tension-confusion inside me before Charlie gets up.
Like hell is that going to happen. Someone up there is fucking with me.
Charlie is already on the treadmill in the gym. I cannot resist watching him from the doorway. I hold the frame, tipping my head. His body is exquisite, bronze and broad, dusted in hair in all the right places. I can see everything I want to see because he's only wearing gray shorts and trainers, his back muscles bunching with every step he takes. His black hair is damp and curling around his neck and face, making him look like a savage, handsome brute.
The orgasm I just had is all too real.
“What are you doing, standing in the doorway, hmm?” he asks, grabbing a towel to dry his sweaty face.
“Watching you,” I say softly and without shame, then I wander over to him. “You're up early. It's not even four yet.”
He grins, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. “Got a lot of tension in me that needs releasing, hence no sleep and working my ass off in here.”
I smirk at him, crossing my arms. “A lot of tension, huh?”
“You bet.” He sounds like he wants to laugh but doesn't. He's as cool as ever.
While he finishes off his session on the treadmill, I lean back against the wall beside him so we can look at each other.
“Why are you up so early?” he says, giving me a curious stare. “You don't usually roll out of bed until at least six—unless I wake you up.”
My cheeks flush.
“Couldn't sleep,” I say awkwardly, uncrossing and crossing my arms.
“Hmm...” he hums like he knows, his eyes thinning at me.
I glance away from him, down at his phone on the floor beside the treadmill. It's flashing with a text message. Though I'm not one to pry, I can't help reading what the message says.
Just fuck the redhead with or without permission. She'll thank you for it later.
Crouching down, I pick up his phone and double check what it says. My eyes haven't deceived me. Someone named Rico sent him that.
“Blaire?” Pressing a button, Charlie rolls back off the treadmill. “What's wrong?”
I read the message once more, growing angry.
“You've been talking about me?” I look up at him, throwing wolfish glares.
“What?” He snaps his eyebrows together, drapes the towel over his shoulder, and tries to take his phone.
I don't give it to him.
“Just fuck the redhead with or without permission,” I say, showing him the message. “She'll thank you for it later.”
Charlie's face goes flat. “That's not what it looks like, Amada.”
“No?” I raise my eyebrows. “Well, it sort of looks like you've been telling your friend that I won't fuck you, and it sort of seems like you're bothered.”
“No.” He grinds his jaw. “If you read the rest of the messages, you'll see how the conversation started. Rumors are flying around that I've got a redhead living with me, and before people started assuming the worst of you—which they will when Celine can talk again—I told Rico that it's not like that.”
“Like what?” My voice comes out cold and hard.
“That you're not some puta I'm hooking up with to pass the time while I'm here.”
“I don't believe you,” I say, my anger bubbling on the surface.
He gestures at the phone. “Read the messages then.”
I can't. I'm nervous I'll see something I won't be able to erase from my memory.
“I don't need to read them.” I step up to Charlie. “Your friend's response is all I need. Why would he say that?”
“Give me my cell, Blaire.” He holds out a hand, and I have no idea where it comes from, but I fling his phone at the wall, shattering the glass screen.
“Fuck you.” I narrow a finger at him, looking right up into his eyes with pure wrath. “That's the last time I trust your word.” Turning my back on him, I storm toward the gym exit.
“Blaire!” he yells my name so loud I feel it shake the atmosphere. “Dios mío! Come back here, right now!”
I don't listen to him. I go up to my room and grab my jacket, then I jog back down the stairs, heading for the front door. Before I even grab the handle, Charlie is in front of me. “Where are you going?” he says, blocking my way to the door.
“Out,” I snap, avoiding his eyes. “Move, Charlie.”
“You haven't even had breakfast.”
“I'll get something while I'm out.”
“You don't have any money.”
I defiantly meet his blue stare. “Give me some money then.”
His temples tick. “You're not going out.” He walks into me, hunching at the neck to look at me. “We're not done here.”
“You said I can go out if I want to. You said you wouldn’t stop me.”
“Not like this, Blaire.”
I try to sidestep him, but he mirrors my movements.
“Charlie, get out of the way”—my tone is low but violent—“or I'll move you myself.”
