16
I accept that the four weeks of no negotiations must happen.
Charlie is annoyingly right. James cannot go about trying to kidnap me—not that he’d have much luck doing so while I’m conscious—and we need to make an example of Robert so others know not to fuck with us.
My threat to violate his daughters works like a treat. The following day, we receive footage of my brother, and he’s no longer strapped to a chair with a whore blowing his horn. But he’s not exactly thriving, either. While the recording only lasts thirty-minutes, it’s long enough to see him slugging about the gloomy cell in a weird, lethargic state. He struggles to the shadowed bathroom clutching at his stomach, then crawls back into the flimsy, single bed. I can’t figure out why he’s ailing. There’s a basket of food in the cell near the main door, so I know he’s not being starved, and he’s got plenty of water.
Before I go crazy analyzing James’ state, knowing I cannot change his situation, I try to keep busy. I focus on myself to grow in strength and spirit, taking the medication Dr. Shyam prescribed plus iron pills to battle my anemia. The anti-nausea pills are rendered unnecessary as I don’t feel sick at the thought of food anymore.
This is the first real step to recovery for me. No more unnecessary drugs.
To aid my health, I mention to Charlie that we could start training again as we used to. I’m aware he might say no, so I ensure I’m gazing at him when I bring up the topic of conversation. I ensure I’m touching him and smiling at him, aware that he can rarely resist me when I’m like this.
My plan of allure works.
He is more than ecstatic to pacify me. He explains he has some calls to make first, then he’ll go out late this afternoon and buy workout attire that will actually fit me.
It’s not what I was expecting.
The following morning, I find he’s invested in shorts and stretchy sports bras, nothing that even remotely resembles my old wardrobe. I blink to process while he unpacks the shopping bags and hangs it all in my side of the closet, telling me something about a job his men are on. I suspect the new exercise attire is to adjust how I associate working out. Before, it was all about keeping fit to protect Maksim. Now, it’s all about remaining healthy—as Charlie says.
I don’t share his opinion.
Though resistant, I strip out of my baggy tracksuit. I pull on figure hugging, butt high shorts, and a matching crossed-back-bra with blue trim. I slip on the new trainers, yanking to tie the laces, and I fasten my hair in a long ponytail. The strands brush my extra sensitive skin, causing my stomach to tighten and my palms gather with perspiration. I want to say something about how uncomfortable I am, exposed to anyone who looks, but words don’t form on my tongue. And I don’t want to argue with Charlie over clothes. But I also don’t want to walk the house with my scars on display. They’re private.
My lover has foreseen my reaction, it seems, because he reveals a whole bunch of loose-fitting vests to wear over the top of the bras. “I like these,” he says, studying the fabric with his fingers. “Lycra is my favorite material on women—on you.”
My relief to the vests is evident as I exhale, shutting my eyes.
“Oh, Blaire, you didn’t actually think I’d be all right with you walking around half naked for all my men to see, did you?” he teases, and I smirk at him. He lifts the loose-fitting vest over my head, kisses my cheek, and chaperones me downstairs to the gym.
My nerves over the clothes becomes a distant memory. In fact, everything beyond him becomes a distant memory. Charlie has the power to do that to a girl.
Initially, our workout sessions aren’t heavy. I walk the treadmill while Charlie watches closely, standing at my side to monitor my heart rate on a silly watch he makes me wear. After, I lift tiny weights, and Charlie crouches in front of me to cup my elbows one by one, counting every rep.
I eventually take to meditating again, knowing it will help regain strength in my muscles and my soul. I commit to the usual workout session with Charlie, then I tell him I’m going outside. I setup by the pool to draw its energy, lift my hands high above my head, and stand in a relaxing state of concentration. Apart from worrying about my brother, my thought process is clear and free flowing, and my body is overly tranquil. My breath catches as the day’s breeze rushes through my thighs and across my waist, blowing through the thin material of the vest I’m wearing. I feel like someone’s watching me, amplifying the earth’s elements. I feel like eyes are on my face and on my body.
“Are you gonna teach me how to do this or what?” Charlie’s voice makes me jump a clear mile.
I snap to ask what he’s doing, creeping up on me. “You can’t just interrupt someone who’s meditating, Charlie!”
He looks at me all wide-eyed, pleading his innocence. He swears he didn’t mean to startle me.
