by Anita Gray
I'm flush from the overwhelming orgasm that's still lingering on my skin, and he's bright eyed, teasing me about kicking my ass in the gym. He doesn't though. He's as soft as ever with me, catching me from behind every time I try to strike, and like the lust sick cat I am, I let him.
“If you notice a few Mexican guys wandering about the place today,” he says, panting in my ear from over my shoulder, “don't be alarmed. They're my men.”
My spine pricking with nerves, I turn out of his arms to look at him. “Your men?”
“Yeah.” He picks up a towel from the ropes and pats his damp face. “I need to pop out so they're gonna be here to keep an eye on the place. Celine is still MIA and I don’t want her coming back here confronting you again.”
“I can handle the likes of her,” I say, momentarily offended, but then I'm gutted because he hasn’t asked me to go with him.
“I know you can handle her but I won’t have you dealing with my shit, Blaire.”
“Do you... do you need my help with anything?” I say, unaware that I'm pulling an evil face until Charlie tells me.
“There's nothing to worry about.” Reaching out he pinches my chin and then playfully slaps my cheek, setting off my desire to play fight with him.
He does this a lot when I come across worried, I've noticed over the months.
When we're done play fighting in the ring, I go back up to my room for a shower before relaxing in bed with a book. I don't go down for lunch because I know he's not here.
As I said, bar Charlie's odd behavior, the day starts out very normal. No. Perfect. I couldn't ask for anything more.
At half past four, it's time for dinner, and I'm itching to ask what's going on—I know something is—but I don't get a chance to go downstairs because Charlie strolls into my room with a fancy shopping bag in hand. He puts it on the foot of my bed and remains quiet in my presence, watching me.
“What's that?” I frown up at him, studying his clothes. He's dressed in well fitted jeans and a tailored royal blue shirt tucked in at the waist, the sleeves rolled up, revealing a big silver watch on his left wrist. His hair is pulled back, and I can smell he's wearing some sweet/musky cologne.
Charlie never wears cologne.
“A present,” he says, waving a hand at the bag—that's where he's been. Shopping. He smirks at me, his blue eyes flashing with amusement.
Leaning over, I put down my book on the bedside cabinet and sit up with crossed legs, my eyes thinning with wonder. “What's going on?”
“We're going out for dinner-”
My stomach knots as he says that.
“-I've bought you some nice clothes and shoes, so if you get dressed, we can leave.”
“Leave to go where?” I can feel the color draining from my cheeks as I think about the last time he said he wanted to take me to dinner. I'm staring at the bag now, dreading what's inside. If that's a dress, I'll kill him. No. I'll make him fucking wear it. “You're not going to make me dance, are you?”
Charlie throws his head back and bursts out laughing, though in a fond manner. “Not if you don't want to.”
Well, that's a relief, I think.
When he's done laughing, he rustles through the bag and pulls out a green strappy top, light blue jeans and a pair of heels!
Worse than a dress.
“I am not wearing them,” I say before I realize, unsure of what face I'm pulling. Shock, probably.
“You're not wearing what?” he says, demurely pretending he cannot see my expression. Putting everything down on the bed, he comes around to me, his stride slow and confident. “The shoes?”
I focus on the shoes, one toppled over on the jeans. Nude and strappy. They're not very high but I've never in my life worn heels, and I'm not about to.
“What's wrong with my clothes?” I look up at him standing beside me, at his face glowing in shrewd hilarity.
“Well,” he crosses his arms, still smirking, and licks across his lips like he fancies something, “I'm a very big fan of your tight sports trousers, but where we're going, they're not the right attire.”
“So, where are we going?”
“It's a surprise.”
My heart is hammering in my chest, and my mouth is so dry that I'm surprised my voice comes out even when I say, “I'll wear the clothes, but I'm not wearing those shoes.” I don't really want to wear the clothes either but I'm used to the whole give and take thing that's between us now.
