Page 107 of Dark Knight

“So I’ve been thinking, maybe there’s a way to help women who have gone through the same kind of thing I did. Or…” Shit. I should’ve stopped while I was ahead.

“Or? What were you going to say?”

“It’s not important.”

“Bullshit.”

I gesture in his direction with one hand, feeling feeble and stupid. “More like your mom. Women who need to get on their feet after they’ve experienced trouble.”

He doesn’t flinch. “Like a shelter?”

“More than that. I don’t know.” I shake my head and flutter my hands around. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not even an idea, really. I haven’t given it very much thought.”

“Calm down. I was only asking because I was curious.”

“Well, I was thinking more like a whole program. Not just a place to stay, but somewhere with resources.” The more I talk about it, the more excited I get. Now that he looks interested, I can move deeper into the room and perch on the corner of his desk. “Like, for instance, I read one time about financial abuse. A husband or a partner locks down the bank accounts and only lets a woman have a small allowance. That kind of thing. Even if a woman manages to make it out of something like that, she could be financially illiterate. So, maybe some classes on financial literacy. Job search resources. Job skills classes. Maybe daycare for when Mom starts a job.”

His full lips twitch. “It sounds like you’ve been giving this more thought than you admit.”

“I’m just riffing. This is all off the top of my head.”

“I think it’s a great idea. I really do.“ And for maybe the first time since we came back here, he sounds like himself. He’s not putting on an act anymore, not pushing me away. We’re back to being us, if only for right now, at this moment.

“I wouldn’t know where to get started.”

“Good thing there’s no deadline.”

“I want to start now!”

It’s nice to hear him laugh. “So start now. Just don’t get too down on yourself if there are any obstacles in your way – and there will be.”

“I know that,” I say. “Really, I’m not a child.”

The beat he pauses feels more like a lifetime. “I know.”

All of a sudden, my nervous, excited energy turns into something else. Something just as potent, just as consuming. All it took was a change in his voice. The way it deepened. The way he looks at me now – I’ve seen it before. I know what it means.

Maybe I shouldn’t have come in here, after all.

Maybe it was the best thing I’ve done all day.

He stands, but I’m pinned to the spot. Hypnotized by him, held in place by his knowing stare.

By the time he nudges my knees apart to stand between them, I’m twisting his shirt in my fists and pulling him closer. Why is it always like this? I can’t get over him. He’s an addiction. I can’t quit, no matter how much I know I need to. I know he’s not good for me. I know this will never end well, and he will never stop pushing me away. I know he’s more afraid of losing this job and my father‘s respect than of losing me.

You would think I’d have the self-respect to push him away and maybe slap him, just so he knows he can’t get away with using me.

Instead of slapping his face, I run a hand down his cheek. My racing heart skips a beat when he groans and closes his eyes, leaning into my caress. I can barely breathe, and when I do, I inhale his unique scent. All the memories come rushing back – the time we spent together, the nights I slept in his arms. Falling asleep with his scent wrapped around me like a protective blanket, the warmth of his arms and his heart's slow, steady beat lulled me into a peaceful slumber. I was happy. I was safe.

There is nothing safe about this, but that doesn’t stop me from tipping my head back to meet his kiss when he touches his lips to mine.

Right away, my legs close around him, drawing him closer. I moan into his mouth when his tongue slides against mine. He takes me by the hips and pulls me in, grinding his dick against my aching mound. Already, I’m wet and throbbing and ready to cry — I need him that much. I want him that badly.

He takes a fist full of my hair to hold my head in place before breaking the kiss. He’s breathing hard, the heat fanning across my face while his eyes burn into me. “What have you done to me?” he pants before claiming my mouth again, and every bruising kiss sends ripples of sweet fire running through my body.

I need to touch him. To feel his skin. I blindly tug at his shirt, pulling it from his waistband and sliding my hands underneath to rake my nails down his back. He shudders, groaning, while his kiss becomes rough and demanding. And I drink it in, ready to scream and weep with relief. Having him here is torment, but I’m finally getting what I need after weeks of being ignored.

When he fumbles with my jeans, I break the kiss, gulping air while leaning back and lifting my hips so he can slide the denim down my thighs and over my knees. He doesn’t wait to get them all the way off before pushing my panties to the side and driving his fingers deep into my wet, quivering pussy.

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