I put my hands on my hips, sure he’s teasing me about learning how to meditate. I playfully tell him to fuck off and walk on a few paces, but he insists he wants to learn, trailing my shadow. I still don’t believe him. To test the water, I tell him to copy my pose, squinting against the sun to look at him. He steps up beside me, facing the glittery pool, and spreads his legs so his feet are level with his wide shoulders. Frowning, I tell him to shut his mouth and only breathe through his nose, focusing on the muscles in the back of his throat. He does. Still skeptical, I tell him to lift his hands high above his head like he’s praying to the sun, sure this is where he’ll crack. The muscles down his ribs contract with his motions as he stretches to the sky, towering over everything in the garden.
I’m still waiting for him to laugh at me or leave while confessing he’s joking, but he doesn’t. Before I even tell him to close his eyes, he does. His mobile buzzes in his shorts pocket, and he ignores it.
I have his full, undying attention. What a treat.
I squint again to peek up at him from the side, at the concentrated expression on his face. His unshaven, square jaw is relaxed, nostrils flaring with deep intakes of breath. His skin looks almost golden under the afternoon rays.
It’s enchanting to see him like this, at his deepest level of concentration. I want to kiss him because he looks so good, but I won’t. I won’t interrupt this moment.
“Now, you just let your thoughts flow, Charlie, rather than controlling them.”
“Already there, baby,” he rasps, and I smile to myself, mimicking his position.
He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m teaching him a standard technique of Ujjayi: meditation through breath control. He’s a surprisingly good student. We maintain a stance like this for what barely feels like thirty minutes but over two hours pass. I’m certain Charlie is going to freak out at the loss of time, though he simply asks if I’ll chill with him in the gym while he works out. I do, of course. We become true partners in training—true partners in everything. He joins me for every meditation session now, and after, I go back inside the gym to wait for him.
Not that I mind. These are the best parts of my days.
I settle on one of the weight benches, clasping bottles of cool water, ready to watch him train. He only ever wears sports shorts and trainers, with his disobedient hair pulled away from his sculpted face in a messy ponytail. I swear he does it on purpose, having me visually slaver over every taut, formidable muscle in his body, every lick of sweat snaking around his hard curves when he’s been going at it for a few hours.
He enters the gym from the garden, and I shift on the bench in anticipation to get comfortable. He first gets in position on a blue mat, resting on his palms and trainer toes to accomplish at least one-hundred push-ups. His muscles contract all over, easing into the motions. He grunts with measured breaths, switching hands on every pump, getting faster and faster and faster—until I realize I’ve squeezed my water bottle half to death.
I shove the bottle aside, desperate to see him pump heavy weights and run a few miles on the treadmill. Then he lies upside down on a vertical leg press before using up the gym space to flip a huge rubber wheel, groaning heavily with every push, every thrust.
By now, hours into watching him, my head is spinning. My blood pressure is off the radar and the little pulse in my sex has throbbed off the charts. Today, I’m particularly horny. I want to fight him. I bite my lips as I think about it. There’s something sexual about fighting Charlie without us actually having sex. Foreplay.
But Charlie won’t spar with me. It’s a heavy blow. I ask as sweetly as I can, but he still thinks I’m too weak. “When you’re stronger, we will fight, baby, I promise.”
I’m slighted, bored, and rebellious—tormented by the sexual visuals I’ve been watching for the past days. He doesn’t even notice my frustration. He carries on flipping the big rubber wheel, so I wander across the gym with intention.
———
Charlie’s eyes follow my prowling, and I sense he’s frowning.
I pull the boxing ring ropes apart, climb in, and stand there on the bouncy surface with crossed arms, holding his blue gaze from across the distance.
“What are you doing?” he asks, dropping the rubbery wheel. In one fluent motion, he yanks a towel off the hook on the wall and wipes his sweaty face, coming up to me.
“I’m bored with the dull workouts,” I confess, glancing down his strapping frame. All I do is worry about my brother—who in fact caused this mess and could have cost me my life—recovering, and lusting after Charlie. “I want to fight,” I say, and his eyebrows shoot up.
He seems to forget that fighting was my life before him. I enjoyed it. I miss the rush of action. And I miss the rush I get from him.
“Are you going to come in?” I glance about the ring. “Or am I coming out to you?”
He shakes his head, expression edgy with reservation. “I’m not fighting you, Blaire. You’re not strong enough.”
“You see,” I point at him, beginning to pace around the ring, “you keep insulting me with your opinion on what I can or cannot do, like I cannot think for myself, and you keep saying I’m weak...” I stop to look at him, tipping my head in curiosity. “Are you worried a weak girl really is going to kick your ass?”
The muscles in his chest bunch. He looks insulted. Good.
