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“Disrespect me again, and I will bend you over my knee. I’ll spank you until your ass is red with my handprint, then I will fuck you into submission. Understood?” My cock becomes a steel rod just thinking about fucking that tight pussy of hers. For good measure, I shift my hips into her, wanting to see how she reacts to me. Leaning close to her ear, I allow my lips to touch her lobe. “And when I fuck you, you’ll be so wet for me I’ll just slide right in. You may pretend you’re this meek, innocent girl, but I see you. You like the challenge, and you like it when I talk to you like this.”
The sound of her swallowing echoes between us.
Testing how far she’ll let me go, I cup her sex. “If I dipped my finger in here, would I find you already wet?” I kiss down her throat, enjoying the way it pulses against my lips. I unfasten her button, and I slip my hand into her panties. Just as I thought, she’s already wet for me. Sinking in two fingers, I tease her. Her hips struggle not to rock with my rhythm. I watch the hostility leave her eyes, and she gives in to me. Instead of bringing her to climax, I remove my hand to taste her on my fingers. Her eyes go wide, watching my movements.
“You have a minute to put yourself together. I don’t want my men to see you all flushed, looking like you want to get fucked.”
I turn my back, afraid she’ll see the real me. My heart is pounding as fast as hers. She’s changing me, and I hate every second of it. It makes me weak. If I can’t focus, I will miss things. Missing shit makes me a dead man.
A frustrated growl leaves her pink lips. I’m pretty sure she called me “asshole” under her breath. I’m still trying to get my heart to slow down. I’ll let her get away with it this time, because I’m preoccupied. And this is how it starts. I’m losing myself.
I need my shooting range to calm my heart. My blood flows violently through my veins with no outlet.
I grab her hand from behind me and yank her out of the room. She has to take two steps for each of mine. She’s running to keep up with my quick strides. I expect her to complain or ask where we’re going, but she stays silent.
I’m teetering on a very dangerous edge, and I wonder if she realizes this. I don’t even fully comprehend why. This is her fault. Leaving the house, my men match my pace. I shake them off, telling them I’m not leaving the compound. I keep walking to the very back of the property.
When we reach the outdoor shooting range, Vinny appears out of nowhere carrying my guns for me. He’s the best at what he does. I pick up my favorite sniper rifle. Using the scope, I set my sight on my target. Like the funny man he is, there is a picture of a sunflower as the target’s bullseye.
Aly observes us, her eyes shifting between Vinny and me. Recognition of what Vinny has done takes root, and she dares to start laughing. “I like you.” She smiles at him, her beautiful eyes tearing up and beginning to leak because she’s laughing so hard.
“Get the hell out of here,” I shout at Vinny. He begins walking away, and I aim my gun, giving him a warning shot. It whizzes right past his ear but doesn’t touch him. That gets his ass moving. He starts running, and I shoot again. This time, it grazes his arm, and I listen to her gasp. It’s hardly a wound. Nothing a little Band-Aid won’t fix. When I turn back to Aly, she’s no longer laughing. She stands still in shock.
“Come on,” I tell her, grabbing her hand to pull her along once again.
I bring her to the bottom of my favorite station. It’s high up in the trees with a tiny wooden platform.
“You good with heights?” I question as I place the strap of the rifle on, so it hangs on my back.
“I doubt I have much of a choice.”
“True,” I agree as I begin to climb up the nailed-in wood blocks that act as steps.
Once we both reach the top, we take a seat in the now crowded enclosure. Her arm pushes against mine in the tiny space I have. I’m used to having to shoot from small places people would never think of. She sits so her back rests against my legs, as her shoulders twist so she can look at me. I like that she doesn’t try to hide herself. But in this small area, it’s impossible.
Taking the gun from my back, I bring it to my front and offer it to her. She tilts her head cautiously before I can see her mind run wild. “I can pull out my other gun and press the trigger before you could pull yours. And that’s assuming you don’t miss.” Pausing, I add, “I never miss.”
“Then why hand me the gun at all?” It seems like a genuine question. I can understand where she’s coming from. We’ve been born to think we’re each other’s enemy. Even with her not a part of her mob family, looks can be deceiving. She was always in the family. She just never realized it. She was still brought up with the same values I was. We just happen to be on opposite sides. But not for long.
“My wife needs to learn how to protect herself. Being able to shoot can determine whether you live or die.”
She takes the gun off my hands, her fingers sweeping past mine. I expect them to tremble, but they’re steady.
“I think you forget that I’m a madam and can already handle myself.”
“You are not a madam,” I grit out, hating that she even calls herself that. “And I protected you. You never had to learn to handle yourself.”
“Honestly, I think you had a little too much creative power over this fantasy you have of us. You think you know me, but the truth of the matter is no one really does. Not you, not my father, no one. I don’t even have a best friend. No one.”
She brings up the rifle, resting it on the small wooden block I have set up for myself, and she fires the gun. Her body naturally absorbs the kick, and it’s sexier than hell. Using my binoculars, I see she hit the target. Nowhere close to the bull’s eye, but better than I anticipated.
“You’re mistaken. I’m the closest thing you have to a best friend. And I saved your life by stealing you away.”
Turning her head toward me, she arches her thin brow. I make sure to give her my arrogant grin before she goes back to concentrating on the gun. She reloads the rifle all by herself. I’m impressed.
“But is it really stealing when you have always been mine? Marrying Coy would have killed you inside. Do you honestly think he would let his wife be an escort?” I ask to keep annoying her. I realize I enjoy seeing how she reacts to my comments.
“For the last time, I’m not an escort. People respect me in my line of business.”