Grabbing the collar of my jacket, he throws me back against a wall, causing me to gasp on impact.
“If you didn't just smash up my cell, you'd see that I wasn't mocking you,” he says harshly in my face, making me feel claustrophobic.
I slap him so hard that his head turns, using the full force of my body. Wallop!
“What the fuck...?” He lets me go, his entire body contracting with anger. His right cheek is red and I imagine it's throbbing. “Don't you dare slap me,” he warns, his nostrils flaring. “I've let you get away with too much but if you slap me again...”
I huff at him, not in the slightest bit worried about his warning. I'm not scared of him.
I slip past him but he catches my wrist, hauls me around and into his chest. Thrusting up my knee, I try to hit him in the nuts but he anticipates my move, blocking it with his thigh.
“Let me go!” I scream, pushing against his chest.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he says, catching my free hand. He then wraps both his arms around my body and imprisons me, my face in his chest. “Whether I said something about you or not is irrelevant. You're mine! I've paid a fucking fortune for you!”
My heart twists and crumbles.
Betrayal. All I feel right now is betrayal for falling for him, trusting him, and caring about him.
I'm so livid that I could rip his head off.
Yanking out of his hold with sheer force, I slap him again, harder this time. WALLOP!
“Is that how you see me?” I say, clenching my fist even though my palm is pulsing with pain. “As something you bought yourself? Is that why you're slagging me off to your friend?”
“No,” he says, breathing heavily, striving to control his rage. “I didn't mean to say it like that.”
“Ohhh, of course you did,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “I bet you're regretting the deal you made with me too, aren't you? Because if you didn't give me your word”—I air quote this in a sarcastic manner—“you'd be able to sodomize me whenever you want, until your thirst is quenched.”
His eyes burst into flames, and then he's yelling at me, “I've not touched you since that night! Not unless you've wanted me to!”
“And what? Now you're angry because I won't let you fuck me?”
The veins in his neck throb.
“Why don't you go out and find someone else to fuck?!” I scream so hard that the veins under my eyes pop. “Stop talking me under your spell and find someone else, like that fucking woman Celine!” I go into a full blown screaming rage, and I end up slapping him again. I've no idea what the hell has gotten into me. What he just said hurts. You're mine! I've paid a fucking fortune for you!
He doesn't stop me from slapping him, which
surprises me, given his warning. He's just looking at me, his left eye red from my blows.
I stop going wild eventually, panting like a feral cat boiling with fury.
“Are you done, huh?” he says, his voice deceptively soft.
My hands shake to punch him.
“Stop being a little bitch and listen to me, Blaire.” He leans into my face, his harsh breaths burning my cheeks. “I didn't say anything bad about you. Rico messaged asking, who's the redhead, and I told him you're a friend, that it's not like that. I don't want people thinking you're some puta.” Though he's trying to calm me down, I know he's fuming. I can see it in his eyes. “No one but you, me, and Maksim, knows I paid for you.”
I don't say anything. I'm too agitated to speak, wondering why I even care if he's speaking about me behind my back. I shouldn't care. I don't have the mentality to care about such bullshit, but I do.
Blood pulsing in my ears, we stare at each other in a power standoff, the atmosphere between us on fire. I can't even explain how this happens, but we pounce at each other and kiss so hard that all I can taste is blood. I'm not sure whose blood it is but it's thick and metallic. It's heady.
I push my fingers into Charlie’s sweat-damp hair and cling to him, standing on my tippy toes. I taste his tongue with hungry licks, how supple and wet it is...how salty his skin is... Charlie's holding my small face in both his hands, devouring me, moaning so hard that his voice vibrates in my body.
I'm so mad with emotions that all I want to do is take off my clothes, and his, and make my dream come true—I want to fuck him until my brains fall out—but I know I can't. I hate that I can't.
“I would never, ever badmouth you,” he says between kisses. “You have to believe me, or all this means nothing.”
“I do believe you.” I bind my arms around his neck to pull him closer. “I'm sorry.”
We stop kissing, but only so Charlie can turn me around and hold me, my back to his front. He's caging my arms to my chest in one of his, and I'm panting so hard trying to catch a breath.
