Page 5 of Navy Daddy

“Then try this.” I take her free hand in mine and move it under the Glock, where the magazine would go. I tuck her fingers around the edge of her trigger hand before adjusting her arms against her body for ample stability, but in the process, I’ve found myself closer to her.

Too close.

In my half-hunched position, my nose is practically against her hair, breathing her in. My chest is pressed against her back, and my cock is right up against her ass.

And she notices.

“I think something in your pocket is pok—” She stops, figuring out that it isn’t in my pocket at all. “Oh, uhm, forget I said that.”

I should be turning rosy-cheeked and hot with embarrassment, but somehow I’m not. My thumping heart should be a sign of shame. Instead, I’m fucking invigorated. I’ve known Eva all of half an hour, and she’s cracked the thick plating of armor I’ve built around myself.

I clear my throat awkwardly, trying to buy whatever time I can to think, but there’s no getting out of this one. It’s too late. I moved too close too quickly, and my body betrayed me.

“I should go.”

“What?” Eva speaks in a low, guttural whisper. She turns her head over her shoulder, and our faces are inches apart.

I expected her to be repulsed, and now I’m within kissing distance. Fuck, I just want to throw myself into her. Smash our mouths together and let our primal urges take control. It nearly kills me to pull away. Feels like my soul’s staying in the same place while I peel away my husk from her body.

“I should go,” I repeat.

“But we’ve barely started.” Now she’s protesting against my leave when she couldn’t stand me a few minutes ago?

“I’ve got what I came for, and tomorrow is another day.” I start packing up before she can say anything to make me change my mind.

She was trouble from the second I saw her. A rebel, fighting tooth and nail to protect her beliefs. I might find the ideas silly, but I admired her strength, and it made this situation easier to deal with. But now? Staying around here will be poking the bear.

I’ve never found it hard to control myself, but she’s a different kind of drug. And if I’m not careful, I’ll be hooked on her before I’ve realized the mistake I’ve made.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I don’t bother packing up the machine gun.

“Alright, cowboy. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Eva giggles at my flustered state. “Just remember to keep that piece holstered.”

5

EVA

After his abrupt escape yesterday, Arthur returned bright and early this morning, wearing the same pair of loose-fit blue jeans and a similar dark gray t-shirt. If it weren’t for his clean-shaven face, I’d have never realized a full twenty hours had gone by.

We’ve been at it for hours, and he’s barely taken a break to have a drink of the lemonade my mother brought us a while ago. Even through his drilling, I’ve still managed to notice how he’s been staring at my sweaty body. His eyes linger on my breasts tightly squeezed together inside of my sports bra, and his mouth falls agape at the sight of my round ass in a pair of yoga pants that leave nothing to the imagination.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t doing the same. His jeans are loose enough for him to have free movement but too tight to hide the rock-solid piece of meat that poked my ass yesterday. Training with a belly full of butterflies isn’t making it any easier.

Somehow, after putting far more effort into this training than I have, Arthur stands strong. Not a single ragged breath or dropof sweat drips from his brow. The only sign I can see from this session is a tuft of his brown hair drooping over his forehead.

He's a machine while I’m huffing lungfuls of air through my nose and mouth, with stars in my eyes from utter exhaustion. I spent years running sprints in high school and college, but nothing could have prepared me for the physical toll our session would bring.

“Almost, but remember, you aren’t trying to hit the pad. You want to smash through it,” Arthur says, patting his padded hands together with three satisfying thuds. “Do it like this.”

He starts slowly, adjusting his body from the receiver’s to the fighting stance. Gloves are above his face, and his massive hands bend the thick padding into half fists.

I gulp at the way his eyes shift from good-spirited trainer to stern killer intent. Their softness engulfed by razor focus and an unnerving stare. He bounces on the balls of his feet, bobs his head side to side, and every muscle in his body tenses as he cocks his shoulder.

It’s an awe-inspiring sight to behold but also deeply terrifying.

A shorthakicks off his action. He snaps his arm forward in front of me. It cuts through the air with no resistance, and a blast of wind blows against my face. He follows with an immediate second punch from his other hand and, like the first punch, displaces the air in my direction.

Good Lord, I wouldn’t want to be hit by that. I can see the brutality in those fists, the pain they can inflict. And for the first time in all my life, I’m not repulsed by it. I’m drawn closer, like a moth to a flame. Intrigued and a little aroused.

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