Page 65 of Blaire

Ignoring the chosen underwear, I dress in my combat gear and trainers, feeling like myself again. I find jeans so uncomfortable. I can't fight properly in them. They restrict my movements. Yes my sports trousers are tight too but they’re made of stretchy material.

Exiting the bedroom, I wander down the landing, then the sweeping staircase, and into the kitchen. Charlie isn't here. It's so... quiet, bar the rain spitting wildly against the windows.

I wonder where he is...

Pulling open the back doors, I go outside in the rain, shivering as it spits across my face.

The sky is a fortress of angry gray, breaking with heavy black clouds. The back garden is just as breathtaking as I remember, flourishing in lush green grass. I jog down the patio steps, around the titanic swimming pool, and to the end of the garden until I'm under the trees. The cold air chills my lungs, and my now damp clothes cling to my skin, but there is nothing like testing yourself in bad temperatures.

When my muscles feel loose and relaxed, I stop by a flowering rosebush. The petals are so red, like blood, each one more perfect than the other, sheathed in thorns.

I step out of my trainers, wiggle my toes in the soggy grass, and then I train with meditating Tai Chi, punching and kicking in slow motion, soaking up the way the earth feels right now. My feet become sodden and muddy but I don't mind. I love this feeling of being free.

The memory of Charlie taking me flows in and out of my thoughts, as does his apology and the way my body desires him when he touches and kisses me. It's like my subconscious is sorting the conflict for me, rather than me having to sit down and seriously mull over what he makes me feel.

This is why I delight in meditating. It's so peaceful.

My hair tied back in a slack, man-made bun, the rain falls freely over my pale, freckly face, drenching through my clothes. It's refreshing.

I can sense eyes watching me from the house. I suspect it's Charlie. I don't stop my meditation. I go at it for two hours, lashing out lengthy, focused kicks and breathing steadily but softly.

When the rain dies down, I pick up my trainers and jog back across the garden, inside the house. I'm dripping water everywhere but the kitchen has stone flooring, so I don't worry over it too much.

Dropping my trainers by the dining table, I go into the kitchen area. The coffee machine is steaming. I pour myself a cup, lift it to my nose, and breathe in with delight. The smell of coffee in the morning is like home to me—the bitterness of real Columbian beans.

Roaming back across the kitchen, I stand by the back doors and hold the cup to my chest, taking in the last of the gray morning.

“Morning, Blaire.”

I flinch at the sound of Charlie's raspy voice, my stomach whirling with anxiety. It's a new kind of anxiety now. Worry yes, but also because I know I fancy him. It's so strange but I can feel it in the way my body responds to his presence. Since he turned me on, I seem to notice everything he makes me feel with extra effect.

He wanders over with heavy footsteps and stops behind me, his large body warm against my back. He's wearing jeans and a gray round-neck t-shirt with his hair pulled back, I see in his mirror image in the French doors, and he smells like he's fresh out of the shower, a mixture of male musk and clean body wash.

“Do you do that every day?” he says softly, and we make eye contact then.

So, he was watching me, probably like he is now, staring over my head at my reflection like he's hypnotized on something, and he's smiling at me. It's his unholy alluring smile.

Wordless, I nod to answer his question and take a sip of my coffee, breaking eye contact. My heart is going crazy. Every time I see him it's like the first.

“You look beautiful when training...” he leans closer and whispers in my ear, “...so focused.”

Little hairs on the back of my neck prick. There's something in his voice. Something fervor.

Reaching around my waist from behind, he presses a large hand onto my stomach and forces me back against his front, forcing me to emit a rough breath. He's hard in his jeans, pushing into my lower back.

My toes curl against the cold stone floors.

“Are you going to fuck me in the ass again, Charlie?” I ask blankly, peering up at his reflection. I have to ask. I need to know so I can mentally prepare to lose my mind.

He stiffens behind me, his hand like a rock on my stomach. He's not breathing, either.

Somehow, I've gotten to him. He's not the type of man to stop in his pursuits, but he has today.

How have I got to him?

I wish I knew so I could use it to my advantage.

Charlie takes my coffee cup and puts it down on a nearby side table, then he grips my hips and makes me turn into him, my eyes level with his chest.