Just Let Go

by Alessandra Thomas

  But Natalia handled her weapon like a pro, and I stood there watching her, mesmerized by the sure movements of her fingers, the coolly confident way they wrapped around the weapon. The next thing I knew, she was fitting a solid black handle into my hand, and I forced myself to pay attention as she explained the controls. It wasn't easy. As surprisingly fascinating as it had been to watch her with her own gun, feeling the movements against my own hands threatened to drive me wild.

  "Just make sure that any time you are going to let down your concentration - whenever you're not ready to one hundred percent focus on your weapon and its target - you flip up this safety. The number one thing we're concerned about is having a hot weapon pointed at something living and breathing. Or, you know, something easily destroyed by a bullet."

  Natalia had been sweet and playful and, with that kiss, just plain hot since she'd picked me up in her old Jeep almost an hour ago. But now she'd morphed into Business Natalia, Teaching Natalia, the Natalia who put up with zero shit and expected zero shit to have to contend with. And, I realized, she was right. Every anxiety I had over guns had been overshadowed by my nearly uncontrollable boner for her, but she was putting the scared right back into me.

  I nodded, licked my lips, swallowed my pride, and asked her to go over everything one more time. Just to be safe.

  She cracked a stunning smile and did as I asked.

  "Now, watch how I stand. Legs far enough apart to hold my body steady, one foot in front of the other. If your feet aren't planted, the kickback can make you stumble. If you stumble," she said, stepping back from me and holding the gun out in front of her, "Your body tilts back, your arms tilt up, your aim goes completely off, and suddenly you're shooting into the sky. And that's best-case scenario. You could shoot a bird, your neighbor's cat hiding in a tree, a power line, or even a person, I guess. Anyway, plant your feet."

  I tried to mimic her stance, but with the height of my athleticism being taking a jog now and then, I just didn't have a feel for it. Natalia crouched down at my side and moved my legs into place with her hands. Damn. Any part of me that doubted how being at the shooting range could be an incredible date was being proven wrong.

  Same thing with the way I held the gun. I loved the feel of Natalia's small, tight body standing behind mine, settling the earmuffs on my head, her arms framing mine, guiding me into exactly the right stance. Just when I was thinking that my attitude toward this stance was about to turn from savoring to ditching the gun and ravaging her, she backed away, squeezed my ass, and stepped to my side. "Pull your ass in, too," she whispered in my ear before nipping at it.

  "I think we're ready," Natalia said, stepping over to the shelf in her lane and picking up her gun. She hit a large black button to make two paper targets come down the track and approach us.

  "I gave yours the beginners setting," she said, giving me a smirking side eye.

  "What is that, twice as close as yours?" I asked, generally not minding at all. I realized my hands had started to shake just a little, holding this weapon that was so small and compact but could also cause such devastating damage. I'd read more than most people about what bullets did when they penetrated a human body, and I tried not to think of it any more than I absolutely had to.

  Strangely, though, a sense of calm sort of draped over me now, watching Natalia fit headphones over her ears, take her stance, aim, and fire. The muffled sound and the bright white worked together to paint her in a dramatic silhouette, and for a few seconds I noticed every single aspect of her - her solid legs, her mouth pressed into a hard line of concentration, the powerful, muscular arms bucking against each shot. She was doing something incredibly dangerous, at least it would be outside these walls, and she was unspeakably gorgeous.

  Part of me wanted to step back and watch her for the rest of the time we were supposed to be here. But that wasn't the deal, and I knew it. I clenched my jaw and turned to my target, still pristine. I raised the gun, preemptively flexing the muscles that I knew would be required to make it fire. I took in a slow breath through my nose and let it out through 'o' shaped lips, just like Natalia had told me when her soft breasts and slim body had stood behind me, bracing me, teaching me. She was so expert. Knew exactly what she was doing.

  Suddenly, there wasn't a shred of worry left in me.

  I slowly pulled my finger back against the tight, cold trigger, and a millisecond later, the bullet was rocketing out of my weapon and toward the target.