“Come on, Charlie,” I coax him on, keeping my voice low and husky. “Come play, please? What’s the worst that can happen?”
He flings the towel on the floor and slips into the ring, stepping up to loom over me. “If you get hurt, it’s not my—”
Before he finishes speaking, I kick behind his ankle. He drops back on his ass, and the surface under us bounces against his weight. I smirk at him, walking backward. He glares up at me, playfully shaking his head. “No cheating, Blaire.”
I wiggle my finger. “There’s no such thing as cheating in battle, Charlie.”
“No?” He grins at me, eyes glittering with desire. “So, when you lay down rules that I’m not allowed to touch you with purpose, and you kiss me to beat me, that’s not cheating?”
I purse my lips, musing. “It’s called tactics, I believe. Not cheating.”
He unfolds himself from the boxing ring floor and turns his back on me, saying, “I’m not doing this. When you’re better, we can fight to our hearts content. Until then—”
“If you don’t fight me and try to beat me, I won’t let you fuck me again.”
That gets his attention.
“Ohhh”—he pivots, a sly smirk reaching the filthy gleam in his eyes—“c’mon, Blaire, you must know by now that I don’t mind forcing you?”
I smirk back at him, flicking up my eyebrows like he usually does. “I can handle your force, with ease.”
“You reckon, hmm?” He walks into me, stooping to put us nose to nose, and whispers in his raspy, Latino accent, “Refuse to let me fuck you, and you’ll see just how aggressive and forceful I can get.”
I touch his nose with mine. “No puedo esperar,” I say, I can’t wait, in Spanish, and his eyes blaze with zeal.
He grabs my throat, grips behind my knee, and slams me back on the ring surface. I kick at his hips and use his action to flip him over me, sending him tumbling across the ring. Then I stand, slowly, laughing at him. I crack my neck from left to right, a twinge of pain in my spine. It’ll pass. I just need to get used to being so physical again. I haven’t even been able to build up my stamina in the bedroom. Charlie hasn’t made a move to fuck me since he took my virginity, for whatever reason.
My lover lies there on his back rubbing his unkempt face, his muscled, hairy chest rising and falling under deep intakes of breath.
“If you think I’ll make the same mistake as before,” I say, referring to the time I hit him in the balls and crouched at his side in sympathy, “you’re sorely mistaken.”
He bolts to his feet and runs at me, snatching at me in every direction. I dodge his assault by ducking and weaving, dancing around to use up all the ring space. I’m exhilarated with adrenaline. I laugh so hard I’m sure I’m going to pee my pants as we playfully block each other, forearms whacking against forearms and feet kicking at feet. But then the muscles in my legs start to pinch, catching my steps. I go at him but it hurts to move. My face screws in discomfort.
Charlie pauses in the middle of the ring with his hands hovering about me in a state of protection. “Blaire?”
“What are you doing?” I say with gasps, circling him while he’s circling me.
He’s frowning, eyes penetrating up and down my body. “You all right? You in pain?”
“I’m fine.” I spring at him, but he jumps out the way, and I fall flat on my face.
“Oh, shit!” he curses, squatting to my side. “Blaire, baby—”
“What the hell...?” I growl, glaring up at him from under my eyebrows. “Why are you not trying?” I climb to my feet, as he does, and point out in sudden anger. “Don’t fight like I’m made of glass, Charlie. I won’t break.”
“Are your legs hurting?” he asks, ignoring my irritation. I swipe for his face, but he uses his forearms to thwart my strike, stepping back once more.
“My legs are fine!” I shout hard enough to turn my face red. My hands dart out like snakes to slap sections on his body, making him twitch about in protection. “Fight, Charlie! Stop worrying about me!”
Countering my attack, he lunges to hook a foot behind mine and swipes my legs out from under me. I land on my back with a hefty thud and a shrieking, ow! My face wrinkles in discomfort. I roll over to catch a breath, gasping through the pain.
Charlie watches me, telling me to stop this before it goes too far. It makes my blood boil. I don’t want him mollycoddling me. I want him to treat me as he used to, like the strong girl he knows I am. I want him to make me feel like the strong girl he knows I am.
Regardless of my breathlessness and the pain, I sprint to my feet and meet his shielding punts, pounding at his punches. But I stumble again and fall on the ropes in the corner of the ring. That’s when Charlie catches my wrist and spins me around so fast my head whirls. He pulls my back flush to his front, bending one of my hands up my spine.
“Ouch, Charlie!” I stomp on his foot to no avail, tensing my face in agony. “My arm!”
