Charming Husband

by Celia Crown

  “I know, my love,” he coos while perching at the edge of his mahogany desk.

  This is too small to be his office. I imagine it to be grand and full of windows so he can stare outside and judge everyone as if they are ants.

  “I cherished that wine,” he begins, and my stomach tumbles with the need to throw everything out.

  “I had imagined myself enjoying it under the setting sun; it would be a long day, and I wished it to be a gift for my wife.”

  Oh, Jesus, he has a wife. Oh god, this isn’t good, I just broke his gift to her. It’s probably an anniversary gift, and his gorgeous wife must be coming back soon, and he’s not going to have anything for her.

  “I—”

  “Silence, my love.”

  He shouldn’t be calling me that when he has a wife; people will have the misconception that he’s a cheater and it would ruin his reputation as whatever he is.

  A wine mater or curator, a multibillionaire, and the most eligible and ineligible bachelor.

  “I fancy myself to be a very patient man; do you not agree?” he cocks his head with his luscious black hair staying in style.

  I nod hastily, anything to make him happy is what I’m going to do.

  “I have not done unimaginable things to you,” he says; his voice is deeper than timber.

  “Wine is a materialistic thing; I am able to separate myself from such things when it is needed.”

  I silently nod along, but my eyes are too teary to meet his. I’m busy trying to stop the snot from going down my nose while I sniff as discreetly as possible.

  “I will never be upset over mistakes, but I will be angry about anything that can cause you harm,” he growls, eyes darkening in a haze of warmth.

  “However, I cannot allow any mistakes to go unpunished to avoid future incidents.”

  I bite back a whimper while I wait for the final blow that will end my life, but I hope that he will have mercy on me because he doesn’t seem too angry over the wine.

  If I was him, I would have thrown a tantrum for something that I have cared for years. I am not him, and my way of thinking is of the common people; he’s among the top one percent that thinks a ten-million-dollar check is pocket change.

  “I do not wish you harm; that is something I cannot imagine myself doing,” Mr. Hawkins kneels in front of the chair that I sit stiffly in.

  He cups my shaking hands and runs a rough finger over the back of my hand, “Nevertheless, you did cause trouble, and you were remorseful. I am a generous man, but I do not forgive easily.”

  Of course, I was remorseful, and if I knew every word in the dictionary that could describe what I’m feeling right now, then I would be throwing poetic words at him that probably wouldn’t make sense together.

  “I was never angry at you; however, there is no reason to be forgiven.”

  He’s not making sense to me because I hardly spoke more than two sentences to him. Katerina was the communicator between the two of us, and she handles all the fluent French speakers while I pretend that I know what they’re talking about.

  “In exchange for the broken wine that I have had for such a long time and cared for with every minute of my day,” he sighs with sadness.

  My arms itch to wrap around his neck and bring him comfort, but I don’t think his wife would appreciate him having another woman rubbing her body all over her husband.

  “You will marry me.”

  Chapter Two

  Kace

  I knew Malia was going to be my wife the moment I saw her step into my wine vineyard.

  She is such a pretty, little thing with red hair and eyes of warm Earth, and I’m not the only one who sees the raw beauty in her kindness and unique personality.

  Malia isn’t one of the top one-percenters; she’s a humble girl with a rich friend. I have heard of Katerina Rushkoff, and rumor has had it that she was looking for a man to settle down, but her terms are too far out fetched that every candidate has been eliminated before they could be on a date.

  Rushkoff is a big name in the oil industry, but we never cross paths because my business is of wine and the catering towards individuals with rich taste pallets.

  I have no interest in Katerina Rushkoff. My eyes are on Malia. She looked too out of place in my multimillion vineyard where the magic of wine happens, and my protective instinct flares when I laid eyes on her supple, little body.

  Clad in a small black dress that steps on the line of classy and casual, I actually prefer if she were to be in the clothing that she is the most comfortable in.

  “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea!” her squeak is adorable with that pretty blush at the apples of her cheeks.

  I want to take a bite and see how red she can get.

  “I did not recall giving you an option, my love.”

  She flushes when I call her that; my chest nearly erupts in a growl as she remains oblivious of how much she affects me.

  I couldn’t get the guests out fast enough, and when the chance of grasping her little hands is presented to me, I had to make the best of it even if she thinks my intentions aren’t pure.

  I am anything but pure; anyone in the business of wine would know that I am a ruthless businessman that rules with an iron fist.

  When I want something, I will get it with any means necessary.

  Malia is someone I want, and I know she wants me too; it’s going to take a bit longer for her to realize that. I say that I’m a patient man, but knowing I have her with me irks me to impatience because I can’t do things to her that I want.

  I don’t know where the urge of marriage came up, but I knew I wanted a diamond ring on her finger and her belly round with our child.

  I’m a realistic man, and I know that it’s going to take months for that image to come true, but all good things come to those who wait.

  I also understand that this is too sudden, for me and for her. A stranger asking a beautiful woman to marry him is not an everyday occurrence, and I am a stranger to her.