  And barely grazing the edge.

  It was only then that I realized that Natalia had turned toward me and was watching me with a face that could only be interpreted as proud.

  And my cheeks heated to blazing red.

  "Obviously, I'm shit at this," I said, lowering my gun after making it clear that I was flipping on the safety.

  "No, no," Natalia said, setting her own gun down and then crossing over to me. "That is actually, really, really good."

  I raised my eyebrow and made a show of looking over at her target. There were no less than a dozen bullet holes, all solidly within the inner three rings of the target.

  "No,” Natalia said, setting her gun down and walking up to me. She cupped my face in her hand and said, “Do you have any idea how long I've been training to do this?"

  I really didn't. I swallowed again. "You're twenty-six. How long can you have been doing this for? "

  "Twelve years," she replied, jutting her hip and resting her hand there. "I was fourteen when Arturo let me come to the shooting range with him. He was just a cadet then. Took a few weeks of relentless begging, but I wore him down. I was addicted from the first time. And that first time I fired probably three rounds and hit the target three times."

  "So you're saying I'm just as good at this as an average middle school girl."

  "No," she said, stepping close to me, her eyebrows furrowed, the mixed signals between her stance and her face driving me wild. "I'm saying you're just as good as a freaking badassed stunt woman in the earliest days of her career. I am raw, incredible talent, Ethan Anderson, and don't you forget it. There are actresses out there who wish they were as good at shooting as 14-year-old me.”

  She was so close to me now that every fiber of my being just wanted to hoist her up, throw her over my shoulder, drive her home, and get her into bed. I leaned down and, fighting the raging desire coursing through my veins, kissed her as gently as I could. Then I pulled back just enough to murmur hot against her lips, "I never will. Forget it. You are incredible."

  "Take me home," she breathed, curling her fingers into my shirt. In the next breath, she used that hand to push me away, so that I stumbled back on my heels. I caught myself and chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

  And that's exactly what I did.

  Chapter 17

  Natalia

  I didn't know exactly what it had been about the gun range, but holy hell, Ethan was fired up. And by Ethan, I mean Ethan’s package. It must have been the sheer power he felt reverberating through his body, the awesomeness of holding such a powerful weapon in his hands. His hand covered my knee as I squealed out of the parking lot, and he only murmured, "be careful" instead of freaking out about my fast driving like I would have expected him to. Luckily, the Schuylkill was actually moving today, and not like molasses, either. We barely spoke as I pushed down on the pedal, speeding a little bit more with every mile that passed. I tried to cut off some cars, but Ethan made clear that he was not okay with that by digging his fingertips into my thigh, something that earned him a breathless chuckle from me.

  Pulling off the highway, Ethan's fingers started to drum against his knee. A pleased flush spread through my chest. This was what he did when he was impatient, I now realized. Maybe I was glad that I'd started to work with him as well as date him, because this was good to know. Those hands I'd adored since the first day I'd encountered him, giving away that Ethan was absolutely impatient to get home.

  If I was more anxious, or less sure of how he felt about me, or less accust
omed to his body language, it might have worried me. But I knew damn well that Ethan didn’t want to get home so he could get away from me. No. He wanted to get home so he could get me in bed.

  There was no way on earth I was going to argue.

  By the time we'd pulled onto Chestnut, Ethan's entire hand had started to tap on the armrest of the Jeep, and my small, private smile had stretched into a full-on grin. I leaned out the window to punch my code into the panel outside the garage door. The door protested with a squeak as it rolled up on its gears, badly in need of oiling, and I tried to calm the butterflies that had just appeared in my stomach. Because Ethan's strong, broad hand had slid from mine, which rested on the gearshift, all the way up my arm, to gently grasp my neck. I pulled into the small garage as quickly as was reasonable, then tugged the clutch into neutral and twisted the key decisively. I turned to Ethan to find his other hand, the far one, pulling up the parking brake, making the muscles in his forearm flex and twitch. In a flash, that hand moved to cup the side of my face, turning me toward him, while the one that had been resting on my neck moved down just far enough for his fingers to dig into the muscles between my shoulder and neck. The delicious pressure sent relaxation bleeding down my arms, softening my entire body into a lump of clay ready to be handled and formed exactly the way Ethan wanted me.

