She shakes her head slightly, takes a half-step back.
Christ, this is like coaxing a spooked animal. Except she’s not spooked exactly. She’s—something else. The way she’s looking at me, the way her breathing has changed …
“Look, if you’re not comfortable?—”
She moves then, quickly, before she can change her mind. Suddenly she’s right there, close enough that I smell the shampoo in her hair, see the pulse fluttering at her throat.
Too close.
“Give me your hand.”
She extends it slowly, trembling slightly. When our skin connects, we both freeze. Her pulse jumps under my fingers. Mine probably does too.
“Someone grabs your wrist.” I demonstrate, wrapping my fingers around her forearm. The contact is electric. “What do you do?”
She tugs backward, testing. My grip doesn’t budge.
“Don’t pull against their strength. Work against their weakness—the thumb.” I adjust my hold. “Turn your wrist toward where my thumb and fingers meet. Then jerk down and out in one motion.”
She tries, her movements tentative.
“Harder. Commit to it.”
She tries again, this time with more force. Breaks free.
“Good. Again.”
I grab her other wrist. She breaks free faster this time.
“Now both.” I grab both of her wrists and pull her closer. “Same principle.”
This position puts us face-to-face. Close enough to see gold flecks in her eyes. Feel her breath accelerate. Her pulse hammers under my fingers.
She twists, drops her weight, jerks free. The momentum makes her stumble. I catch her waist to steady her.
Mistake.
My hands span her ribs. Her breathing is fast, shallow. Not from exertion. The air between us is charged with the same electricity from the alley.
She looks up at me. Still silent, but her eyes are asking something.
“What if they grab me from behind?” Her voice is soft, rusty from disuse.
I should step back. Don’t.
“Let me show you something different.” I move toward her, deliberate, predatory. “Sometimes they come at you head-on.”
I lunge forward, not full speed but fast enough. She gasps, stumbles backward. I keep advancing, herding her until her back hits the wall with a soft thud.
My hands slam against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. We’re inches apart. Less. I can feel her breath on my face, see her pupils dilate.
“When an attacker gets this close,” my voice comes out rough, “you have limited options.”
She’s staring at my mouth. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and fuck, I want to taste her. Want to close this insignificant distance and claim that mouth. Want to know if she kisses as quietly as she does everything else.
My body leans in without permission. She arches slightly off the wall, closing the gap further. We’re sharing breath now, her chest rising and falling rapidly, brushing against mine with each inhale.
I’m going to kiss her.
