Page 76 of Luciano

The shot cracked through the air. She hit the target. Not center, but close. Good thing she hadn’t been aiming that well when she shot at me.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad?” She looked over her shoulder with a smirk. “That’s a kill shot.”

“Lung, not heart.”

“Still dead, right?”

The question didn’t need an answer.

I moved her to the dummy next. A life-sized male replica, thick foam over a reinforced structure. Realistic enough to bleed when you stabbed it—thanks to an internal blood pack.

I handed her the blade.

“If someone grabs you from behind,” I began, “you don’t aim for the chest. It’s too hard to pierce quickly without an opening. Go for the soft tissue—throat, armpit, lower abdomen, femoral artery. Here, here, or here.”

I pointed each out. She watched, then suddenly tilted her head.

“You know… seeing you like this?” Her lips curled. “It makes me wet.”

I paused. She was amused but I wanted to hold her down and shove my dick as deep into her as it could go.

“This is serious,” I replied stiffly after clearing my throat. I was second guessing myself about sex again. What if despite all I’d read, I couldn’t please her? I changed the subject, forcing my eyes away from her hardened nipples.

“I’m demonstrating necessary and efficient self-defense tactics designed to neutralize threats with maximum effectiveness and minimal exposure. The average attacker expects panic. You need to know this… What they don’t expect is decisive, calculated aggression. For example, if you’re taken from behind, there are four likely grip patterns—”

“Luciano.”

I looked at her.

“Cliff Notes version, please.”

I blinked. “Cliff Notes?”

She shrugged. “You don’t have to give me an encyclopedia version. I can’t learn anything if you drone on. So give me the good parts only, baby, then show me.”

She bit her bottom lip. My pulse jumped. My dick throbbed. I imagined sliding my hand under her waistband and rubbing her clit until she moaned for me.

“Fine,” I muttered, taking the blade from her hand, frustrated that I couldn’t make myself touch her like I wanted. At this point I was simply a prisoner of my own mind and I realized that, but how did I adjust? I knew she would allow me. “You’ll remember more through muscle memory anyway. Let’s actually do it.”

We moved to the mat.

I demonstrated a basic hold—rear mount, arm across the throat, one knee planted to control movement. She wiggled her ass.

I groaned.

She twisted suddenly, and she ground her hips back against me, into my hard dick—slowly, and I knew she was deliberately taunting me.

My grip faltered for half a second.

She rolled beneath me, flipped us, and sat up on my chest, straddling me with a grin.

“That’s not a real defense,” I muttered.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

I looked up at her, pinned under her weight, both hands flat on the mat. “That’s not the point. That’s not a strategic maneuver. Not plausible in most situations. Not everyone will be sexually attracted to you.”

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