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“Bullshit. No girl wants to sit on grass and eat off a plastic plate while trying to shoo away the ants and flies.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” I shrug and get on the bike behind him.
Sergei starts the engine, and I quickly wrap my arms around his waist, clutching him with a mad grip. That first tug when he takes off is the worst. Even after the numerous times he’s taken me for a ride, I still need a couple of minutes to adjust to the idea being on the back of a motorcycle. I can’t help it. The thought that vehicles with two wheels shouldn’t exist won’t leave me. But then, I remember it’s Sergei driving, so I relax and let myself enjoy the adrenaline surge.
I have seen him ride the bike alone. It’s fucking madness. I keep thinking he’ll crash into something. When I saw him doing that idiotic thing on one wheel last week, I almost had a heart attack. He never tries that when I’m with him, though, thank God.
We drive along the highway for about forty minutes before he takes a turn onto a side road, and then to a narrow dirt path leading between the fields. I’m convinced we’re lost when he slows down and parks. There’s nothing around except grass for miles.
“Are we lost?” I ask when I remove my helmet.
“Nope.” He smiles, takes me around the waist, and lifts me off the bike. “Let’s go.”
He unstraps the bag from the back, takes my hand in his free one, and leads me across the field on our right. A hundred yards in, we reach a roughly made wooden table, standing in the middle of nowhere. A bit farther, I notice several metal stands with paddles on each side, placed at varying distances from the table. Practice targets.
“I didn’t know what you liked,” Sergei says and puts the bag onto the table.
I watch with wide eyes as he starts taking out different handguns and lining them on the wooden surface. Two Glocks. A Sig Sauer, smaller model. A Beretta. And two more pistols—I don’t recognize the manufacturer, but they look like military issue.
“Take your pick.” He nods toward the assortment of weapons.
I raise an eyebrow. “You brought me to a shooting practice?”
“It’s better than picnic.” He smiles. “And I want to see you shoot.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You didn’t believe me when I said I know how to use a gun?”
“Of course, I believed you.” He leans down and presses his lips to mine. “But I want to see if you can actually hit something.”
I smile into his lips. “Okay.”
He turns me around to face the table and stands behind me. “How about the Sig? That one would be the easiest for you to use. Do you know how to turn the safety off?”
He’s so sweet. “I don’t like Sigs.” I reach out and take the Glock 19. It’s relatively light and has a dual recoil system. I check the magazine. “I’ll do a round of six. And then you. We’ll see who’ll end up with more hits.”
Sergei bursts out laughing. “Deal.”
The first target is rather close, so I decide to go for the second one. Coming around the table, I lift the gun and aim for the top left paddle. My first shot is a hit. I make the next three too, then miss with the fifth one. Crap. The sixth one strikes true. I put the safety on, lower the gun, and turn around to find Sergei gaping at me.
“Well, it looks like I managed to hit something, huh?” I smirk.
He stares at me for a few heartbeats, then grabs me around the waist so suddenly, the gun falls from my hand. Lifting me up, he plasters me to his body and our mouths collide.
Violent, desperate kisses, then... “There is nothing sexier than a girl who knows how to handle a gun.” He takes my lower lip between his teeth, biting it lightly. “When did you learn to shoot?”
“Dad started teaching me when I was eleven.” I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my hands in his blond strands. He has the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. “Now you.”
Sergei laughs and puts me down on the ground. He reaches for one of the guns I didn’t recognize. While he’s checking it, I walk around him to stand at his back. I wait until he lifts the weapon to take aim, then place my hands on his hips. Slowly I glide my hands along the waistband of his jeans to the front, then lower until my palms rest over his crotch.
“Angelina?” He looks over his shoulder at me. “What are you doing?”
“Didn’t they train you to work under duress?” I smile and massage his dick through his jeans.
A corner of his mouth lifts. He looks back at the target and sends the bullet flying. It’s a hit. I need to up my game. I press my breasts to his back, undo the jeans’ button and lower his zipper. He shoots again. Another hit. Damn. I slide my hand inside.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had sex in a field,” I say and take out his cock, stroking it, enjoying the way it instantly gets hard. A shot rings out. I look up at the target. “Oh. Looks like you missed that one, baby. Am I distracting you?”
“No,” comes his clipped answer.
