No one would ever touch my Violet. She’s mine.
What I’d do to her when I had her there…
But we have a job to do, and we don’t have any more time to waste.
“You’re really fucking good at this.”
I love the way she flushes under my praise. “I have a good teacher.”
“There are some things you can’t teach. Some things that only come naturally.”
I don’t know if it’s because she has years of training, because she’s incredibly skilled at knife throwing, or because there’s just something inside her that innately knows its way around weapons, but when she holds a gun and shoots, she does it as if she’s had years of practice.
She doesn’t trust me at first when she turns back around to shoot.
“Stop looking over your shoulder at me.”
“I’m afraid you’ll—do something to me again.” She gives me a look halfway between a glare and a pout.
“Like spank you?” I love watching her squirm.
“Or—something.”
I release a labored breath. “I will never, ever do anything to distract you when you’re holding a gun.” I shake my head. “Goddammit, woman, you think I wanna lose my balls?”
“Ah,” she says, standing the way I showed her with her legs spread apart and knees slightly bent. “So I’m safe from being dominated when I hold a gun?”
I huff out a breath. “Yeah.”
“I’ll have to bring a gun with me to bed, then.”
“Try it,” I say dryly. “See how that works out for you.”
She turns back to her target with a coy little smile. The first shot hits in the yellow ring, a shoulder strike for the human-shaped paper. “I meant that,” she mutters. “I don’t really want to kill anyone.”
“If they’re pulling a gun on you, yes, you do.”
She doesn’t reply, but her next shot strikes straight between the eyes.
“Good shot.” I glance at my watch. Eight o’clock. “We have to go now. You’ll join me here every morning at seven sharp.”
I note the regret on her face when she lays her weapon down. “And lemme guess, no coming here without you even if I follow the rules?”
“If you come here without me, you’re not following the rules.”
“I’m not going to get any better if I don’t practice.”
“Trust me. We’ll practice.”
She draws in a breath and squares her shoulders. “I want to see you shoot.”
“You want to see me shoot?”
Her pupils are dilated, and I realize… she’s aroused.
No. She’s on fire.
“It turns you on, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
I feel a slow, lazy smile spread across my face. “All of it. Your spanking. The gun. Me, dominating you. Watching me hold a gun.”
She swallows but doesn’t look away. “Yes, Mr. Master. You could say that.”
“Give me your knife, Violet.”
Trembling, she bends and slips her knife out of its sheath.
“What about knives?” I hold the knife to the light. The blade glints like crystal.
“What… about them?” Her chest rises with a sharp intake of breath. I watch as her fingers come to rest on her hips, but her body’s tense. Waiting.
“Have you ever played with knives?”
“Of course. All the time. The only way you learn to throw like I have is to—” Eyes wide, she swallows before she continues. “That’s not the kind of knife play you have in mind, is it?”
“Not at all, sweet girl.”
I brush the handle of the knife across her temple. Her eyes flutter closed, her lips parted. “Knife play can be intensely erotic. You would never want to play with a novice, but with the right person…if you have full trust...” My heartbeat races. “Stay still, Violet.” I drag the edge of the knife along her jaw, a thin scraping that makes her skin white. She stands absolutely still. If she moved too quickly, she’d break skin. “Edge play takes you right to the very brink of danger and foreplay.” I gently drag the knife from her jaw to her neck, the tiniest scrape of metal to skin. I lean in, my mouth against her ear. “But it intensifies everything.”
Her eyes flutter open, and she licks her lips.
“You’re good at that,” she whispers.
“Good at what?”
“Intensifying everything.”
I gently take the knife off her skin and hand it to her.
Brilliant violet eyes meet mine, unblinking. “I want to see you shoot. Please.”
I step past her, my shoulder brushing hers, and my own need to claim this woman flares. I reach for my baby, the Ruger EC9. A striker-fired pistol with an easy trigger and immovable sights, it’s my favorite for fast, meticulous shooting.
“Tell me where.”
“Left shoulder.”
Boom. Hit it.
“Midsection.”
Boom. A hole tears straight through the abdominal region.
“Left ear.”
Boom. Blast the ear straight fucking off.
“Right wrist.”
Boom. Bingo.
“Shit. You’re a perfect shot.”
I shrug. “Some guys play video games. I relax at the target range.”
“Why does this not surprise me?” I can’t miss the unmistakable pride in her voice. It does strange things to me I don’t know how to unpack. But we have to go.