She knew that this would be the last time she saw John Wick, there was no way he could survive this onslaught. Things hadn't gone entirely to plan. She locked the safe room door behind her and then slid down the wall into a sobbing mess on the floor as gunfire rattled through the house.

"I need to employ your services to look after my girl." She could hear her father talking through but couldn't make out the reply, there was another man in the room but his voice was unfamiliar, quiet and deep. The noise of chairs scraping on the marble flooring. She pictured them standing, her father shaking the mystery man's hand as some deal was done.

The door slammed and the two men walked past, the stranger glanced her way. An older man, attractive in a scruffy way. "That's Emma. Take good care of her." Inscrutable dark eyes met hers for a second as he nodded and moved on.

That was the first encounter. A promise was made to a powerful man, coins exchanged. It was also the last time she saw her father as he disappeared into hiding and decided not to take her with him. John tells her that the plan was only for a month, but for reasons he won't share she is still here at his apartment and under his protection two years later. Despite the fact that her father's business has been decimated and most of his former associates are dead, she was safe, no one would dare touch her, she was the Baba Yaga's ward.

Emma had taken to living with him well. His apartment was beautiful, modernist and whitewashed - a relaxing and minimal space unlike her father's home with its marble floors and ostentatious flourishes. This was more her and she felt at home here. Over time she had drifted into the role of taking care of her protector. It gave her a sense of purpose and allowed her to feel less obligated to him for keeping her safe. There were times when it was hard being so close to him, cleaning the blood from his skin, dressing his wounds, yet unable to really connect with him.

She knew that he sensed her feelings shifting, his observation skills were off the chart but he never looked her way. That's not to say that he was asexual, he fucked around with countless vacuous model types, she never saw the same girl twice, it seemed like he was just fulfilling an appetite, there was never a connection, he didn't need to know them and they certainly had no idea who he was, just a handsome, rich stranger they met at a bar.

I couldn't imagine that he usually described in graphic detail exactly what he planned to do to the men he killed, I suspect he was all action and few words, but in the bedroom he was much more eloquent. He whispered in low gravely tones close to my ear, obscenities mixed with threats of not being able to walk for a week.

This first started a week ago, we haven't left the house since. Who would have known it would be this way.

Things came to a head one evening when he came home bloody and battered again and needed Emma to fix him up. Washing the blood from his body and dressing a deep cut on his ribs. It was too much to take. His hair in her hands as she washed out the broken glass. She couldn't say anything, had to hold back and keep herself safe.

To make matters worse, even though he sensed that she wanted him, he still stripped down in front of her and showered without closing the bathroom door. It was unbearable as she watched the water flow over his shoulders, his tattoos, trickling down his tight arse and long legs…enough. She felt hot and bothered and humiliated.

Wandering downstairs to the kitchen Emma prepared coffee as noisily as she could, slamming the cupboard doors as she stomped about.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he growled.

She turned and there was he, standing in doorway completely naked, and wet, and did she mention naked.

"For God's sake John. Put it away."

"What this?" He held his semi-erect cock toward her. "I didn't think my weapons bothered you."

Emma grinned despite herself and attempted a "Fuck you."

"Come on then."

"Don't tease me John. It's not fair."

"Is it?" He was angry now and in her face. "You've never fucking said anything. You just tiptoe around it, are you frightened of me Emma?"

"No." She stood her ground but unsure of her footing. Everyone told her to be careful, not to set him off.

"I'm not going to fuck someone that's frightened of me, what kind of animal do you think I am?"

"I'm not scared of you."

He pushed her. "Come on then."

That was it, Emma lost it and slapped him hard across the face.

"Feel better?" He smirked, nostrils flared and breathing hard. "I'm just a man, flesh and blood."

"Hardly." She retorted. "I'm not scared of you John, but I'm not stupid either."

"Come and take what you want."

"Fuck's sake." She stormed past him.

His teeth grazed my neck, biting, sucking. His fingers squeezed around my throat. Just enough pain, just enough pleasure. I pushed away thoughts of how he learned these skills, how in other situations he might go further. Whispering "I'm gonna fuck you all night. That's what you want yeah."

He grabbed her arm and span her around to face him. "Don't walk away from me Emma." Lips pressed hard against her, he groaned involuntarily as he tasted her for the first time.

So now things had changed, no longer his ward, but now someone he cared for, it was personal and not professional. That meant that Emma was a risk and no longer safe. He evaluated the options, if someone wanted to hurt him they could target her so he started to draw up his plans and calling in some favours, modifying his apartment to add a safe room and weapon stores on every level. They started training sessions and Emma worked hard to follow his instructions, she needed him to know she could protect herself, could be safe, otherwise he would push her away. She couldn't bear to lose him now.