  His mouth claimed mine as soon as my lips parted for him, just one sign of my entire body ready and willing to submit to whatever he wanted to do with it.

  Yes, I was almost always more guarded with my personal space than I was in this moment. I hardly ever just offered myself up to someone in the way that my own body was begging me to do. I told myself it was because I trusted Ethan, that we had a little bit of a history, that he was working for my family and he had a thousand reasons to not hurt me or take advantage of me.

  But the way my heart leapt at the groan that came out of his throat when our tongues met, the way heat pooled in between my thighs at the mere memory of what it felt like the last time he thrusted strong and insistent between them, told me that something more than implicit trust was driving our whole interaction.

  I didn't really care what it was, though. I just knew at this moment that I needed Ethan, and needed him badly.

  My torso twisted toward him in the most awkward way, and as amazing as it felt when his hand moved from cupping my cheek to brushing my collarbone to cupping my breast, squeezing it just right, none of it was enough.

  I planted my palm on his thigh, lifted myself up, and swung my leg over his waist, so that I was straddling him in the passenger seat.

  At least this big old Jeep gave us a little more room than his car would have. Securely perched on top of him, I ground my center down over his cock, which was already rock-hard and begging to get out of his jeans. I broke off our kiss, only to have Ethan start sucking at my neck in a way that made me feel close to coming right then and there. "Do you want to go upstairs?" I panted, giving in and letting my head loll back as soon as the words were out.

  Ethan gripped the zipper of my jacket and wrenched it down, then tugged at the deep V of my t-shirt, pulling it away from my breast and moving his sucking kisses down past my collarbone to the swell of my cleavage. "No," he grunted before his lips surrounded my nipple, then pulled my breast deep into his mouth. An eternity of delicious seconds later, he pulled off with a loud pop, and I barely registered his words through the haze of lust that particular move had dredged up in me. "Can't wait. Need you now."

  I barely managed a moan as he pushed the arms of my jacket down, then tugged my t-shirt over my head, then ripped the straps of my shelf bra off my shoulders, leaving it loosely circling my waist. Cool air kissed my shoulders and turned the wet remnants of Ethan's kisses into goosebumps. Sensory overload had never felt so sweet.

  My hands fisted in his shirt and he leaned forward just enough for me to tug it over his head. I caught a glimpse of his face framed in the ridiculously tousled hair, eyes glazed over, lips swollen, and felt like my heart would burst. Then, his lips were on mine again, making my head spin, but not too much to start work on his pants. His hands were inside my pants, cupping my ass, and I thanked Past Me copiously for choosing stretchy pants instead of the tight, inflexible jeans that held my lower half in a vise.

  Our mouths kept up the sloppy attack on each other, tongues darting and teeth grazing, as I wrenched my feet out of my shoes and pulled one leg out of my pants. Within a few more fumbling seconds, the button to his jeans was undone, his boxers pulled to the side, his cock hard, hot and heavy in my hand.

  "Condom?" I managed breathlessly, and he groaned in response, digging one out of his back pocket. While I rolled it over him, two of those thick, strong fingers plunged right inside me, making me gasp. His thumb wasn't wasting time either, pressing hard on my clit and moving in tight, insistent circles.

  I planted one foot on the inside door jamb, lifted up, and lowered myself onto Ethan. A deep groan of satisfied relief eked its way out of my throat, filling the small space that surrounded us. Dammit, this was heaven.

  I loved Ethan's cock. Would have worshiped it if it wasn’t sacrilegious. It was just long enough to touch, but not bruise, my cervix, nice and thick, with a slight curve upward at the end. This cock did things to me that no other man's had been able to do, and I every time we had sex, I felt myself slipping a little further into fully addicted territory.

