A hiss left me, and the muzzle of the weapon wandered down my throat where his touch compelled me so. “You must behave, or your privileges will be revoked.”
I choked on this strange, new, seductive sensation.
“What privileges?” I asked almost breathlessly.
A dark smile I recognized from last night—when he’d tied me up and bound my breasts—flickered across his lips.
He quirked his head at me. “The privilege of not being chained up and locked in a room all by yourself. Or getting flogged”—he bent closer so his wicked whisper landed near my ear—“much, much harder than I did last night.”
A hot thrill shuddered through me.
He had wrecked me.
He’d remade me.
He thought he owned me now, and I could do nothing but try to control my panting breaths because I wanted every sordid threat he made.
Because I knew he could make it good.
Or he could make everything worse than I ever imagined, and I was all twisted up inside.
When he stepped away, Sasha sidled up.
“Trust me, you’re not the first woman who wanted to plug a hole into one of the Krasnov brothers, but I’d generally recommend against it.” She then waggled her fingers in Maksim’s direction. “Unless it’s him, because I can hardly move a muscle without him mouth-breathing over me.”
“Sashenka, mind that mouth of yours,” Maksim, whom I’d hardly heard speak, uttered harshly. “I have some limits, and you are getting very close to feeling my hand on your backside.”
“Promises, promises,” she mumbled. “You wouldn’t know what to do with an ass like this.”
She proceeded to slap her bottom once then twice while Maksim’s face hardened and his fists clenched. He was a large quiet man no doubt capable of doling out severe punishment, yet Sasha seemed undaunted.
Her stylish high heels clicked and clacked as she took position at the range first.
Arkady moved me a safe distance away, keeping one hand around my waist where the firm weight felt surreally familiar.
Sasha squinted down the barrel, aimed at the paper target of a head and torso, and fired off.
She blew across the end of the gun afterward, sending a wink to Maksim.
The man’s jaw clenched.
With a whir of machinery, the target sailed closer and closer with a flap and flutter of paper.
She nailed the torso right in the heart.
“Your turn, Maksim.” She swished out of the way.
And he stalked into place. “Da.”
“Good luck,” Sasha intoned with saccharine sweetness even I could tell was false.
“Don’t need it.”
I kept my eyes on Sasha while her Bratva bodyguard raised his gun of choice. Her attention never wavered from his broadly shouldered form. Her lips even parted when he pulled the trigger, hardly moving any other muscle in his body.
Their chemistry—even when they verbally sparred—was undeniable.
I murmured to Arkady, “Are they a couple too?”
He barked a laugh while the bullet whistled to slice cleanly into the target. “Nyet.”
Despite his denial, I still had my suspicions.
Maksim’s target rode toward us on the wire, and I glanced at it when Sasha uttered loudly what had to be a Russian curse.
He’d fired the bullet into what looked like the neck of the target.
“Why is that better?” I asked.
“Base of skull means immediate death.”
Good to know.
Joanna went next.
Never in my life had I witnessed a mafia man allow his wife to handle a weapon, let alone his pregnant wife. Yet Kirill stood there, watching proudly when she hit a gut shot and a heart shot.
He kissed her when they switched places.
He shot twice as well, and into the same target as her and, oddly, I felt like I was witnessing some intimate moment between the husband and wife.
The target swept toward us, and there were only two holes.
I glanced at Arkady in confusion. “He didn’t hit it?”
“My little brother is a showoff. He shoots through the same holes as her.”
“Mmm, you sure do have good aim,” Joanna murmured, wrapped in Kirill’s arms and kissing him.
Arkady made me stand beside him at the area reserved for shooting while he palmed his gun.
“It’s going to be loud.” He smirked at me.
“I know.” I glared.
When he aimed, I couldn’t help but admire his perfect form. The strong cords of his neck were taut, and his chiseled jawline became even more prominent in profile. Even through the suit jacket, his muscles bulged into massive hills at his biceps and shoulders, and I remembered the ropy sinews of his forearms. I’d already seen him naked but hadn’t been granted the pleasure of touching him yet.
I swallowed slowly, moving my gaze down his outstretched hand to the gun he held as if it were an extension of him.
Like my body was an extension of his desire.
He fired, and I flinched.
“No need to be scared of guns as long as you know how to handle one, printsessa,” he murmured for my ears alone.
The only people I wanted to use a gun on stood all around me in this space, except my body had been seeped in such pleasure at only Arkady’s hands.
At his flogger.
At his mouth and tongue and his decidedly sexual ministrations that wouldn’t be denied.
“I know,” I hissed again with little venom.
The smile he flashed me let me know he had already seen into my wanton thoughts, and I realized belatedly my nipples had visibly hardened beneath the thin linen of my dress.
He flicked the safety on his weapon then rearranged us so he stood situated close behind me. So close my blood pressure skyrocketed, and heat soared throughout me.
The scent of his cologne permeated my senses, and his nearness branded me with heat.
He was so very tall that even though I wore stilettoes, his head still rose above mine.
Tension branched from him to me. One step closer, and I knew his cock would brush against my back.
I wondered if he was as aroused as I was.
He left the same target up, which again felt like a strangely intimate gesture.
Both his arms reached around me, and I was curled within his big embrace. I’d all but forgotten about everyone else watching.
Arkady placed the hilt of his gun—still warm from his palm—in my much smaller hand.
“You would need a lighter weapon.” His low deep voice at my ear created a trembling and tingling between my thighs.
His thumb pressed against mine to click off the safety.
I licked my lips, forcing my heavy lids to remain open when his free hand fell to my hip.
He straightened me then adjusted my footing wider with the tip of his shoe. His breath fluttered my hair, shivers tickling along my spine. Then his groin—hard and hot and heavy—pressed against my backside.
I swallowed dryly.
“You must be able to concentrate at all times, Lucia.” The velvet richness of his tone tempered by the slight Slavic accent teased every needy spot on my body.
His hand left mine, and I held the firearm poised to shoot.
“Look straight down the barrel. Imagine the bullet bursting from the chamber.” The fingers of both his hands now curved around my hips.
How could he make shooting a gun all about fucking?