Page 50 of The Forbidden Billionaire
He often asks if I’m okay, and he’s tried to encourage me to talk a few times. But I’m wary of opening up again. I don’t like being vulnerable. And I don’t want to rely on a man to keep me safe, physically or emotionally. Instead, once I discover he’s been trained in a variety of martial arts, I ask him to show me more than basic self-defense moves.
This time, he doesn’t object. “The idea is to neutralize a threat for long enough to make a safe escape, not to reenact a Marvel movie,” he warns. When I assure him I understand, he continues, “Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu moves can allow a smaller, weaker person to control and subdue a heavier attacker. We’ll start there.”
First, I learn about base and balance, and keeping a lower center of gravity. Then he announces he’s teaching me shrimping.
“We’re going fishing?” I ask.
His lips curve up. “It’s a hip and elbow escape. Moving your hips backward across the mat.” He drops to the floor and illustrates what he means.
I giggle. “Real elegant.”
“Self-defense isn’t about being elegant, princess. Come on. Show me what you got.”
I sigh and get down beside him, and copy his movements.
“That’s it,” he says. “If an attacker gets on top of you, it’s about creating space between you and him.”
“I see. I think.”
He hesitates. Then he sighs and moves across the mat toward me. “All right. Let’s try it. Lie back.”
I do as he bids. Then I gasp as he lifts his knee across and straddles me.
I blink. “Whoa.” He’s so big, and his arms are like tree trunks as he leans over me, looking down. My heart races, and I don’t know if it’s from excitement or fear. Maybe both. I like being so close to him… but it also emphasizes how vulnerable I’d be if someone were to attack me.
“Tell me to stop,” he states, “anytime you want, and I’ll stop immediately.”
I nod.
“Okay. An attacker crowds you,” he says. “Gets up close and personal. For you it’s all about creating space. First you’re going to create a frame. Put your arms here… and here… try to create a bridge to stop me driving pressure downward. That’s it. Now you’re going to shrimp. Use your hips to wiggle backward. Good. Again. Now you have space to get your knee in and push up.”
We try it over and over again. Gradually, I relax into it, getting used to the positions and having his hands on me. It’s intimate, but it’s only as time goes on that I understand he’s not being sexual. He truly wants to help me learn to defend myself.
And I start to understand something that disturbs me deeply. Being with Dom for so long had led to me associating touch with sex and power. I’d always assumed they were inextricably linked.And I thought it was normal for a woman to feel that way with men, which was why I agreed to meet him again. I didn’t see anything wrong with how he treated me. Maybe I even missed it, a little. He’d trained me to miss it.
God, that hits hard.
Suddenly overcome with emotion, I look up at Luke where he’s leaning over me and plead, “Can we stop?”
Immediately, he releases me, lifts off, and moves back. “Are you okay?”
I sit up and scramble back a few feet, until my back is against the wall. I nod, but I’m clearly not. I’m breathing fast, and I’m struggling to hold back tears.
“Hey.” He moves closer, sitting against the wall with me, but staying a foot away. “What’s the matter?”
I take a deep, shivery breath. “I think I’m broken.” I give a small smile, trying to turn it into a joke, but it’s obviously clear it’s not.
He frowns. “Of course you’re not.”
I press trembling fingers to my lips, unable to answer.
“Aurelia,” he says firmly, “you’re not broken, and you’re not helpless.” He bends his head so he can look into my eyes. “I’m going to teach you how to control how close a man gets to you.”
I blow out a breath, touched that he understands how I’m feeling. “Okay.”
“He’s not going to be able to hurt you again,” he says.
“He?”
