She nods, nervous but determined. I like that about her—she doesn't back down even when she's scared.
I hand her the Glock, watching as she checks it the way I taught her. Good. She's learning.
"Remember your stance," I say, moving behind her. I put my hands on her hips, adjusting her position, and I feel her sharp intake of breath. My body responds immediately, and I grit my teeth.Focus."Feet shoulder-width apart. Good."
I adjust her grip on the gun, my hands covering hers, and I'm acutely aware of how small she is against me. How warm. How fucking perfect she feels.
This is torture.
"When you breathe out, squeeze the trigger," I murmur, my mouth close to her ear. "Don't pull. Squeeze."
She does, and the gun fires. The target wobbles—not a center shot, but close.
"Again."
We do this for twenty minutes, and each time I have to touch her to correct her form, the tension between us ratchets higher. By the time I step back, my body is wound tight, my cock throbbing and I can see the flush on her cheeks, the way her breathing has changed.
"Good," I say, my voice rougher than it should be. "You're improving."
"Thank you." She doesn't quite meet my eyes.
“We’ll go back in and work on self-defense,” I tell her, glad for the drive back to get some space. My entire body is screaming for relief, for me to do something about the lust that’s choking my veins. I’m going to have to get close to her again, and it’s going to take everything in me not to throw her down onto one of those mats and fuck her senseless.
I’d break her, and I’d come harder than I ever have in my entire life while I did.
Which is exactly why I can’t fucking have her.
“Let’s get started,” I tell her tersely once we’re in the gym. I move onto the mat. "Someone grabs you from behind. Show me what you'd do."
She steps onto the mat, and I move behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other across her chest. Immediately, I know this was a bad idea. She's pressed back against me, and I can smell her shampoo, feel every curve of her body.
"Maeve," I force myself to say. "What do you do?"
"I..." She's breathing fast. "I stomp on your instep?"
"Good. Do it. Not full force, but show me."
She does, her heel coming down on top of my foot. I let her go and step back.
"Good. What else?"
We run through scenarios, and each time I have to grab her, hold her, pin her down, the tension gets worse. My hands linger too long. She presses back against me when she shouldn't. By the time we finish, we're both breathing hard, and it has nothing to do with the physical exertion.
"Sean." She turns to face me, and we're standing too close for comfort. My cock has been hard for the better part of an hour, and the pain is starting to occlude my thinking. "Last night, you said the kiss was a mistake."
My jaw tightens. "It was."
"Why?" she presses, despite the fact that I’ve answered this before. "You want me. I know you do."
Christ, she has no idea. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
Christ.I can’t fucking think. I step back, putting distance between us. "Go pack. We leave in six hours."
I walk away before I do something I can't take back.
—
