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He looks over my shoulder. “Ah, so it is. You shot a heart shape in a human body. If that’s not the most romantic fucking thing I’ve ever seen…”
I grin. “I knew you’d like it.”
“Should I frame it?” he teases, as I clean up the little table at the range and carefully put the ammo and guns away.
“Of course. Put it away so I can regift it to you on Valentine’s Day.”
“You’re so damn romantic.”
“I try.”
He takes the gun out of my hand, lays it down on the table, and reaches for me.
“This is why you love target practice.”
I gasp when his fingers tangle in my hair, his grip firm but just exactly what I need. My mouth parts to release a whimper he quickly swallows. His tongue touches mine. My belly melts.
My hands find their way around his hard, muscled back, grasping for purchase as he takes the kiss deeper. Harder. I meet his tongue with mine, relishing the sound of his deep, male groan.
“Tell me again,” he grates in my ear, a firm command that makes my nipples hard. “The three types of gunshot wounds, Violet. Nice and slow.”
“Non-penetrating,” I say on a groan, as his fingers find the hem of my shirt and gently lift it. I feel the warmth of his touch on my belly, then one finger grazes the curve of my breast. He flickers a thumb over my bra-clad nipple. My body’s used to his touch. My hips jerk.
He nods. I think I know what he’s doing.
“Perforating.” Strong fingers slide past the elastic of my leggings, past the silk top of my panties, and dive between my legs to do their magic. I open my legs and moan, surprised at how wet I am already. I shouldn’t be. He knows how to play my body, how to work it to climax in any way he knows how.
“Good girl. And the last one?”
I close my eyes. “Penetrating.”
Thick fingers plunge into my core, jerk upward, and I cry out from the sudden stabbing thrills that explode through me.
He’s done wicked, dirty things to me in here, and it seems he’s nowhere near finished.
“I fucking love to see you come,” he growls in my ear, his hand cupped possessively around my pussy, which is still spasming. I breathe hard, then softer, slumping against him. I’m barely aware of where we are or what we’re doing when he slides intoone of the straight-backed chairs at the back of the range which we keep for guests and tugs me onto his lap.
It’s been precisely seven weeks and four days since we rescued his sister Skylar from a vindictive serial rapist. It feels much, much longer.
I’ve left my day job and moved into Cain’s house in Salem, a large, rambling estate where many of his employees live. He treats them to the lap of luxury, as he should. They run a top secret, clandestine organization that charges top dollar. Their clients pay more for a job with Master Enterprises than most people ever earn in their lifetime. Tonight’s security detail, for example, runs a cool million dollars.
“Got a present for you, baby,” Cain whispers in my ear.
“Cain—”
“‘You shouldn’t buy me so many things’,” he finishes in a high-pitched voice. “‘Stop spoiling me. I don’t need all these things’.”
I mutter under my breath. But when he nestles a heavy, large, solid black box onto my lap, I close my mouth. My heart beats a little faster.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“Open it and see.”
My hand shakes when I slide my finger along the edge of the box top and gently lift it. I lean against his large, sturdy frame to help still the trembling, but it doesn’t work. I’m shaking. I don’t handle expensive gifts well, and something tells me this one’s not cheap.
I don’t deserve it,I think to myself,whatever it is.
He wouldn’t like it if he heard me saying that.