“All right then,” he says, shocking the hell out of me. “Get dressed and I'll meet you downstairs.” He saunters off, leaving me in a state of dumfound.
I expected him to put up more of a fight about the shoes. He obviously wants me to wear them, otherwise why would he have bought them?
I climb out of bed and pick up the clothes, twisting my face. They're so... girly. Where on earth is he taking me that requires me to wear shit like this?
Perhaps I should have asked him. I always leave it too late to ask him things.
I strip down to my underwear and dress in the jeans, which are so tight they might as well be painted on. I shake off how much I dislike them, pulling the strappy top over my head. It's made of silk, the green material shimmering under the lights in the room, the straps crisscrossing my back.
I feel odd, like I could be a different person. Maybe that's what he wants.
I have to shun the thought because it's like being punched in the stomach.
I slip on my trainers, tie the laces, and go downstairs to meet Charlie, fighting to keep my anxiety level. He said we're going out for dinner, so it shouldn't be so bad, but I've never been out for dinner like this before. I usually man-watch Maksim while he dines.
Coming down the staircase, I find Charlie is wandering back and forth across the entrance hall like a caged tiger, and when he gazes up at me, a huge smile spreads across his handsome face. He nods a few times. “Yeah, you look lovely in green.”
I scowl with bafflement—he's in one of those funny moods—walk past him and reach for the front door.
“Not just yet,” he says, taking my hand in a feather light grip. He turns me away from the door.
“Huh? I thought you said we were going-”
Entwining our fingers together, setting my blood on fire, he leads me into a room I've not seen before, left from the staircase. It's really warm, humidity hitting me like an Indian heat wave as soon as we cross the threshold. A long, wide room and high ceilings, aglow with fancy brass lamps on side tables. Dark rosewood paneled walls and brown leather couches in the heart of the space, the parquet flooring covered in huge expensive rugs.
“Sit here,” Charlie says, helping me lower onto the biggest couch that faces the window. The sky is crystal clear, the sun burning low in the horizon.
When I look up at Charlie, I'm not sure which is more beautiful—that strange expression on his face or the sun.
He smirks at me, his eyes flickering between mine, then pivots and disappears into the entrance hall. I pull my eyebrows together, wondering where he's going.
It smells strongly of lemon polish in here, which is strange, given I've not seen a cleaner here at the house and I can't imagine Charlie polishing this big old room. Yes, he has a knack for cooking and the odd bit of cleaning, but this room is much too big for one person to clean.
Charlie comes back a few minutes later and passes me a small black box with gold detailing, BVLGARI written in gold across the lid.
“What is it?” I ask, taking it from him.
He's still smirking. He gestures at the box. “Open it and you'll see.”
I hesitate for a moment, tied up with anxiety, then I click open the lid. I find a silver bracelet inside with BVLGARI written across the side. There's a row of sparkly crystals in the center.
“If you want my opinion on jewelry, you're out of luck.” I laugh awkwardly, peering up at him. “I know nothing about jewelry, Charlie.”
“I don't want your opinion.” He's trying not to laugh, bitin
g his lips closed.
I screw up my face. “Then, what?”
“What'd you think?”
“About this?”
He nods.
I shrug, glancing between him and the bracelet. “I guess it's... nice-looking?”
Where is he going with this?
Something switches on in my mind—the clothes he just gave me—and I point at myself. “Is this for me?”
“Yeah. It's for you.” He's still trying not to laugh. Inclining toward me, he takes the bracelet out and puts it on my left wrist, clicking it shut.
The metal is cold against my skin. It's a hard band, not something delicate.
“Do you like it?” Charlie squats down in front of me with elbows on his knees, eyes dazzling like blue diamonds.
I blink at him, feeling like he's putting me on the spot. “Yeah... eh... sure.”
Now he laughs, fond of something, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He takes the box from me and puts it down on the coffee table, grabs my hand and holds it in his, covering mine completely.
