Page 81 of Wicked Little Game
I grumble because she’s right. And that’s not the only weapon I brought. Two guns and a few knives, just in case. And a fucking grenade that Max hid in my luggage, which caused a horrible chaos when they scanned my bag at the airport.
I had to call Rockwell, and he had to explain the situation to the security personnel as if he's a middle-aged dad with misbehaving teenage sons.
Max almost ruined the mission before it even started, but in the end, I ruined it, so I probably shouldn’t be throwing around accusations.
“Please,” she whispers, crawling into my lap after I put the box on the coffee table. I pull her closer, holding her face in my hands as she sighs against my lips.
She has her hair in a messy bun, but it started coming undone and it’s tickling me as it brushes over my arms with every breath she takes. I could get lost in those big brown eyes, could stare at this perfect face forever.
“Sam, I—”
I silence her with a kiss that tastes like strawberry ice cream, wiping away the single tear that runs down her cheek.
The next day,we stand in the spacious garden. I gave in to her pleas about teaching her to shoot. She knows damn well she has me wrapped around her finger. If she told me she wants to go skydiving, I’d probably do it.
I put a can on a tree trunk, feeling like I’m a teenager again. It’s also how Logan learned to shoot when he was six and if it worked out for us, it’s going to work for Ruby too.
A shooting range would have been better, though. Safer, at least. Ruby would love the one we have at base.
But she’s never going to see it,I remind myself.
When I look back at her, she’s standing a few feet away, head cocked to the side, holding the gun sideways. Should have expected it after she told me that smashing a heel next to someone’s head was a proper de-escalation tactic.
“No,” I yell as I see her aiming.
Handing her a loaded gun was a mistake. I rush back to her and gently put my hands around hers, ignoring how she grumbles because I won’t let her hold the gun as if she’s in a music video.
Then I correct her stance, kicking her feet apart before I bow down slightly. She probably does it wrong on purpose just so that I touch her.
As if I’d need a reason for that.
She fires and misses the can the first two times.
I take the gun from her, show her what she’s doing wrong and when she finally listens to what I’m telling her, she hits the can. And then she hits five others I placed there. On the first try.
Slightly suspicious, if you ask me.
“Why did you ask me to teach you how to shoot when you know damn well how to do it?” I ask, my eyebrows raised as I snatch my gun away from her.
“Did you really think the daughter of a criminal doesn’t know how to shoot?” She laughs as we walk towards the field of downed cans back in the garden. “And I like it when you try to teach me something. Turns me on, the wholeOh God he’s so experiencedthing, you know?”
She grins at me, the dirty, mischievous grin that I’ve grown so horribly accustomed to. The very grin that also almost instantly causes my cock to harden in my pants and I can’t help but throw her over my shoulder.
I carry her straight to her bedroom. Just to punish her for tricking me, of course.
This is how we spend the next few days. We lounge at the pool or train together, even though it’s mostly her watching me work out. Absolutely not being a dangerous distraction when she sits on my lap while I try to bench press.
But if I kill myself like this, then so be it.
She even promoted me to commis chef, whatever that means. It seems to include being allowed in the kitchen again, at least to help her cut up vegetables and stir from time to time.
And when we don’t do any of these things, we fuck. Like goddamn animals, everywhere in this house until there isn’t a single thought left in both of our heads. Until we’re lying somewhere, catching our breath before she falls asleep on me.
So far we have tried out her bed, mine, the dinner table, both of our showers, the pool, the wine cellar, and the gym. The gym definitely deserves its place in the top three, just because of the big mirror.
As good as all of this feels, we both know that we are also torturing ourselves with this happy couple act. Because that’s exactly what it is. A tragedy that we perform for the small audience that consists of the two of us.
As if we could outrun reality if we only tried hard enough.
