by Box Set
“I think so,” I whisper, swallowing and nodding in union. I don't want to talk about this. I want to know why he thinks Maksim stole me.
“You think you were that young?” Charlie says, putting his hands back on the table, looking solemn in his pose. “What does that mean?”
“I don't remember much of being young,” I tell him honestly. “I don't even remember meeting Maksim.” I shouldn't be indulging him but I'm hoping that if I let him in on a little of my past, he'll tell me more about Maksim apparently stealing me.
Why would Maksim tell me he bought me when he stole me? It doesn't make sense. If he stole me, he should have just told me. It wouldn't change things either way.
Charlie doesn't elaborate on what he knows. It seems he's got other things on his mind, like, “Did he sexually abuse you when you were younger?”
On autopilot, I jump to my feet. “Why would you think that?”
With a sardonic expression on his face, he arches a brow at me.
“Don't you look at me like that. You know I'm a...” Fuck, I can't even bring myself to say that innocent word. “You know I've not had sex before.”
He looks me up and down in irony. “There are other ways to toy with girls, as I'm sure you know, Señorita.”
A cold drop of sweat slides down the side of my face.
“I can't be speaking about this. I can't be speaking about Maksim to you.” Yes, I want to know what happened to me, but not that much.
I fiddle to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I never get visibly anxious when it comes to a confrontation, but after that revelation about his father, he makes me anxious.
“It's getting late,” I say, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “I should probably—”
“Sit back down, Blaire. That's not a request.” He extends a steady hand, motioning for me to take to my seat. “I was just asking. I'm concerned, is all.”
Concerned? Yeah, right.
I need to watch what I say around him. He's charming, and it's easy to get lost in conversation with him.
“Blaire—” he nods at my chair and I sit on command, fisting my hands in my lap. “Forget about all the heavy stuff.”
That's fucking easy for him to say. I'm sweating in my seat.
“Do you want to train daily with me?”
“Huh?”
“In the gym,” he elaborates. “Do you want to train daily? I find you quite challenging, and I don't find anyone challenging, usually.” He smirks, his sly amusement back in full force.
“If you think you can keep up with the pace, then sure.” I shrug. “Why not?”
“Okay then,” he says, wiping his lips with a napkin before tossing it on the table. “I'll see you in the gym bright and early.”
“Any time specifically?” I watch him gather the dishes on the table.
“Six thirty, if you can manage that.” He stands, and my eyes zero in on his body. “I have to train early because I make a lot of business calls during the day.”
“I can work around your schedule.” I force myself to look up at his face, and my next line comes out thick with sarcasm as I say, “It's what I'm here for, isn't it?”
He chuckles, glancing between my eyes and mouth, then he takes the dishes to the sink. “Do you want anything else to eat? Like desert?”
“No.”
With raised eyebrows, he looks back at me. “No, thank you.”
I snort. I barely say please and thank you to my master, so as if I'd be courteous to him.
“Can I go now?” I say. “Or do you want to grill me some more?”
Shaking his head, he pulls open the fridge for a bottle of beer. “You can go if you want to go.”
I'm out of my seat before he finishes speaking, and the sarcastic me says, “Thank you.”
18
The next morning, I eat a scrambled egg breakfast courtesy of Charlie, wash up at the sink, then I wander into the gym. I’ve got this weird sensation in my tummy, like flutters. It makes me really nervous.
Charlie is on the treadmill already, a little sweaty but lean and running like an athlete. He’s wearing a pair of gray sports shorts, his muscular legs peppered in dark hair.
Trying to ignore how gorgeous he is, because his broad upper body is lacking clothes, I keep my eyes ahead and pursue for the boxing ring.
“Morning, Señorita,” he pants out, and I look at him. His lips are curved in a sinfully alluring smile, as he wipes his face with a towel.
I wish he wouldn't smile at me like that. It makes me feel all funny inside.
I force a smile back at him, folding the sleeves of my sweater up my arms.
“You ready for a friendly fight, huh?” He pushes a button and rolls back off the treadmill, drops the towel, and ties up his hair.
