Page 26

The driver I used this morning brought us back here. Uri spent the ride back home on the phone while I dozed on-again-off-again. After a long shower, Uri suggested we watch a movie since I wasn’t hungry, too rattled by everything. No panic attack for years, and now twice in a week.

He took a seat right next to me on the couch without leaving any space between us, cramming me between him and the armrest. His weight is enough to dip the cushions, making me slide into his hip.

We are pressed together just enough to be a form of torture.

His masculine scent and the warmth of his body make me constantly glance his way.

Uri doesn’t seem to want to have a repeat of last night. He’s acting a bit more handsy than usual, but that’s just because he remembers I need physical closeness after a panic attack. Every time he’s near me, it is as if time slows down and tranquility reigns around me.

I look down at my lap. Albert E. is sleeping on the blanket covering my legs.

The familiar sight of him napping so soundly gives me a little comfort.

He sleeps a lot. I caress his smooth back, lingering on the tuft of hair on his head.

His short, right leg starts kicking the air—it’s his way of letting me know he enjoys it since he has no tail to wiggle.

It makes me smile affectionately at him.

Uri’s low growl makes me raise my head.

“Why are you glaring at Albert E.?” I ask, catching the angry look pointed at my guinea pig.

“He has his room to sleep in.” There’s a weird inflection to his words, a dark one.

“My lap is very comfortable too,” I retort, piqued by his annoyed tone.

“I know.” The corner of his mouth curls up, lifting the hoop around his lip. I suddenly remember pulling on it with my teeth.

His hand moves into my loose hair. I forgot to braid it after the shower, and his fingers start a toe-curling massage over my nape that makes me forget about everything but the soothing sensation.

“You always give me what I need,” I suddenly feel the urge to say to him. Because it’s true, even though he’ll never give me what I need the most: his heart.

“I always will.” The rumble of his voice gives me delicious goosebumps.

What if I ask him to kiss me right now? Would he? I don’t open my eyes, too afraid he’ll read my desire in them. Too afraid he’ll reject me…or oblige me.

“Always?”

His reply comes quickly. “Till the end of me.”

“Or me.”

“No,” he rumbles. “I’d never let you go first.” The confidence in his voice almost makes me believe he has any say in it.

His hand leaves my hair and grazes mine, it brings fire licking up my limb. Then he moves away. The empty space he left feels inhumanly cold.

He turns off the television and grabs Albert E. from my lap. “You sleepy?”

“No,” I tell him, noticing how delicately he’s holding my pet.

“Come.” He turns and moves to the door.

I leave the blanket on the couch and follow him. I’m wearing only an oversized white sweater that reaches my thighs. Underneath I have a simple cotton bra and panty set—it’s the comfy pair of lingerie I wear when I feel off.

Uri leaves Albert E. in his room before taking me by the hand and moving down the corridor.

His fingers feel so warm and reassuring around mine as he keeps walking with confident steps.

He stops in front of the metal door to go through the security checks.

I know it will open to the shooting range.

I’ve never been inside, but Uri told me about it.

A small beep, and then he pushes the door open. The room is bigger than I expected. The targets lined up on the distant wall on the right have pictures of people on them. They must be Uri’s future donors.

He’s taking something from one of the drawers on the opposite wall. I move closer; it’s filled with guns.

“I haven’t practiced in months.” I hear myself say, dragging my gaze away from Uri’s tanned throat; his dreads are in a bun again, putting all that smooth skin on display.

“Six months,” he remembers since the last time was with him. “Here.” He hands me a beautiful gun, small, light, with a white pearl handle.

“A Walther PPK, James Bond’s gun.”

I smile. I know he enjoys watching OO7 movies—anything detective-ish. “Her name?”

“Honey Ryder,” he replies, guiding me toward the firing stand. There’s a pair of earmuffs on the counter, but I don’t wear them. I’m used to the loud noise. It’s kind of comforting even. Such a strange thing to be reassuring.

“What’s the first rule about new weapons?”

“Never trust one you’ve never tested or fired,” I recite one of Linda’s teachings.

“Very good. Give it a try.”

I take the safety off and point the gun in front of me—it feels cold in my hand. There’s no picture on the target down the lane, just one word written in red: Stalker .

