still managed to stay who she was, for the most part. That was one reason why he stayed away from her. He didn’t want to be another person who took from her, and how could he not . . . with this all-consuming need gripping him?
He walked to the window and looked out into the blackness at the twinkling lights on the bobbing ships. If she knew how much he really wanted her, how thoughts of her lingered in his head, would she really be willing to try her little experiment? Would he suck the life out of her—the same way all those other assholes had? His father had drained the will and spirit out of several women, all of them beautiful, and all of them had left eventually, not because he hadn’t loved them, but because of the all-consuming need that he’d had for them.
She wanted to fuck him. She wanted him to help her.
“Damn it,” he muttered, and went to put on his shoes. He’d never denied her anything. He didn’t know why the hell he’d thought he could start now.
“So, this Keenan, he was your first?”
Blake knew that Rosa, a woman she’d met a year ago at the battered women’s support group, wasn’t referring to her first sexual encounter; she was referring to Blake’s first abusive relationship. She’d called Rosa rather than turning to Nick and asked to meet at a local bar near the church where the battered women’s support group met on Tuesday nights.
“Yeah,” Blake acknowledged, and took a sip of wine. She’d decided she didn’t want to go back to her apartment. Of all the women she’d met at the support group, Rosa seemed like the least likely person to ever be abused. Dark-haired and blunt, the Hispanic woman had a scar that cut across her upper lip and her nose bent slightly to the left. She wore her dark hair in messy waves and sported an eyebrow ring.
“First one sucks. If you’re smart, that’s it and you learn your lesson. But most of us don’t learn that fast.”
Blake had heard Rosa say this before many times, and the fact that it was true didn’t make her own stupidity any easier to understand. But participating in the support group had taught her that all kinds of women fell victim to abuse. Rosa’s first husband had nearly killed her twice before she’d shot and killed him ten years ago. Blake still found the idea of Rosa being vulnerable to anyone incredible.
The older woman worked as a trainer at a local fitness center and as a self-defense instructor part-time. She donated self-defense training lessons to women in the shelter or to those who attended the support group meeting. Blake had never been a fan of working out—she’d never needed to work out to stay slim—but being slender had never helped her when Keenan, or Carlos, or Phillip had decided that she needed to be punished.
Roland had taught her several tricks for disarming an opponent, and she had clever fingers for thievery, and for escaping a hold, but she didn’t feel particularly capable when it came to fending off an outright attack.
“I’ve learned my lesson.” Blake met Rosa’s eyes. “I want to learn how to defend myself.”
“’Bout time.” Rosa had been trying to get Blake to learn self-defense techniques for months. She pulled out her phone and pressed a few buttons. “How’s tomorrow morning for you?”
Blake nodded. Her shift didn’t begin until five or so. “Do I need any equipment?” She wasn’t sure how she’d pay for it if she did. Money would be tight this week without tonight’s tips.
“No, I’ve got everything.”
“Okay.” Blake breathed out slowly, trying to release the knot of tension that she’d had between her shoulder blades ever since she’d heard that Keenan had returned.
Rosa tucked her phone away in one of the many pockets of her leather jacket and picked up her wine again. “How’s the school thing going?”
“All right. I’ve been taking online courses and filled out my FAFSA to get student loans. I’ve researched some programs in the
He walked to the window and looked out into the blackness at the twinkling lights on the bobbing ships. If she knew how much he really wanted her, how thoughts of her lingered in his head, would she really be willing to try her little experiment? Would he suck the life out of her—the same way all those other assholes had? His father had drained the will and spirit out of several women, all of them beautiful, and all of them had left eventually, not because he hadn’t loved them, but because of the all-consuming need that he’d had for them.
She wanted to fuck him. She wanted him to help her.
“Damn it,” he muttered, and went to put on his shoes. He’d never denied her anything. He didn’t know why the hell he’d thought he could start now.
“So, this Keenan, he was your first?”
Blake knew that Rosa, a woman she’d met a year ago at the battered women’s support group, wasn’t referring to her first sexual encounter; she was referring to Blake’s first abusive relationship. She’d called Rosa rather than turning to Nick and asked to meet at a local bar near the church where the battered women’s support group met on Tuesday nights.
“Yeah,” Blake acknowledged, and took a sip of wine. She’d decided she didn’t want to go back to her apartment. Of all the women she’d met at the support group, Rosa seemed like the least likely person to ever be abused. Dark-haired and blunt, the Hispanic woman had a scar that cut across her upper lip and her nose bent slightly to the left. She wore her dark hair in messy waves and sported an eyebrow ring.
“First one sucks. If you’re smart, that’s it and you learn your lesson. But most of us don’t learn that fast.”
Blake had heard Rosa say this before many times, and the fact that it was true didn’t make her own stupidity any easier to understand. But participating in the support group had taught her that all kinds of women fell victim to abuse. Rosa’s first husband had nearly killed her twice before she’d shot and killed him ten years ago. Blake still found the idea of Rosa being vulnerable to anyone incredible.
The older woman worked as a trainer at a local fitness center and as a self-defense instructor part-time. She donated self-defense training lessons to women in the shelter or to those who attended the support group meeting. Blake had never been a fan of working out—she’d never needed to work out to stay slim—but being slender had never helped her when Keenan, or Carlos, or Phillip had decided that she needed to be punished.
Roland had taught her several tricks for disarming an opponent, and she had clever fingers for thievery, and for escaping a hold, but she didn’t feel particularly capable when it came to fending off an outright attack.
“I’ve learned my lesson.” Blake met Rosa’s eyes. “I want to learn how to defend myself.”
“’Bout time.” Rosa had been trying to get Blake to learn self-defense techniques for months. She pulled out her phone and pressed a few buttons. “How’s tomorrow morning for you?”
Blake nodded. Her shift didn’t begin until five or so. “Do I need any equipment?” She wasn’t sure how she’d pay for it if she did. Money would be tight this week without tonight’s tips.
“No, I’ve got everything.”
“Okay.” Blake breathed out slowly, trying to release the knot of tension that she’d had between her shoulder blades ever since she’d heard that Keenan had returned.
Rosa tucked her phone away in one of the many pockets of her leather jacket and picked up her wine again. “How’s the school thing going?”
“All right. I’ve been taking online courses and filled out my FAFSA to get student loans. I’ve researched some programs in the
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