“Sure,” I say. Pulling the ropes apart, I climb into the boxing ring and hold them open for him, leaning away as he straightens in front of me.
“I’m glad you’re ready. I want to teach you something,” he says, and steps into me, making me step back.
“What?” I ask, still walking backward. “You're not going to start questioning me over Maksim again, are you?” The thought just popped into my head. After that intense conversation with him over dinner yesterday, I want to avoid the topic of Maksim like the plague.
“No, I’m not gonna question you about him,” Charlie says, circling me now. He’s hunched at the neck, prowling like a wild animal.
I pivot to his stride, my eyes trained on his. “Okay. So, what do you want to teach me then?”
“Mental control.” He attacks me without warning, but I block his punch with my forearm.
“Khristos, Charlie! Give me a chance to prepare.” I step back, blinking at him with my heart rate soaring. “Why do you want to teach me mental control?”
“Because,” he says, his gaze dark and focused, “I don't want you listening to anyone else around you when you're fighting.”
He snatches for my throat but I whack his hand away, keeping my legs slightly open for balance. I need my wits about me today, clearly.
“You don't want me listening to anyone?” I say, baffled.
“No, I don’t. I noticed how quickly you stopped fighting when Maksim told you to kill James.” Charlie follows me around the ring, trying to dominate me with his presence. “If James was out for blood that day, you'd be dead.”
Is he kidding me? James would’ve needed more than that stupid moment of distraction to end me.
I'm insulted.
Charlie swings for me with a straight front-jab. I catch his punch in one hand and clout him in the face with my other.
“That was vicious.” He laughs, wiping a drizzle of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Vicious?!” I squeal, shaking out my hand, pain simmering in my bones. “You're trying to punch me! You said you wouldn't—” He ambushes me then, grabs the back of my neck with both hands, and forces me to bend over. He tries to knee me in the face, letting out a deep groan with each assail. Growling in anger, I beat away his attacks with the heels of my palms, heating up all over with adrenaline. Then I tackle him with my shoulder, dropping him on his ass. He's so fucking heavy to move it's physically taxing.
Dashing to my feet, I jump about and roll my shoulders, trying to warm up my muscles. I should have stretched out before fighting him today, but I didn't anticipate this.
Charlie gets up and runs at me like a bull in a china shop. On instinct, I bob and weave, using up all the boxing ring space, escaping his strikes and booting away his kicks.
“What are you doing?” I yell because he won’t stop coming at me, and I slap his face. His head whips to the left, but he laughs. He manages to catch my next slap and bends my arm back. “Ouch!” I sidekick behind his knee, knocking him over. I fall flat on my face with him, bouncing against the surface.
Gasping with adrenaline, I bolt to my feet. Charlie merely takes his time with getting up, still chuckling.
“What the hell are you l
aughing at?”
He gestures up and down my body with a steady hand, the smuggest grin on his face.
“I don't need any training from you, Charlie Decena.” I point at him in anger. “I can keep up with you in my sleep.”
“Yeah, maybe you're right, but you're not focused when it comes to Maksim.”
“If Maksim says something—aargh!” I smack away his next punch. “I stop on instinct!” I don't mean to yell this so passionately, but I do.
We go back and forth like this for ages, Charlie really trying to put me down as he chases me around the ring.
I’ve had enough when he swipes for my face with such force I feel a breeze against his action. So I seize his arm, yank him forward, and shove his face into the boxing ring with my knee between his shoulder blades. “I thought you said you wouldn't punch me?” I hiss in his ear, as his fingers clasp around my wrist. “Are you trying to make me really hurt you? Whoa!” He flips over and manages to pin me under him, putting us face to face.
“I assumed you'd want me to keep up with the pace, Señorita?”
My heart picks up a beat, because I can smell the sweaty, soapy fragrance of his skin—and the way he's looking at me...it's raw.
“Yeah, I do want you to keep up with the pace.” I knee him where it hurts because I need to put some space between us.