  I have time on my hands to spare for her, and if she asks, she can have all of my time if she wants. Though, by the look on her face, she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me as of this moment.

  Perhaps I have come off too strong.

  I have been told that I am not a man who seems approachable for anything even if I have an angelic façade that lures in people, but I hardly have the time to entertain them unless they bring in money for me. I refuse to allow freeloaders into my life; they need to work for their share.

  This façade is for business purposes only. Other than that, I don’t smile much. I have to smile for Malia, or she would be too frightened of me.

  I do stand well over the average height for a man, and my body has been through vigorous workouts where I combined an exercise that is catered towards my body and the personalization of winemaking.

  “But, to marry you…” Malia trails off awkwardly, fidgeting in her chair as her perky, little tits bounce in her dress.

  “Our wedding will be what you dream of. I only wish you to be happy.”

  It’s the truth that shocks me when it comes out of my mouth, but I don’t regret it one bit. Once I have made up my mind about something, I won't back down from it.

  Malia triggers something in me, and I have spent the whole day tracking her movements and studying her with my keen eyes, and it is satisfactory to say that she is special to me.

  It is difficult to explain, but we have this connection.

  She feels it and is in denial of what is happening; the frequency of her blinking continues as she tries to explain why she cannot be my wife.

  None of the reasons are valid, but I’m willing to wait for her to come to terms that she is meant to be my wife.

  I want her more than I have ever wanted anything else.

  “I’m not wife material; I put black and colored clothes with my white ones, the kitchen is going to be the dustiest place you’ll ever see because I never go in it, and the bedroom�
�um, I can’t help you with that.”

  I cock an eyebrow, rubbing her small hands in mine and she doesn’t pull back. That means that she doesn’t feel revolted by my touch, and I do prefer her softness over my harder body.

  It’s her soft, feminine body that I want to sleep next to and wake up to her, nuzzling my chest like the adorable kitten that she is.

  “Oh?” I smile, “Please explain.”

  She hesitates, but the fire in her eyes sets that doubt to rest. “I-I’m… I’ve never been with anyone.”

  I don’t mind her words, but I do mind that she has not been with anyone. My cock stirs with interest, and my throat vibrates with a growl that startles her; a swirl of darkness begins to cloud my judgment at her admission.

  She’s a virgin.

  Nobody has touched her yet, and I will be the one whose touch she gets familiarized with.

  My cock will be the only one to fuck her tiny, little pussy open while she begs me for mercy. She’s going to writhe in pleasure while I give her every ounce of my attention.

  She is a queen that needs to be worshipped, and I will fulfill my duty with pleasure.

  “You see!” she chuckles with a cough, “I can’t do much, and I can’t help you make wine or whatever it is that you do.”

  “I will teach you,” I am not going to let her get away this easily, and her excuses only make her appeal to me even more.

  “Please, Mr. Hawkins,” she begs with big eyes; those dark brown eyes twinkle with tears.

  I want her to cry more.

  “You do not have to lift one delicate finger, my love. I will take care of you, and you will live a life of luxury with my money at your disposal.”

  I am prepared to drop all of my money on her if it means to have her stay with me. My body craves for her, but my mind yearns to have a day of comfort with her. Then my heart and soul want to have her for the rest of eternity; they ache for her and the smile she has when she thinks that she’s by herself.

  She never noticed me watching her and bathing in that stunning smile.

  “You know, I told Katerina too, but I’m not really a money girl. I just want to finish school and pray that I don’t fail,” Malia scratches the back of her head; trouble flashes in her face.

  I put pressure on my knees and lean in to take a whiff of her scent. I smooth a hand over her face and cup those warm cheeks with both of my hands; she is unable to look away with the stern hold that I have on her.

  “I will pay for your school,” I offer, and I didn’t make it sound like an option that she can refuse.

  Malia, as expected, refuses with a vigorous shake of her head. Her red hair flips over her shoulders and the red-rimmed brown eyes water again, and I berate myself for causing her distress at a time not relevant to my pleasure.

  I want to make her cry when I want to, not when she wants to. There is no pleasure for me to feel when she is genuinely stressed over something that I have no control over; the lack of control causes me great dismay even if it is something out of my control.

  Not for long, I think quietly; Malia will be under my control soon.

  “No!” she chokes, “No… I don’t want to be in more debt with you.”

  My brows knot as this sheds light on what is boggling her mind. If she is so worried about this monumental ten-million-dollar debt, then she needs to say it out loud for me to hear.

  Women and feelings are a complicated matter. I don’t have enough experience to decipher what they want based on their faces. Their emotions can change with a snap of a finger, and Malia is a storm of emotions right now.

  “It’s alright, my love,” I wipe the rogue tear that slipped down her cheek, “I will not ask you to repay me.”

  I hope this eases her, but it does the exact opposite of what I want. Her lips turn, and the wrenched noise escapes her trembling lips. She’s crying now, and I can't stop her tears.

  “My love?” concern rises from my heart at the frightful hiccup.

  “I-I don’t want to get married!” she chokes, “I want to finish school and—and watch my favorite shows when I do chores, and I want to go to parties too! I want normal people stuff, not an episode of Desperate Housewives!”

