I raise the gun. My arms are shaking. His fingers are moving, slow and relentless, and I'm trying to line up the sights but I can't see straight. Can't think straight. The target blurs and his thumb finds my clit and I choke on a moan.
"There's ten rounds in that magazine." His mouth is hot against my ear. "You're going to empty it. You're going to hit the target every time. And you're going to come while you do it."
"That's—" My voice breaks. "That's insane."
"Probably." He adds another finger and I clench around him. "Do it."
I squeeze the trigger.
The shot goes wide. Clips the target's shoulder.
"Sloppy." His fingers thrust harder. Punishment or reward, I can't tell anymore. "Again."
I fire. Center mass this time. His thumb circles my clit and I whimper.
"Better. Again."
I'm shaking. I'm shaking and dripping down his hand and I'm going to come, I'm going to come with a gun in my hands and that should horrify me but it doesn't. It makes me hotter. It makes me want to empty this magazine and then beg him to fuck me on the floor of this range while the gunpowder smoke clears.
I fire again. Headshot.
"Good girl."
My knees nearly buckle. The words hit me somewhere deep and dark and I'm—fuck—I'm close. I'm so close and I still have seven rounds left.
"Koshin—"
"Keep shooting." His fingers are relentless. "Don't stop until it's empty."
I fire. And again. And again. The target is shredded now, holes punched through chest and throat and skull, and I can't feel my legs. His fingers are fucking me in time with the shotsand I'm making sounds, desperate pathetic sounds, and I don't care.
"Three more." His voice is wrecked. "You can do it. Three more and then you can come."
I fire. My vision is blurring. I fire again. My arms are screaming. One more. One more and—
The last shot goes through the target's heart.
"Now."
I come so hard I see white. The gun drops from my hands and I don't care where it lands because his fingers are still moving, still fucking me through it, and I'm clenching around him and sobbing his name and my legs give out entirely.
He catches me.
Spins me.
Lifts me onto the table in one motion, shoving aside the ammunition boxes, and his mouth crashes into mine. I taste blood—I bit my lip, I don't know when—and he groans at the taste of it.
"That was—" I can't finish. Can't think.
"The most depraved thing I've ever done." He's yanking at his pants, freeing himself. "I need to be inside you. Right now. Right fucking now."
"Yes—"
He slams into me.
No warning. No gentleness. Just his cock filling me in one brutal thrust and his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise and the table scraping against the stone floor. I wrap my legs around him and hold on.
"You shot a target while you came on my fingers." He's fucking me hard, punishing, his forehead pressed to mine. "You hit center mass while I was inside you. Do you understand how—" He breaks off with a groan. "Do you understand what that does to me?"
