Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
I try to stand up straighter, but his body’s pressed up against mine. Not that I’m complaining. I reload my gun as I spout off details. “The three main types of gunshot wounds include non-penetrating, perforating, and penetrating. Non-penetrating wounds mean the bullet grazed skin without embedding, perforating wounds involve an entrance and exit site, and penetrating wounds have an entrance site with no exit.”
“Very good. Which type of gunshot do we aim for, Violet?”
I answer like I’m under his command, because it tickles my fancy. “Whichever is the most expedient, sir.”
Sometimes we shoot to warn. Sometimes we shoot to injure. Sometimes we shoot to kill.
I hold my position, vividly aware of his heartbeat against my back and his warmth that surrounds me like a heated blanket. He’d kick anyone’s ass for engaging in target practice while so close to another, but I know it’s partly how he likes to test me.
I aim for the target and pull the trigger again.
Bam. Hit the kidney, an excellent debilitating and potentially fatal shot. The perfect one to incapacitate and cause pain without immediate death, if we’re feeling like we need to have a little chat.
“Good girl. Excellent.”
I don’t react. I don’t want anyone to see how I bask in the little rays of his praise. It’s kind of pathetic.
“Aim for the left shoulder.”
I pull the trigger and stifle a grin when the paper target of a shoulder tears open.
“Heart.”
Another on-point hit.
“Right shoulder.”
Boom.
I don’t wait for further instruction, but aim a few more shots, the last one landing straight in the groin area.
“Fuck, my balls clenched at that.”
“Your balls clenched because it’s fucking cold out here. Did you see what I made for you?”
I grin at him over my shoulder, and he quickly brushes his mouth against mine. I didn’t expect that, but I don’t stop him. I love the feel of his hot, sensual mouth on mine, the way my body melts against him and my heartbeat quickens.
“No, baby,” he whispers with a smile. “What’d you make for me?”
“It’s a heart, see?”
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 into one 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.