“Awh, Dios!” He doubles over with his expression twisted, cupping his crotch with both hands, and presses his face into the floor. “Fuck, Blaire!”
I roll away from him and stand, panting so hard that my chest is on fire. His ripped back is glistening in sweat, his muscles bunching as he tenses in agony. I lick my lips, imagining what his skin tastes like, feeling that heavy desire form in the pit of my core.
“You can't just do that in a friendly fight,” he groans.
Putting my hands on my hips, I say between pants, “Stop trying to talk me under your influence then.”
I know what he's doing. He's trying to mentally bond us. I'm not stupid.
He shakes his head, taking in easy, controlled breaths. I actually start to feel a little guilty. Did I go too far with hitting him in the balls?
“Are you all right?” I kneel beside him and softly touch his side. “Charlie?”
Making me squeak, he grabs my arm and yanks me under him again. He nudges my knees apart with his and settles between my legs. I cannot stop myself from gasping out. He's only wearing sports shorts and the thin material doesn't exactly hide how big he is.
“Charlie—” I husk out his name, gripping his solid forearms.
“Now, how would you escape me, hmm?” he asks. His eyes are level with mine, dark blue because his pupils are large. “You can't kick me in the nuts this time.”
I dig my nails into the insides of his elbows. He twists out of my catty grasp, grabs my wrists, and heaves them up above my head to stretch me out.
“And now?” he says in my face, flicking up his eyebrows.
We're nose to nose, watching each other. He's smirking, his eyes glittering like blue crystals.
“I'd head-butt you,” I whisper, slowly blinking at him.
He presses his damp forehead on mine. “And now?”
Oh, shit.
I tense my stomach, trying to manage this rage inside me. I'm not sure if it's anger or desire or both. They seem to be blurring into one.
“What would you do now, Blaire, hmm?”
Out of the blue—and I'm sure I've lost my damn mind—I push my chin forward and I kiss his soft lips.
With a deep moan, Charlie thaws against me, closing his eyes. His grip on my wrists loosens, so I use the heel of my left foot to turn us over and put him under me. I grunt as he resists. But I manage to get on top and straddle him with my thighs. “That's what I'd do.” I smirk down on him and gently slap his face, feeling uncharacteristically playful. “I think I win this round, too.”
He sits up and slams his lips to mine. I squeal, trying to push him away with my hands on his damp, hairy chest. I only wanted to distract him so I could prevail, I think.
He catches my hands and bends them behind my back, making me whimper in pain.
“Ouch!” I scrunch up my face. “My arms!”
He doesn't care. Moaning, he licks across my tongue, massaging mine with slow seduction, crushing my breasts to his chest. I groan, unwillingly sinking into him, losing all focus. I think I even close my eyes.
We're not supposed to be doing this!
“You're a little fucking tease,” he says harshly.
“And you're a cheat,” I say too softly, making him laugh.
Tilting his head and curving his lips around mine, he takes me in an extremely passionate kiss. Our mouths shape as one, inundated with saliva and sweat and the metallic flavor of his blood. I know I should keep fighting him off, but I don't. I can't. The kiss is satisfying. A little spot in my sex pulses, and I think I like it.
He kneads the insides of my wrists with his thumbs and an odd sense of relief washes over me, like he’s tapping into my pressure points or something. I sob in his mouth with fervor, thinking about the way I'm sitting on his lap. It’s provoking. His thick cock is just touching my throbbing clit, only scraps of material between us. I cannot move out of the way he's holding me, yet I can move my hips. If I shift forward just an inch, I'll be sitting in the hot zone.
I fight not to fulfill my desire to rub against him. I fight with all the will that I have left, which isn't much—Charlie is slowly but surely making sure of that. He's making me spiral out of control.
A phone starts ringing from across the gym, causing me to jump in my skin. My eyes flutter open. I try to yank back from Charlie but his grip on my arms at my back tightens, and he snaps, “Ignore it!”
“I need to go have a shower,” I say over our kiss, going all funny inside when he pushes his tongue in my mouth again.