“Is this trying enough, hmm? Is this what you wanted?”
“You’re going to break my damn arm!”
“Stop, then I’ll stop,” he says, puffs of hot air chasing down my neck.
I nod in a panic with my arm feeling as though it’s going to pop out of its socket, and his grip loosens, but not completely. His free arm cuffs around my throat, holding me prisoner against him. My stomach flips when I feel his apparent erection pressing into my spine; the lethal hardness mashed between our bodies. I’m stunned he’s horny, and I can suddenly sense it, pheromones of desire only a man can bleed into the atmosphere.
My body slackens in his hold. I close my eyes to focus on breathing in his dirty, musky fragrance, getting high on Charlie. In my mind, he’s everywhere with extra effect, all over my skin where he’s soaking through my sports vest with sweat—but I like it. I could easily get out of his hold, but I don’t want to. I let my head roll back on his naked chest and blow out a long, husky breath.
“You all right, baby?” he whispers in my ear, kneading his nose there. “Are you finished trying to kick my ass, hmm?”
I shake my head with a smirk, luxuriating in the tingly power forming low in my belly. He leans over to kiss the corner of my mouth, turning up the heat. As he does, his arm around my throat relaxes, and then his hand travels down my body, through my breasts and over my stomach. He attempts to lift the hem of my vest, tickling my navel with his fingers. It makes me quiver. I’m nearly lost in him.
But I haven’t won yet.
I drop to my knees and throw him over my shoulder, groaning with inner strength where he’s so damn heavy. He tumbles onto his back and lands there with a groan, sprawled out like a starfish. I don’t let him lie there alone for long. I’m quick to crawl across him on all fours until we’re face to face, bending to peck his stubbly mouth as a mischievous apology. His eyes burst into flames as I do, stunned by my affections.
“Now I’m done trying to kick your ass,” I whisper, glowing with blatant hunger.
“Thank my Dios for that.” He reaches up to stroke a spot on my face, flicking loose lengths of hair out of the way. “That’s one of the few times you’ve freely kissed me, you know that?”
I shrug, grinning like an idiot. “I like kissing you—especially after beating you in a fight.”
“Beating me?” He snorts, laughing to himself. “About that...you need to relax when we’re training. It’s gonna take time for you to get back to normal, but it’s time we’ve got, you know?”
I nod, pecking his mouth again to maintain the mood.
“Until you’re at onehundred percent,” he says on my lips, “at least let me lap up the easiness of being able to beat you for once.”
I giggle, playfully nudging his groin with my knee. He doesn’t even attempt to protect himself, trusting I won’t actually hit him there again. His large arms fold around me, pulling me in for a long, lush kiss. It buckles me, turning my entire body to mush. My knees slide against the ring surface, spreading out, and I lie on him like this, melting with my ankles bowing.
“Guess I should’ve kissed you properly in the first place,” Charlie jokes, realizing he’s my weakness.
I nod in a state of passion, arching my hips to shamelessly stimulate my clit on his cock. It’s bulging through the material of his shorts, begging to come out, making the little pulse in my pussy throb out of control.
“I want you, Charlie,” I husk, nipping at his bottom lip while rubbing my clothed breasts on his chest, feeling his heart is beating like crazy.
My sexual admission is all the incentive he needs. One of his hands curves under my ass, forcing my hips to rock harder on him. It renders me breathless. My pulse climbs, eyes flashing with euphoric stars. I clutch his face to deepen the kiss with savage, endless licks, indulging in the salty flavor of his skin blended with his natural body chemistry.
This is so fucking hot. Nothing tops making out with Charlie—especially after play-fighting.
Before we can get anywhere near fucking though, the gym doors crash open. Our heads snap to the left where his Los Zetas are piling in. They are loud and boisterous, shoving each other while laughing in their Latino accents. They stop dead as a group when they see us and glance at each other, then at us.
“I said one o’clock!” Charlie shouts, whacking his head back on the ring floor.
“Hey, don’t stop on our account,” one of his Los Zetas teases. “Can we watch your girl patear el culo?” Kick ass.
I laugh, biting my lips closed.
Charlie playfully swats my butt, saying we should let them have the gym. I glare wolfishly at him, flushed with want, wanting more kisses and...
He chuckles, knowing exactly what I’m craving. “You get off on besting me”—he flicks up his eyebrows with daring—“I get off on forcing you to endure delayed gratification.” Leaning up, he whispers in my ear, “Welcome to my world, baby.”