“Why would you buy me a bracelet?” I just don't get this. First he says he's taking me out to dinner, and now he's giving me a bracelet?
“Why not?” He looks me dead in the eyes, his steady and observing.
His question lingers while we stare at each other, and the moment is so intense that I think I stop breathing, especially when he reaches out and pulls my hair forward, so it hangs over one shoulder, down my front.
I can't help feeling a little... I don't know.
Why would he buy me a damn bracelet? And why's he looking at me like that?
“I'd like to give you a lot more than just a bracelet, Blaire,” he says. “Anything you want, Iwant to give it to you.”
My chest does that weird squeezy thing and I find myself gripping the bracelet on my wrist with my free hand.
“You don't have to buy me things, Charlie,” I say softly, “I've got my own money.”
His eyes... Fuck. He looks raw with passion and promise, making my chest squeeze even tighter.
“I'm not just talking about things,” he whispers, his words coming out slow and hypnotic. “I'm talking about you and me.”
Now, not only is my chest squeezing, but my heart is in knots.
There's something about Charlie tonight, something about his mood. I can't tell if it's sexually fueled or what.
“Can I use the toilet before we go?” I ask, to stop whatever is going on with him—hopefully by the time I come back, he'll be his normal self.
Letting go of my hand, he stands. “You don't have to ask for permission, baby. You know that.”
I sink into my shoulders, push to my feet, and begin to leave the room.
Really, why would he buy me a bracelet? It has no real use to me. It can't protect me or feed me.
“Blaire-”
Stopping on the threshold, I peer back at Charlie, anxious beyond words—I just want the moment to be over with already.
“-What's that on your back?” he says, glowering at me.
“Huh?” I push my hair aside, trying to see what he sees. “What?”
He's behind me now, pulling the strap down my shoulder. “Those marks.”
I scowl at him, baffled, then I feel him run a finger over one of my scars.
“They're whip marks.” I don't sound too bothered telling him this, because I'm not. Maksim gave them to me, as a gift and a way to remember him, he said.
Charlie stands back and practically gapes at me. He doesn't say anything for a moment. He looks a bit... I don't know... angry? Confused or angry?
“Charlie?”
“Did he...” his voice is so low that I can barely hear him. “Did Maksim do that to you?”
“Do what?” I cannot fathom what he's talking about for a moment. “The marks on my back?”
He nods, swallowing, the large apple in his throat bopping up and down. I'm having a hard time trying to process the look on his face.
“Well, yeah. Why?” I pull up the strap and fix it on my shoulder.
Charlie is still quiet, looking at me like I'm a stranger.
“Are you okay?” I ask, then I realize he must not have seen my scars before. When he first took me on that horrible night—the first night—I was lying down on my back, and when he pulled me onto his lap, my hair must've curtained my ugliness. Any other time we've been intimate, we've not had a chance to fully undress because our moments are just that... moments, wild and unthought-of.
“Don't look at me like that, Charlie,” I playfully nudge him in the arm. “They're just marks.” For a second, just a brief second, I think he might find them hideous—the women he's had are probably perfect in every way. Celine certainly looked it. “Do you want me to put on a jumper or something? Do they make you feel... ill?”
“No! No!” He reaches out to me, but then retreats. “Course I don't want you to cover up. And they don't make me feel ill, Blaire... I just...” he doesn't finish. He cups his forehead and scratches restlessly. “I can't believe he's whipped you that hard.”
I gulp, wrapping my arms around my middle. I remember Charlie saying thathe's all for a bit of sadism, and Celine confirmed his dark desires. Does he feel like he's missed out now he knows I can take a beating?
I don't know why I just thought that. It's ridiculous. Charlie would never hit me. Or, I don't think he would.
“I'm just going to the toilet,” I say, and I'm out of the living room before he can utter another word.
I don't use the downstairs toilet. I dash up to my room and shut the door, giving him a chance to come down from whatever mood he's in.
I'm dreading the next moment I see him—which is now.