“Ignore it,” he whispers after he’s done licking me, his voice softer now. Then he pecks a kiss to my lips before consuming me again.
I whine out loud, my will now evaporated. I indulge him for one more kiss—it's not like I can stop this, is it?
Charlie lets go of my arms, I assume because he can sense that I'm into this. Before he can do anything, I'm swathed around his neck, trapped in an erratic, lusty haze. I've no idea what the fuck I'm doing. I'm just doing it. His lips become more urgent and aggressive, making mine swell. He cradles the back of my head in one hand and the curve of my ass in his other, shifting me up his lap so we're flush against each other, sitting me right on top of his erection. It's all heady, the flavor of his blood and his sweaty fragrance. His sweat seems to have magnified his scent. It's all I can think about. Until he moves under me. He rolls his hips, rubbing his bulging cock against my sex. My veins charge with fire and I cling to him desperately, raking my nails down his back, moaning like I'm in pain or something.
The phone is ceaseless, ringing over and over again, all but shattering the moment. Charlie curses in Spanish. I can feel his anger on the surface of his skin.
“Go...go answer it,” I say in bated breaths, panting in his mouth.
He's not sure for a moment. His face is taut with deliberation. Then he bites out, “Dios Mío!”
Gripping my hips in large hands, he stands with effortlessness and puts me on shaky legs. I'm dizzy and flushed, blinking through my haze. When I tilt my head back, I see Charlie's cheeks are flushed too, his eyes glowing with arousal.
“You all right?” He scans my face, his eyes dancing between my eyes and my swollen mouth.
A little embarrassed, I nod, dropping my gaze to the floor between us.
“Good.” He shocks me with another gentle kiss, leaning down and pecking my lips. “Wait here.”
I nod again, but when he turns his back on me, it breaks the spell. My lungs fill with hot air, and I realize what I've just done. After I fought to have the power over my body, I just kissed him?
Fuck.
This is so fucked up. He stole me away fr
om my life—from Maksim. He used me to satisfy his own perverse needs without any regard for what I wanted. He’s evil.
Holding my face in both hands, I duck out of the boxing ring and sprint across the gym for the exit doors. One second I can hear Charlie yelling, “Who the fuck helped her leave The Site?” And the next, he's calling my name, telling me to wait.
I ignore him with all the will I have and rush upstairs to my room, baffled with myself.
Why did I do that?
I pace my bedroom, stewing over what the hell has come over me.
Three days I've been here with Charlie. Just three fucking days, and I've gone from being a strong, mentally disciplined combatant, to a whore? The only person I should ever want like this is Maksim, but I don't. It makes me sick. I don't get it. I just don't understand how this can happen, and so quickly.
I once read somewhere, “the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. I can resist everything but temptation”. Is that true? Is that what I need to do? If I give in to wanting Charlie, will it fix me? I'm not sure. I know nothing of what's happening here.
I wish Maksim had prepared me for things like this. If he had, I wouldn't be so mystified.
———
I bury myself in a book to take my mind off things, though when it’s midafternoon, the sun hovering between high and low in the sky, I have to go downstairs because I’m hungry.
I'm hoping to avoid Charlie, but that’s never going to happen. He's in the kitchen, on the phone by the back doors, wearing jeans and a black round neck t-shirt, his hair tied back. He's almost as tall as the back doors, his shoulders broad and his waist narrow, blocking the view over the garden.
“So, she's in Europe then?” he asks in Spanish, and I stand there on the threshold with a familiar tightness in the low of my stomach.
I shake my head, frustrated with myself, and wander into the cooking space. His presence alone fucks with my chi and he hasn't even looked at me yet. I open the fridge and find there are pork medallions and fresh chilled asparagus, and on the kitchen countertop there's a bowl of potatoes. Busying myself, I rummage through the cupboards to gather the utensils I need. I peel and cut up the potatoes so I can boil them for mash. Then I fill a stainless steel saucepan with water and set the stove ring on medium, gently dropping in the potatoes.