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Not only am I fuming, but I'm so embarrassed it's beyond belief.
Charlie practically had me begging for him—he even held my hand when I reached out to him and comforted me through my first orgasm.
That's humiliating.
I'm trained to kill with my own two hands—trained to punish and protect—and I wanted Charlie to hold my fucking hand?
Maybe it wasn't me, I try to convince myself for whatever good it'll do. I'm not weak. I'm tough. Charlie drugged me and he had those oils burning; said they would help me relax.
Yes, he forced my state of needy weakness. Not me.
The memory of him grabbing my hips and shoving his cock back in my ass to draw out my orgasm makes my insides tingle, and then I feel a warm gush of liquid between my legs.Fuck.I don't even know why I'm thinking about that but it seems to be turning me on.
I beg myself to put it out of my mind. It's too mentally consuming, and confusing, and as I've no idea when Charlie is going to show up today I need to get my shit together.
Cuddling the blanket to my chest—I'm still wearing my bra; at least one part of me is still intact—I sit up in bed, squinting through the sun flooding the room. The sun is so bright that my head pounds for a moment.
I hold my face, waiting for the pounding in my head to go away.
My eyes adjust, and I'm stone cold sober. Where the fuck has Charlie brought me?
The room is big and airy with high ceilings and dark paneled walls, a huge brass chandelier hanging over head. The parquet floors are highly buffed but old and worn. In the left corner of the room, opposite from where I'm sitting on the bed, there's a small square table housing a chessboard and a throne like chair made from redwood. An antique armoire stands next to the chair, made from the same redwood.
It's as if I've gone back in time and I'm in some medieval showdown.
I never expected Charlie to live in a place like this. It's just not him.
Through the tall sash window on the left wall that boasts no curtains, I see the sun burning low in the sky. It has to be morning. The sun isn't past noon yet.
The air breezing in is refreshing, cooling my warm skin.Hemust have opened the window for me. How fucking nice.
“Bastard,” I hiss to myself, twisting my lips in anger.
I want to go outside and take in the morning's freshness. I want to feel free for a moment. I don't want to be here.
I miss home so much, my apartment, Maksim and James, and it's only been one night. How does Maksim expect me to do this for three whole months?
If James was here, I'm not sure this would be happening. I know he'd be fighting to do whatever he could to spare me. He always does.
“No,” I whisper, my voice choked up. The guilt I feel for even considering letting him take my place is horrible. I wouldn't. Dealing with Maksim is one thing, but Charlie is another. None of us really know him and up until now, he's not actually hurt me. I can't be sure he wouldn't hurt James.
I hope James is okay with Maksim.
“Don't think about it all,” I say, speaking to the empty room. I put last night and James in a little black box in the back of my mind and hope the thoughts will stay there.
Hooking my feet over the side of the bed, I get up on shaky legs, my muscles aching from head to toe. Something crispy and sticky draws my attention to the flesh between my thighs.
Charlie's cum and my morning's arousal.
I recoil, trying desperately not to think about it. I focus on the clothes at the foot of the bed; skinny fitting jeans, a black long sleeve jumper and a pair of knee high flat heeled boots.
These aren't mine. Where are my clothes and trainers?
The clothes are all right, I guess, but the underwear isn't exactly what I'd call 'underwear'. The bra is black lace and the matching pants are just a scrap of material. I pick up the thong with my finger and thumb.
I'm not wearing this shit.
I toss the underwear back on the bed and find my way into an en-suite bathroom that leads off the bedroom. I head straight for the triple width shower. I need to get clean. I feel so dirty.