———
“Open the door, Blaire.” Charlie knocks on my bedroom door with three heavy taps that echo through my room. “Iwant to talk to you.”
My throat restricts, and I don't know why, but I'm scared shitless.
With a shaky hand, I pull open the door. He marches in past me and kicks the door shut with his foot, makes me flinch as it bangs.
“When did Maksim do that to you?” He towers over me, his temples ticking.
I step back, not liking that darkness in his eyes.
“Blaire...” He raises his eyebrows at me.
I look down, knotting my fingers together over my lap. “You know I can't talk about Maksim.”
We're quiet after I say that, but the tension in the room is like blow horns going off.
“Can I see them?” Charlie says eventually.
I keep my eyes down.
“I guess,” I whisper, shrugging minutely. “If you want to.”
“Do you mind if I see them?”
“I'd rather you didn't.” I descend into my shoulders. “I know they're making you uncomfortable.”
“They're not making me uncomfortable at all.” His voice darkens as he yells, “They make mewant to rip Maksim's fucking head off! When did he do that to you?”
I cringe against his yelling. I've never seen Charlie this mad before.
“Iwant to know when he did that to you, Blaire. Does he still hit you? When was the last time he hit you?” He goes on and on, baffled that he's never seen the marks on my back before. “Why haven't you told me the extent of his abuse?” He's practically spitting fire as he yells, “Answer me!”
I take a step back and look up at him with tears in my eyes, putting up a mental wall between us.
“Why are you doing that?” he says, glaring as he studies my eyes. “Why are you moving away from me?”
“If I don't answer you, are you going to hit me?”
“What!?!” He backs away from me now, his face draining of color. “No... I would never... I'd never lay a finger on you! Why would you even ask me that, Blaire?”
I drop my gaze to the floor, fighting to shut off.
“I'm sorry...” he says, trying to reign himself in. “I'm not angry with you. I'm just... angry.” He steps up to me but I step ba
ck again. “Baby, don't do that. Don't back away from me. I'd never hurt you, I swear it.”
My skin is pricking with anxiety. How can I escape this situation?
“Talk to me, Blaire, please? Tell me what's going on with those marks. Are they all over your back?”
“Can we drop this?” I sound like I'm on the verge of tears, because I am. “I don't want to talk about it.”
“I can't just leave this alone—I won't!”
I glance up at him. He still looks angry as hell, his eyes like blue balls of fire.
“How would Maksim feel if I whipped him like that, hm? Maybe I will, just to show him how much it fucking hurts.”
I don't feel any instincts over Maksim as Charlie says that.
I stare at my feet, shaking a little.
“You know that you're supposed to go back to him soon, don't you? We've only got a week left together.”
Lifting my eyes, I glower at Charlie. “Of course I know that.”
Why does he have to point that out now?
“Do youwant to go back to him?” He reaches for one of my hands but I don't feel his touch.
His question echoes.
Do I want to go back to Maksim?
I'm not sure it's a matter of wanting to go back to him. It's a matter of knowing I have to. Regardless of how much I want to stay with Charlie, my subconscious works on another level. I'd probably end up returning to Maksim in my sleep if I didn't willingly go in my conscious state.
'Just do your jobs and come home to me', Maksim said. Recalling his order seems to put me back two and a half months. I'm Blaire, my little pet, again.
There's this weird ringing in my ears and it won't go away.
“Blaire?” Charlie gently tugs my hand, trying to grasp my attention.
I nervously scratch the side of my leg with my free hand.
“Do youwant to go back to him?”
“Yes,” I say, though I don't let on that I might miss Charlie. What's the point?
“I don't believe you,” he says softly.
“Why not?” I peer up at him, then I look past him because I cannot stand that intense blue stare of his.
“Because I think you're lying.”
“I'm not,” I say innocently. “I've really come to... I don't know... enjoy being around you, but I've known Maksim longer than I've known myself. My life is with him. It's all I know—it's all I'm allowed to know.”