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“What happened to this being boring and hard and not vacation-like for you?”
“That’s before you mentioned guns. I’ve always wanted to play with one.”
“You shoot, not play.”
“It qualifies if it’s role-play. I plan on you bending me over before the day is through.”
35
THE FEEL OF A gun in my hand is comforting.
Its weight is an extension of my hand, and the power I feel as the bullet discharges from its chamber cannot be put into words. It’s freeing. I feel powerful.
Another shot, and I hit the target in the chest—the vibrations move through me, and I won’t deny to feeling a thrill, arousal from his appreciative looks as I fire again and again.
The empty shells fall all around me as I empty this clip and then restock, all the while holding in the needy sound building within my chest.
Ever since Malcolm put that first Glock in my hand back on the beach, things have changed within me. That fear I’ve hidden behind disappears with each praise. My confidence grows—my hunger for him has become my life force.
The reason why I am living life my way for the first time.
As I raise my arms up, locking my elbows, he comes up behind me—presses the length of his thick cock against my ass. “How many times can you…” his breath skims my ear as those strong arms encircle my waist “…hit the bull’s-eye on its head. Give me a number, Twirl.”
“I-I can’t—”
“Concentrate. Never let anyone or anything pull you from what matters. The possible threat.” This time he leaves a kiss on my neck, then a quick nip. “Clear your mind and focus. I know you can…you’re a natural with my gun. Just need a bit more practice.”
“You’re not being fair.” It leaves me on a low moan as I lower my arms, leaning my head back to give him better access. “I can’t resist you, Mr. Asher.”
“Is that right? Are you wet for me?” His right hand skims down until reaching my core, slipping beneath the thin fabric of my tights to cup me. “Fuck, London. What made you soak your panties, sweetheart—the gun, or the idea of my cock slipping inside from behind as you pull the trigger.”
“Do it,” I whimper, bringing a hand up to wrap around his neck. “Take me.”
The luxury of being with a man like Malcolm Asher is that this gun range is on his property. At the very back and near a secluded path, there’s a small structure holding one room, a divider with a small counter for the occupant to place its weapon, and a pulley system that goes back enough to challenge the shooter. That’s it. At the most three people fit inside comfortably, and the cameras inside go to his computer, not to the staff. No one but those he trusts the most practice here, and only with permission.
“You want my cock, little Twirl? Want me to fuck you?”
“Please.” My back arches, rubbing my ass against his length.
“Please what?” His fingers part my folds, rubbing against my entrance before moving to tap my clit. “Fuck you or let you shoot this gun? Make you come if you can hit the target between the eyes?”
“Both?” There’s no hesitation. Every time I think about him inside me, my heart speeds up and my pussy aches, but add a gun to that equation and it’s downright perverse. “Should we put it to the test?”
“Is that a challenge, love? You think you can handle both?” I don’t even have a second to sass him when his other hand loops the waistband of my pants and pushes them down over the swell of my ass. “Tell me.”
“I can.”
“Such a naughty little slut.” His hands press on the small of my back, leaning me over the railing. “Grab the gun and fire the first shot.”
“What do I get if I hit?” My hips gyrate once against him and I grab the Glock, cocking it. “Challenge me.” There’s something so dirty about this, and I want to push him. I want to be taken rough and quick.
The next thing I register is the sting of his palm on my right ass cheek and the heat that follows. “Concentrate, Twirl. Shoot.” My body reacts before my mind catches up and my finger pulls the trigger. I miss the target completely. “Again.”
The sounds of his belt coming undone fill my ears as I line the sights of the gun up. I try to push out the feel of his hand spreading me, of the hot head of his cock rubbing against my slick slit, but it’s futile when his low groan—that almost feral sound rumbles through him.
“Oh God…please!”
“Come on. Shoot.” I blow out a breath and fire just as Malcolm slams into me. I choke on my own breath at the overwhelming feeling of him. So good. So perfect. “Motherfucking perfect,” he says, echoing my thoughts. “Just think of it as an exercise of shooting from a moving car.”
