“I know this,” I jump in, having read about this technique in crime books.“You have to squeeze it.”
“Yeah, or I prefer to imagine rolling it.If you roll the trigger, it usually means the force will be consistent, smooth, and unified.You don’t want to be surprised by the shot.”He tucks himself in behind me, his breath on the back of my neck, and I tell myself to keep looking at the front sight and not think about how close he is or how much I want him to touch me.
“I’m going to take the safety off, and then you’re going to line up the gun with the first target.”He nods to the upturned box and the plastic cup sitting on top of it.
Wrapping his arms around my body, he pulls at the top of the gun, and it clicks.My mind is panting, yet I will myself to focus on the target.
“Okay, now line up the front sight with the middle of the cup.”His voice is like the whisky running down the back of my throat, sending heat travelling right to my core.
Placing his hands over mine, he grips the gun with me, and I want to melt.His body feels hard behind me, like it’s holding me in place, and I try not to think about what it’d be like to feel his arousal against me.
Trying to fish my mind out of the gutter, I concentrate on the target and the gun.
“Okay.”He loosens his grip on my hands but doesn’t pull them away completely.“Now roll the trigger and don’t close your eyes.”
Taking a deep breath, I pull the trigger.
It’s like taking a punch.The kick of the gun has me reeling back on my heels, straight into the front of Fenrir.I’d kidded myself that maybe he was standing behind me just as an excuse to get close to me, but now I realise he’d been supporting me, as even with his instruction on my stance, there was no way I wouldn’t have fallen backwards from the force.
“Okay, I was not prepared for that,” I tell him as he lowers his arms, and I lower the gun.
“You’ll get used to it.”Fenrir steps to the side.“You did good.”
“I didn’t hit the cup.”I nod at the box that took the hit.
“I didn’t expect you to.But you will.With practice.”
And this is what we do for the rest of the morning, until eventually, I hit the goddamn cup.It feels like I’ve won the lottery.
“Yes!”I shout, punching the air and jumping on the spot.
“Great job.”Fenrir smiles, which only adds to my joy.
“It only took me eight hundred tries.”I laugh as he smirks.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.You’ve done great.You’ve never even held a gun before today.”
I can’t help my smile spreading, and I’m about to hand him back the gun, but then I pause.
“Your turn,” I say, holding the gun out to him with the barrel pointing at the floor.
He dips his head.“I don’t need to practice.”
“No, but I want to see how it’s supposed to be done.”
“I’m not a great role model,” he says in a low voice that makes my insides tremble.
“Do as I say and not as I do?”I arch one eyebrow.
“Something like that.”
I push the gun at him.“Please, for me.Just one shot.”
Slowly, he takes the gun from my hand and stares at me before turning his attention to the remaining cup on the highest box.
He doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate.He just raises his arm, the gun an extension as he fires at the target, and the cup flies off the box.
Tipping my head to the side, I say, “Well, your stance was a little off, and I don’t think you rolled the trigger, but it wasn’t bad.”
