Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“I need you to learn how to fire a gun.”
That knocks her back half a step, but she recovers quickly. “Okay. Are there like last-minute lessons I can take?”
“We can do better than that.”
Hopefully, I don’t end up regretting this.
She follows me to the elevator. I type in the code before pushing the subbasement for the gun range.
“Hey, Mas….” Pete’s sentence gets cut short as he notices Teagan entering the range behind me.
“Pete, get some targets ready for some up-close situations.”
I don’t have time to explain all of this to him. Nor do I have to. The truth is, I hope Teagan has at least a bit of natural talent in her. The smell of gunpowder in the air calms me. This is how I blow off steam. Or, as Teagan puts it, “Have fun.”
“Now listen, shooting is easy once you get over the initial shock of the weapon’s recoil.”
From the corner of my eye, I see the same range girl who flirted with me the last time I was here. The smile on her face disappears when she sees Teagan.
“Mr. Grant,” she says flatly. “Will your guest be shooting as well?”
“I am,” Teagan answers for me. Something I usually hate, but today, I’m simply amused by it. “Mason and I will be shooting together.”
A small grin reaches my lips. She’s like a wild animal staking her claim.
“Go get me a .380 with 300 rounds.”
“Oh, you mean the gun we give to older people who can’t rack a gun?” Ginger tries to joke, but neither Teagan nor I are laughing.
“Listen, Georgia.” I call her by the wrong name on purpose.
“It’s Ginger,” she says with a wounded expression on her face.
“Yes, Ginger. Do you like working here?”
She takes a step back and clasps her hands in front of her.
“Of course, Mr. Grant. I love my job.”
“If you’d like to keep it, I suggest you treat my guest the way you treat me. With respect. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Grant.”
She leaves quickly to get what I asked for. Can anyone just do their job around here? I almost think out loud. A moment later, she returns with an M&P Shield with an EZ slide. I clear the weapon and set it down on the bench along with the magazines.
“Now listen, this first mag, I just want you to grab ahold of the gun and fire anywhere down range. Don’t worry about aiming. Just get used to how the gun feels when it fires.”
I load a mag of six and hand it to her. To my surprise, she puts the magazine in and pulls the slide back, racking a round—albeit awkwardly.
“Have you shot a pistol before?”
“No. But Jase plays Call of Duty all the time. So I picked up some stuff watching him.”
“Call of Duty.” I huff. “Of course.”
She shrugs. “Was what I did wrong?”
“No, but that’s not the point. People act like Call of Duty is real life.”
“Sounds to me like you’re just hating.”
Before I can come up with a witty remark, she lifts the gun and fires. A high-pitched squeal rips from her throat, but to her credit, her grip on the gun never wavers.
“I wasn’t done explaining what to do.” I almost roll my eyes at her.
“Oops.” She grins up at me shyly. “I didn’t realize it was going to be this loud.”
“Lay the weapon back on the bench,” I order.
She puts it down with her lips pursed as she bobs her head up and down as if to say now what?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Patience. “Listen, your ability to aim comes from how you grip a pistol.”
Grabbing her hands, I put the gun in her palm, showing her how to hold it correctly. I stand behind her, correcting her posture when she starts to rub her ass into my cock. It springs to life, ready for another round.
“You have to stop that. I can’t concentrate on teaching you if I want to be inside you.”
“What do you mean?” she asks coyly.
I look at her with narrowed eyes and tight lips. “You know exactly what I mean.” I almost hiss.
Rolling her eyes, she looks back down range. “Fine! Be a party pooper.”
She follows my lead well and even fires a few rounds independently after a short lesson. I’m actually impressed with how well she does.
After we try out a few handheld guns, I let her shoot a rifle just for fun.
“I always thought those military rifles would kick more!”
“Yeah, everyone does. Honestly, they are basically glorified .22s.”
“I don’t know what that means. But sure.” She shrugs her shoulders, unimpressed. “Is my shooting satisfactory enough for me to go with you?”
“Not really, but I know I can’t change your mind so it will have to do.” The only reason I’m letting this happen at all is knowing I’ll be there to protect her.