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I roll my eyes. He’s been trying to convince everyone that he needs to be the one to walk me down the aisle, since my parents are too dead to do it themselves. “I want to walk alone,” I remind him, pursing my lips. “I don’t need you to hold my hand.”
“But I want to,” Mikhail whines. “Someone needs to be with you. What if you trip?”
Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence.
I snatch the gun from his hands and turn toward the target. In addition to a gym and sparring dojo, we have a shooting range in a separate building from the main house.
A shooting range. Who the hell has one of those?
As I adjust my posture and steady the gun in my hands, I remind myself that, oh yeah, my boyfriends do. Apparently, Andrei found the addition necessary for training purposes, and it was built shortly after I left five years ago.
At least his investment is paying off.
I fire off two rounds. The first one hits the target, but nowhere near the center, and the second whizzes past and hits the sandbags at the back.
“You are not good teacher,” Ezra grumbles, walking up behind us. “Move, Mikhail.”
As they argue over who should be teaching me, I raise the weapon and pull the trigger four more times. Three hits, one miss.
“See? She’s getting the hang of it.” As I set down the gun on the shelf beside me, Mikhail pulls off my protective earmuffs. The smell of gunpowder fills the air, and I scrub at my nose. I’m not particularly enjoying these lessons, but I know they have a purpose. I need to be able to protect myself...and my men.
With a sigh, Ezra pushes Mikhail aside so that all three of us are crammed into the tiny booth. “Watch.” He reloads the gun in seconds and raises it in front of him, firing off three rounds in quick succession.
I have to squint a little and aim before trying to shoot.
Ezra barely looks before pulling the trigger.
All three bullets hit the target in its paper face, three tiny dots signaling that the target is way dead. He pushes a button on the wall beside me and the target zips down the line toward us. My shots are pathetic compared to his.
I lower my hands from my ears and try not to get upset. He’s been trained to shoot his entire life, whereas I’m only just beginning.
Ezra catches the look on my face and is quick to cup my jaw with his free hand. Pushing my back against Mikhail, he fills the space at my front, surrounding me with his presence. “You do not need perfect aim. You only need to hit target. Most men take damage and fall to ground. Then you run.”
It’s a relief that I’m not expected to kill anybody . . .
But what if I have to?
Ezra clicks his tongue. “Valentina. You will run. You will not fight. Do you understand?”
Arms snake around my waist from behind, Mikhail’s voice purring in my ear. “I like it when you run. You’re very good at it.” He presses a kiss to the curve of my neck. “Run and hide, malyshka, and we’ll come find you.”
Ezra nods, agreeing with Mikhail for once. “Leave killing to us. You can maim, but only to slow enemy down or break away. This is the purpose of your training.”
“Defense, not offense.” Mikhail nips at my shoulder. “We don’t expect you to get into trouble. I doubt you’ll ever really need all of this.”
And yet, all three of my men insisted I start self-defense lessons the moment we returned home after the club.
Ezra’s phone rings, and as he lifts the call to his ear and steps out of the booth, Mikhail’s hands wander. “It’s so hot watching you shoot a gun,” he groans, cupping my breast and kneading. “I’m gonna need to keep one unloaded under the bed. That way, you can point it at me as you take my cock.” He rolls his hips against my ass, grinding a very stiff rod between my cheeks. “God, I can’t wait to fuck you.”
We’ve been playing a dangerous cat-and-mouse game over the past few days. Now that Andrei and Ezra have fucked me more than once, Mikhail keeps trying to catch me.
“What are you waiting for?” I bite my lip as he lifts my shirt over my tits and tweaks my nipple through my bra.
He chuckles deep in the back of his throat, and the sound goes straight to my clit. I shouldn’t be so turned on by this, especially not here, but there’s something about these men that makes me come undone.
His free hand dips below the waistband of my pants, and he shoves his hand into my panties. My back arches as he brushes his fingers against my lips, avoiding the very sensitive nub aching for his touch. With a hiss, he pushes the flat of his palm against my pubic bone to hold me still as he grinds his cock harder into my ass.
“I’m waiting,” he growls, sinking his teeth into my shoulder so hard that it stings, “for tomorrow night. I want to tear your wedding dress off your body and fuck you hard. No, in the dress,” he corrects suddenly, sliding two fingers inside my heat as he says it. With a groan, he pulls my bra down and grabs my breast, squeezing hard. “Fuck, I can’t get over the thought of you begging for my cum. Wearing white inside and out.”