  The only thing I loved almost as much was his hands, which had left my clit and moved to a strong grip on my hips. Every inch of him was solid, muscular confidence, and I gave myself over to the pace he set, lifting my hips so they slid off his length and then tugging me back down onto his lap, hard. My hip joints strained, warning me of the pain I was just asking for a few hours and days down the road. I didn't care. Ethan's body joined with mine so automatically, mouth meeting neck, his hard chest cradling my soft breasts, his big hands flaring out perfectly from my waist down over my curvy hips, that a little strain hardly seemed to matter.

  He set a punishing pace, and a small corner of my brain marveled that he could thrust into me so powerfully when he was under me. But the rest of my brain was occupied by the pull of his cock against that spot inside me that sent me barreling faster than anything else toward orgasm. And not just any orgasm - the kind that turned you inside out and upside down, the kind that took over every one of your brain cells and did a full-consciousness reset, the kind that made you never want to do anything other than this for the rest of your life.

  The hot itch of pleasure moved from my center up to my stomach, down my thighs, made my shoulders raise up in anticipation, racing through every sinew and cell of my body. Incredibly, I felt Ethan get even harder inside me, and he let out a low groan that sounded like a man on the brink of losing control completely.

  "Tali," he growled, and I whimpered his name in answer. The hot race toward complete release edged out every other feeling, every other thought, except how desperately thankful I was for Ethan beneath me. He gripped my hips even tighter, holding me flush to him while still thrusting wildly, the pace exchanging depth for speed. His cock pushed insistently against that spot inside me, and in one sudden, spectacular moment, I went over the edge of bliss, screaming his name and gasping strings of nonsense words over and over again until he finally stilled inside me.

  Breathless, I let my head fall forward until my forehead rested in the nest of thick hair on top of his head.

  I'd never been so thankful that we had a single-car garage in my life.

  Ethan was busy recovering, dragging in deep breaths punctuated by soft brushing kisses against my hot skin. As my breathing slowed, the chill came back to the air around us, and I shuddered once.

  "Oh, babe," Ethan said, finally looking into my eyes once again. "I'm so sorry, I just -"

  I pressed a finger to his lips. "Do I look upset? Does this," I leaned down to kiss him, full and soft, "feel bothered by the amazing sex we just had? "

  "I couldn't wait," Ethan whined. "I do
n't know what happened, but... I couldn't."

  "Again. Not complaining." I actually loved it. I didn’t know what to call the kind of energy between us that made the air pop and fizz with every breath, every look. I just knew I liked it.

  For the next few minutes, Ethan and I detached from each other and cleaned up as best we could. I found my shirt and tugged it back over my head, laughing at the pout on Ethan's face as he watched me. Finally, I plopped back into my seat, squirming a little at the soreness already forming at my hip joints. "So," I said, trying my very best to sound detached, "Guess that ends the date, then."

  Ethan's head snapped to the side, his questioning look both hilarious and adorable. "You guess wrong. I mean, unless you want to end it."

  "Not really, I just... danger. You know? The gun range, sex in a car.... ? Checks two boxes.”

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought the sex in the car thing constituted one of my dates. Fun, safe, one hundred percent private?"

  I cocked my head and studied his face, trying to figure out whether he was joking. "Um... sure? Though I could have been, like, impaled by the shifter."

  With that, Ethan burst out laughing. "Well, I felt one hundred percent comfortable and delighted to have sex with you in this semi-vintage Jeep. So, I think this can only mean that now we are officially on one of my dates. That is, if you're not opposed to a double header. “

  "I am not." I said.

  "But?"

  "But... we're here. At my place. Exhausted and sweaty."

  "Yup. Which makes this the perfect opportunity to do the bubble bath, movie, and pizza date."

  My mouth dropped open, and I was suddenly at a loss for words. When Ethan had suggested safe, normal, low risk dates, I thought he'd had something different in mind. "I thought your safe dates would be like... going to the movie theater. Trying a new restaurant."