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“I would never hurt you, but I also can’t always be there to protect you, so you need to learn to protect yourself. People snap for various reasons and I would hate for that pretty filter-free mouth of yours to be the cause of someone snapping and causing you harm.” One side of his mouth lifted in a somewhat awkward smile. He was trying to lighten the mood by commenting on her lack of a filter.
It had gotten her into hot water from time to time, but never enough where she feared for her safety.
Yet.
She’d done other stupid shit that was unsafe and dangerous though. Plenty of it.
He pleaded silently with her with his unrelenting gaze, so finally, she nodded. “All right, then. Let’s do it.”
His illuminating smile pulled a big one from her, too, and the darkness that had settled over her heart at the devastating topic of their conversation was becoming less shrouding. It was a light fog, not a smothering smoke.
They climbed out of his truck and he reached for her hand again in front of the grill, once again hitting her with that dashing, Crest-model smile. “This’ll be fun.”
“I’m sure of it.”
***
“So this is a Glock 19,” Jordan said, placing the gun down on the counter in front of them. “Some people call this Goldilocks. It’s little, it’s pretty and it’s versatile.”
Rayma nodded eagerly. “Nice to meet you,Goldilocks.”
Jordan snorted a small laugh.
They were at the last shooting station in the row of eight and the sound of round after round being shot rang out through the well-lit, albeit sterile space. The only attempt at decoration was a big sign near the door that said:Happiness is a warm .45.
“Now, the gun is not loaded,” Jordan said, picking it up again. “I want you to take it in your hands, and hold it as tight as you can. Aim means nothing until fire control is in place. The first thing you need to do is learn how to pull the trigger without moving the gun, and when you’re focused on aiming, it’s inevitable that the pull of the trigger will cause the gun to move. Forget about aiming.”
With a warm hand at the small of her back, he encouraged her to turn and face the long corridor in front of them with a human silhouette target at the end.
“Ear protection on,” he said, all business. Did he know what his no-nonsense, authoritative tone and attitude were doing to her? Particularly between her legs? She was a goddamn puddle right now.
She swallowed and nodded, putting the bulky earmuffs on.
He stood behind her, his chest to her back, his cock nestled right against her ass, and he looped his arms around her, drew her arms up by taking her hands in his and he placed the gun in her right hand.
Her index finger found the trigger, but she didn’t squeeze.
“Now, hold the gun as tight as you possibly can, then pull the trigger. Don’t look at anything but the front of the gun. Focus on your front sight and only your front sight. Let the target and your rear sight turn blurry. Do NOT aim. Got it?”
Rayma nodded. Even though her ears were covered, his warm breath against her neck and the heat of his body against hers was making it very difficult to focus on anything but how badly she wanted to spin around in his arms and plant a big, sloppy kiss on his mouth. Then, of course, strip them both naked, climb his body like a tree and have him fuck her right there on the counter.
But she shook those thoughts out of her head as best she could and brought her energy back to the gun, the trigger, and his instruction.
His hands moved away from her hands and fell to her hips. “When you’re ready, squeeze the gun.”
She did it several times and the gun hardly moved.
“Wow, uh … good job,” Jordan said, clearly surprised.
She beamed.
“Normally, when people shoot a gun, their aim becomes compromised because when they pull the trigger their finger pressure pulls the gun to the non-dominant side. So in your case, the left. And even if it’s just half a millimeter, that ends up being a lot downrange.”
She just continued to nod, craning her head around to face him.
He seemed puzzled at what to do for a moment like he’d been expecting to give her further instruction, or more corrective tips. His brows bunched low and he frowned for a moment.
“Let’s do that again.”