My hand suddenly trembles, my sight turns blurry as I remember my photo with burned eyes.

My finger slips on the sensitive trigger as the loud bang resounds in the room.

The bullet misses, and I take deep breaths in as I try to compose myself.

I guess I’m still shaken. “Maybe handling guns is not a very good idea right now.”

Uri is suddenly behind me. His cotton shirt-clad chest brushes against my back, his calm voice near my ear.

“Give Honey a good grip; hug it with your thumb.” His fingers move over mine, shifting my hand position.

“Treat her with precision and tact,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“Remember, always shoot to kill. In the middle of the forehead or straight to the heart.”

My heart beats so loud, I squirm a little.

All thoughts of the stalker magically and swiftly disappear.

I can feel the round shape of Uri’s hard nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt.

It’s distracting. I’m idly wondering what they would feel like on my bare skin without the fabric in the way when Uri’s hands land on my waist, making me jolt a little.

He doesn’t seem to mind my reaction. “Remember the key to shooting is controlling your breathing…”

“Breathing will keep my heart still,” I finish.

I close my eyes and empty my mind. No past, no present, no future. When I open them, I shift the gun and fire my shot. It hits the heart.

A smile jumps immediately to my face. Uri hums with satisfaction, the sound vibrating against my back as we’re pressed so close together. My stomach somersaults at the sound.

I suddenly feel a bulge against my ass, and as I fire more bullets, the bulge grows. Is he turned on by my shooting?

“Fuck yeah!” he growls right into my ear. “Keep going.”

The more I shoot, the more precise my aim gets until I get the target’s bullseye.

The gun is still in my grip as my hands fall forward on the counter.

Uri is grinding his hard cock against the curve of my butt, lifting my sweater over my waist and pressing me against the hard surface of the firing stand.

“You need to stop rubbing against me like that if you don’t want me to fucking devour you,” he hisses. I realize he’s right. I’m the one stroking his cock between my ass cheeks now. Was I also the one starting this?

The acknowledgement doesn’t stop me. I keep working him until I feel his piercing stroking against my clenching hole. A zip of electricity rushes down, turning my dick rigid. My eyes become hooded, lips slightly parted. It’s too late for me now. I opened this Pandora’s box, and I can’t go back.

“Mhm,” Uri lets out a deep hum before he grabs my face and tilts it up, robbing my breath.

His fingers dig into my jaw so that he can feed me his wet, pierced tongue, as he kisses me upside down.

Our hips don’t stop moving, humping each other like two animals in heat.

My cock is sliding against the counter with every movement.

I give back as ferociously as he’s taking.

He bites me and then laps at the indent he made with his tongue; it feels like a fist of warmth hitting right into my chest. His hand covers mine once again, and lifting the gun up, his finger pushes mine on the trigger.

The two shots booming in the room, don’t halt my lust. My desire has reached the skylights, a gun firing close to me, even though dangerous, can’t stop this. Nothing can.

I’m trapped in a pleasure haze while he’s eating the fuck out of my mouth. I’m melting against him, my legs are giving out, but I still meet him, passionate stroke for passionate stroke.

“There’s nothing sexier in my world than you holding a gun,” he rasps against my trembling lips.

His hands slide down my sides until they find bare skin.

They grip my hips, making me gasp. Fingers glide under my panties, taking two handfuls of ass cheeks bruisingly hard.

The pain hits me inside where it feels so good, and I let my head fall back on his shoulder.

The loud growls that leave his lips cover the sound of my slutty moan as he drives his leaking dick against my wet panties.

“Keep hold of the gun.” I barely process his command when I’m suddenly spun around and lifted up—one hand holding my ass. My legs are hooked around his waist as my back hits the pole that divides each firing stand.

“Take off your sweater,” he orders. I do so as he unbuttons his jeans with deft fingers, taking out his dick before releasing mine from my panties.

He opens his mouth and lets saliva drip on them before wrapping a large hand around both shafts and starting to jerk them off.

My hands fall on his shoulders, the one not holding the gun grips the skin, nails digging in.

My eyes are fixed on our dripping cocks moving against each other.

His is longer and thicker than mine; his piercings keep stroking my sensitive skin, sending bolts of undiluted ecstasy all over my body.

“Uri. Yes!” I scream as I start moving my hips to get more friction.