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“Again. Look down the gun, and aim it exactly where you want to hit,” he says and I do, pulling the trigger and watching the paper man shake a bit.
“Gut shot. You hit a man there, not a great shot of him making it without a hospital trip.” His lips press to my neck, right under where the bulky earmuffs stop. “Again.”
I get a knee and he laughs.
“Definitely a mob princess, going for the knee caps. You hit there, they can’t come after you, but they can still shoot. Gotta decide if you want to run or finish the job.” He says it with such ease, like finishing the job is nothing more than a simple fact.
I guess in this world, it is.
“Again, Lilah.”
This goes on for nearly fifteen minutes before Dante stops, changing out the paper man riddled with holes with a fresh one before coming back, taking his place behind me once again.
“Again," he says, his hands sliding up my hips.
“Dante, what are you doing?” I ask as his hand moves up the thermal shirt I’m wearing. Calluses grip my skin, scraping as he dips under my soft bra until his hand is cupping my breast. His back is pressed to mine, his breath in my ear.
“Distracting you." His thumb and forefinger twist my nipple, and a bolt of heat runs through me. I start to lower the gun, unable to even steady my hands. “No, no, stop. Aim and shoot, fiorella.”
“Dante, that's—"
“Shoot the gun, Delilah.” With the earmuffs, his voice is right in my ears, a hidden microphone carrying words to me, the only thing I can hear, all-consuming. “Now.” His finger tightens on my nipple as I pull the trigger, attempting uselessly to hit the center, and I miss terribly.
He tsks me, the sound patronizing but also somehow seductive.
His other hand moves down my belly, down, down until his thumb settles under the waistband, his hand pressing until my hips move to align with his where his cock is hard.
“Dante—" I breathe. “What are you doing?”
“Distracting you. Now aim and shoot. Don’t miss this time, yeah?”
“Why are you distracting me? I have a fucking gun in my hand.”
“Because when you have a gun in your hand, you have to be able to aim no matter what’s happening around you.” The hand moves, fully dipping under my sweats and underwear until he’s cupping my sex. “Or to you, in this case.”
“Dante—"
“Hit the target and you get a reward, baby. Shoot.”
Okay, well, that sounds like a fair reward system. His hands are just resting on my body now, unmoving, so I focus on the gun, the target, and shoot.
It hits the little paper guy's leg.
“Better,” he coos, rubbing my nipple again, a single finger running up my center and gathering the wet that’s already there. “Getting better. Again.” He circles my clit, and my hips jolt back into his, a soft moan falling from my lips.
His finger pauses, not moving, just hovering on my clit.
He wants me to shoot.
I stare down the barrel, not thinking about his hand in my pants or the one clamping on my nipple and aim before pulling the trigger.
A shoulder.
“Good girl,” he whispers, the mic picking up the words and bringing them to my ears. It’s unbearably erotic like this, trying to focus on one thing and having his words so concentrated and direct in my ear. A finger moves now, entering me, and my knees go weak at the simple touch. His breath gets heavier, the sound fully surrounding me. “Uh uh. Stand strong, baby. You’ve got this. God, you’re wet for me, aren’t you?” I lick my lips, trying to force my eyes to open fully. He slowly fucks me with one thick finger, his thumb swiping methodically on my clit as his other hand cups my breast entirely. Need is consuming me, flames licking my skin. “Again.”
His finger doesn’t stop.
My mind won’t think about anything but that finger slowly working me, gently pressing forward to graze my G-spot, slowly building a fire in my belly.