  Well, that can be arranged.

  She never said she doesn’t want to marry me.

  “How about a compromise, my love?” I purr; sinister intentions flashing in the back of my mind.

  I don’t scold myself for being this selfish bastard. I’ll never be anything but selfish when it comes to Malia.

  “Are you going to sell my internal organs? I heard the black market has a love for kidneys and hearts,” she mumbles, quite out of her mind.

  If I wanted to hurt her, there are easier and less illegal ways to do it. The amount of money I have can make the president of this country run for his life.

  “Of course not, I promise you that I will never physically hurt you,” It’s a promise that I intend on keeping even if I have to take the brunt of hurt onto my own body.

  All for a woman that I barely know, and yet this connection between us is monumental.

  Emotionally, on the other hand, that will be considered with great effort. I am a sadist that wants to make her cry when she’s begging for me with hair tossed on my massive bed and moaning when I slowly snatch orgasm after orgasm out of her.

  She is practically begging me to take her with those big, round eyes.

  “Are you going to make me work off that ten-million debt?” she asks, tentative and apprehensively afraid of my answer.

  I let her sit in the suspense that she has created herself; it’s an amusement to me knowing that I will never ask her to pay for anything even if it’s that bottle of wine.

  It’s replaceable, but if I push Malia too hard out of her comfort zone, she might not make it back. She is neither a product nor is she replaceable. Malia is a special girl that deserves special treatment from a man hell-bent on defiling that innocent mind and body, but I will keep her soul pure.

  I doubt I can taint that bright soul with my vile one.

  “I will pay for your education; that is non-negotiable,” I say, sternly catching her eyes as the watery brown hues dart from one side of my face to the other.

  “Your debt,” I pause and watch her squirm in anxiety; glee fills my chest as I cover it up with a purr.

  “You will repay me by spending time with me.”

  She opens her mouth to say something, and no doubt it’s a protest or another excuse as to why this is such a bad idea.

  When I say it's not a bad idea, it’s never wrong.

  “Each day, you will erase ten thousand dollars off of the ten-million.”

  She pales at the number as if hearing the price of the wine bottle from my mouth solidifies the truth in her mind, but I feel somewhat the same as I do every day.

  I care very little for that bottle of wine.

  “I am not asking for anything but your companionship,” I clarify before her brain explodes as to what it means to spend time with me.

  Sex is a bonus. Physical affection is definitely a thing that I have to show; however, I will not impose sex on her if she doesn’t want it.

  “What do you say?” I ask, cocking my head to the side to see her eyes as she has her head bowed down.

  She remains silent, comparing the pros and cons of my suggestion. Letting her think too much won’t do good for both of us, and I do not intend to let her find a loophole that disappoints me.

  “My offer stands for the next thirty-seconds.”

  Panic seizes her face, and she’s frozen for a moment as I start the countdown in my head. She frantically opens her mouth and closes when she doesn’t know what to say, or it’s the wrong thing, but I give her a warning when I get down to fifteen seconds.

  “O-okay!” she blurts, “I-I’ll spend time with you!”

  Malia’s wide and disoriented eyes clumsily blink, “Um, no doing the thing?”

  “The thing?” humor leaks into my voice as she
blushes.

  “You know… sex.”

  “Ah, yes,” I say as if I just received the information even though I have already known what her innocent little lips would say.

  “Yeah,” she clears her throat as her pink tongue darts out to lick her bottom lips. “None of that.”

  There will be sex, but only when she wants me to touch her. Her consent means too much to me; I will never breach her trust in me, and that trust has only begun to bud.

  “Anything you want,” I agree wholeheartedly.

  Malia eyes me with skepticism as I keep up the charming smile, but her intuition is sharp when she doesn’t let her guard down.

  Then her demeanor shifts; there is not an ounce of suspicion in her brown eyes anymore. Instead, it’s replaced with relief, and I’m completely shocked by it.

  “Okay,” she nods with a small smile, eyes gleaming in sparkles. “Thank you.”

  My heart shutters, I haven’t had the faintest clue as to why she would be thanking a man who had basically forced her into a marriage.

  I’m older, stronger, and more experienced than her in everything.

  Malia is just a girl, simple and gorgeous. I have seen her try to fit into the elite class with her dress and shoes, but nothing beats the way she holds herself up.

  There is no cockiness or arrogance that seeps out of her innocence. She is truly a girl grown up among common people, and if I was a betting man, I would say that her family is good people.

  They would be my in-laws. I would have to make a date in my busy schedule to meet them for the first time.

  I need a gift that isn’t too extravagant to make it seem that I am trying to win them over, but I do not wish for them to assume that I was a stingy bastard that doesn’t want to spend a dime on Malia’s parents.

  “Thank you for what, my love?” I ask.

  She shifts in her seat, bringing my eyes to her exposed chest and those perky breasts.

  Oh, how nice it would be to sleep on them.

  “For being kind,” she mumbles, head bowed down as she shivers.

  I pull her face up with a finger under her chin, “I will always be kind to you.”