Page 50 of Sinful Desires
My breath hitched before I could swallow it down. Weak. And too fucking real.
“Come on.”
“What if I shoot you by accident?” I asked, mouth dry.
He smiled. “Wouldn’t be the first time a pretty girl tried to kill me.” He stepped closer, his gaze flat and merciless. “But you won’t.”
I raised a brow. “Confident.”
He tilted his head. “Nah. I trust you.”
A pause. The kind that dripped.
“That’s worse.”
He gestured to the guns without another word.
I stepped in, letting my fingers drift across the metal. It was cold. Too cold. Heavy in the right way, thrilling in the wrong one.
He picked up the protective glasses and slipped them over my face. Then his hand brushed my braid back, fingers grazing the side of my neck. “Step in closer. Check the safety. Hold it tight. High.”
I felt him move in behind me, slow and heavy. His heat slid up my spine like a hand under my skin. He didn’t even need to touch me, just stood there, close enough to make my thighs clench. His breath hit the back of my neck, then my ear, low and wicked, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
I raised the gun slowly, lining it up with the target.
His hands closed over mine for the briefest moment, his thumb grazing my fingers so quickly I wasn’t sure it had happened at all.
“Aim for the head or the heart,” he murmured, his breath warm at my ear. “Fastest way to drop a body.”
My fingers twitched. “And if I don’t want to kill them?”
“Then shoot the leg. Let them bleed. Let them scream while you watch and decide whether they’re worth finishing.”
The gun felt heavier in my hands, the steel warming against my palm. I didn’t trust my breath not to betray me. “Did they teach you that in the military?”
He was still behind me, too close to ignore. “No. The military taught me how to kill without looking twice. No hesitation. You hesitate, you die.”
I felt his hand cover mine again, anchoring the gun, guiding it higher. His other hand found my hip.
“Focus.”
My mouth went dry as I nodded. Not because I understood. Because I couldn’t fucking breathe.
His breath grazed my ear. “It’ll kick back once you shoot. I’m right here.”
“Okay,” I breathed, though nothing about me felt steady.
“Now.”
The first shot tore the silence in half. The next one snapped sharper. By the third, I was shaking, heart thudding in my throat, ears ringing.
I stepped back on instinct, and my spine met his chest. He didn’t flinch. One hand stayed on the weapon until he pried it gently from my grip. The other slipped away from my hip.
He reset the range, his movements quiet and mechanical as the target whipped forward through the air before jerking to a stop in front of us. One hit to the neck, the others scattered wide and useless.
“That was fucking pathetic,” he muttered.
I stepped closer to the paper. “You didn’t give me much of a warmup, soldier.”
