Protector

Self-Defense

Amelia's POV

The next morning

I wake up from the sun coming into the window. I look at the clock on my side of the bed, 9:44 AM. I slept late, must be the jet lag.

I get out of bed and walk to the balcony door. It was a beautiful morning, the sun shining and the birds chirping.

As I stand there looking out the door, I can't help but think about Jackson and how I don't really know anything about him. How he stood over me when I was on the edge of the bed. The thoughts angered me. He thinks he can treat me like that.

I walk to the closet and grab a black robe. I put it on and walk downstairs.

I find the kitchen and open the fridge. I look inside and see all kinds of food. My dad must have sent groceries ahead. I look through the cupboards and find a frying pan and pancake mix.

"Looks like breakfast will be pancakes," I say to myself.

I gather the ingredients and start cooking.

"Do you need some help?"

I turn around to see Jackson standing there in a pair of grey sweats and no shirt. His hair is damp from a shower. 

"I got it," I say, turning back to the stove.

He walks up behind me and stands so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

"It's dangerous to have hot grease so close to your bare skin," he says softly.

I take a deep breath and try to focus on the task at hand. "I can handle it," I say, not bothering to look at him. He walks beside me to get some coffee from the coffee pot.

"What are plans for today?" I ask him flipping the pancakes on the other side.

"Today, we're going to work on your self-defense skills," he declared, his voice brooking no argument.

My initial response was one of skepticism, my eyebrows arching in disbelief. "You want to teach me self-defense?" I questioned.

Jackson nodded, his expression serious. "It's important for you to be able to protect yourself," he explained. "You never know when you might need these skills."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "I don't need any special training to protect myself," I argued. "I've been taking care of myself just fine for years."

Jackson's gaze hardened, his eyes boring into mine. "You don't know what's out there, Amelia," he warned, his voice low and urgent. "There are dangerous people out there, and if they find you, they won't hesitate to hurt you."

My anger flared at his words, the implication that I was helpless, incapable of defending myself. "I'm not some damsel in distress," I spat. "I can take care of myself."

"And I don't need some stranger telling me how to live my life," I continued, my voice growing louder with each word.

"Enough." Jackson said, his voice a low growl. He moved closer to me, the proximity making my breath catch in my throat. "We're going to do this my way," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to make you?"

I rolled my eyes, putting my pancakes on my plate. I topped it with blueberry syrup and chocolate chips.

"That looks good." Jackson said, his eyes lighting up at the sight.

"You can make your own, if you're hungry." I said as I took a bite of my pancakes. They were delicious.

He walks up to me, almost pressing his body against mine. He grabs my fork and takes a bite of my pancake while watching me.

"Hey, those are mine!" I said with an indignant huff.

"They're really good," he says with a smile.

"I told you, make your own," I said, annoyed.

"Alright, I'll make some." He grabs another fork from the drawer and makes his own pancakes.

"You can make your own from now on." I said, grabbing my plate.

He laughs, watching me storm off.

I sat down at the dining room table, enjoying my breakfast. Jackson sat down beside me, eating his own pancakes. The air was tense between us, but somehow, there was an undercurrent of attraction that neither of us could deny.

After breakfast, Jackson and I headed outside to the courtyard by the lake.

"Are you ready to start our lesson?" He said.

"Yes," I reply.

"First, we're going to practice your striking. I want you to hit me with all your strength," he explained.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, a hint of skepticism in my voice.

"I can handle it," he replied, his tone confident.

I took a deep breath and lunged at him, my fist connecting with his jaw.

"Again," he instructed, his voice calm and steady.

I struck again, this time hitting him in the stomach.

"Good," he praised, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Again."

I continued to strike him, hitting him wherever he allowed me. After several rounds, my anger had been released and my confidence was soaring.

"You're a quick learner," he remarked, the pride in his voice clear.

"Thanks," I said, a slight blush coloring my cheeks.

"Now, we're going to move on to blocking," he explained. "When someone is trying to strike you, I want you to put your arms up like this." He demonstrated, putting his hands up in front of his face.

"Got it," I nodded, mimicking his movements.

"Good," he praised. "Now, when the person strikes, block them. You'll use the force of their attack to push them back, creating some distance."

I practiced the motion several times, my arms starting to ache from the repeated movement.

"Remember, keep your hands up," he instructed, his gaze fixed on mine. "And don't be afraid to get in close."

As we sparred, our bodies came dangerously close, the heat between us threatening to consume us both. We continued like this, the tension growing with each passing moment.

"I think that's enough for today," Jackson finally declared, a hint of breathlessness in his voice.

"Yeah," I agreed, feeling the sweat trickling down my spine.

"Let's go inside and cool off," he suggested.

"That sounds good," I replied, the thought of a cold drink sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine.