Rafael Martinez

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“Ready for your lesson?” I ask, opening the door to the shooting range I reserved for us today.

“It can't be worse than the sessions with Seth. I didn’t even know I had so many muscles that could be sore. I thought I was in good shape because of surfing and the gym,” Brooke says, walking past me, her ponytail swaying with each step. She took my message to dress appropriately seriously, or rather, in what she considered appropriate attire: pants that mimicked leather and clung to her curves precisely, and a black V-neck shirt. The blonde clearly wanted to test my self-control.

“Those are different muscles, babygirl,” I say, and she turns around with a grimace.

“Don’t tell me, Sherlock!”

I raise my hands in surrender.

“I just meant it’s normal. You’ll get used to it soon, and it’ll even help next time you’re out at sea.”

“I know, I know. I’m just complaining because I’m tired of kissing the mat every round.”

“You can kiss me to mix things up if you want,” I joke, and she rolls her eyes.

“Have you ever held a gun before?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“Great, so she won’t have any movement habits we’ll need to correct.” I lead her to one of the rooms that contains various types of firearms, from revolvers to rifles and shotguns.

“The first step is to choose the type of gun you want. We’ll train with all of them, but I think the first one should be the one you feel most comfortable with. Each type of gun has its own advantages and disadvantages,” I explain, pointing to the wall next to me.

She scans the display, biting the inside of her cheek as she considers my words.

“What would you recommend?” she asks, turning to me.

“A revolver or a semi-automatic.” I point to some models of each.

“What’s the main difference?” I smile at her question. I like that she’s being curious and attentive, not just picking based on appearance. I shouldn’t be surprised—Brooke is a smart woman.

“A revolver is reliable and easier to handle, but it holds a maximum of six bullets and most of them are hard to shoot continuously,” she nods. “The semi-automatic, on the other hand, typically has a capacity of 15 shots on average, and the trigger is lighter, but to chamber it, you need to slide the bolt, which can be heavy,” I explain, and she goes back to considering her options.

“This one,” the blonde says, pointing to a SIG Sauer P320.

“Your instincts are great, babygirl,” I praise. If I had to choose, this would have been it. It has a reasonable recoil for its power, and the cartridges are 9mm, which is great for personal defense. “This is an excellent semi-automatic pistol with a 17-bullet magazine.”

She smiles and reaches to take it from the stand, but I gently hold her wrist, caressing her soft skin.

“Some rules before I let you play, Brooke. First, never point the gun at anything you don’t intend to shoot, not even for fun; that’s how accidents happen.” I count off the rules on my fingers. “Second, always assume the gun is loaded until you check it, and third, always be aware of your surroundings, your target, and what’s behind and beside it.”

“Not to aim randomly, guns are dangerous, and to pay attention to what I’m shooting,” she repeats, placing a hand on her hip as if to say she’s not an idiot and knows that, but I bet she’d be surprised by how many accidental shots happen just because people don’t follow this little list.

“That’s right.” I reach for the pistol and check the magazine quickly; as expected, it’s empty. I take a few steps to the cabinet and grab a box of bullets and an extra magazine. Brooke follows closely, attentive to all my movements as I walk to the center of the room, set the items on a table, and begin to load the magazine. After the third bullet, Brooke takes the extra magazine and repeats my movements.

She has a natural talent, acting methodically, taking each cartridge and sliding it precisely into the magazine slot. Her green eyes don’t stray from the task, completely focused. I shouldn’t find that so sexy, right?

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As soon as we finish, I grab the gun and magazines, two pairs of glasses, and ear protectors, and head towards the shooting booths and targets.

“Now let’s go.” I reload the magazine into the gun and hand it to her. Her eyes widen as she feels the weight. She keeps the pistol pointed at the ground while she seems to test the feel of it against her fingers. “You heard me, good girl!”

She smiles, and a faint blush colors her cheeks.

“Never rest your finger on the trigger, but keep it straight alongside the guard,” I warn, noticing she instinctively placed her index finger against the trigger.

“Preventing accidents,” she murmurs.

“That’s right. Now let me help you.” I position her other hand on the grip of the gun, giving her support. “Feet apart, always facing your target, arms extended, and don’t lock your elbow because when you shoot, there will be recoil.”

“Like this?” she asks, getting into position.

“Almost.” My hands touch her waist, and she holds her breath. “Calm down, babygirl, I’m just adjusting your hips,” I say, guiding her body into the correct stance.

“I know, I know, Raffi. Don’t take advantage,” the blonde retorts.

“If I were taking advantage, it would be like this.” I press my body against hers, fitting against her back, feeling her butt press against my already growing erection. “Can you feel the difference?”

“You know I’m armed, right?”

I tilt my head until my mouth is aligned with her ear.

“And you know you’re incredibly sexy armed, right?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“But you keep trying,” I tease, blowing against her ear and watching the hairs on her neck stand up. “Okay, let’s see how your aim is. Do you see those markings along the barrel of the gun?” I ask, stepping back a little.

“Yes.”

“Great, align the barrel so that the first marking is exactly in the middle of the other two, close to you. Your shot will hit where it’s pointing.”

“Got it,” she says, sliding her finger to the trigger.

“To chamber it, you’ll need to slide the bolt until you hear the click, then release it and it will be in the right place. After that, it will be ready to hit whatever you aim at.” I hand her the glasses and ear protectors. “So remember, finger away from the trigger, chamber the gun, aim, and shoot.”

Brooke puts on the protection and gets back into position. I stand behind her, and she turns her face towards me, lowering the gun. Smart girl.

“Raffi, give me some space, your breathing on my neck is annoying.”

“I just wanted to help you with the recoil, and don’t lie to me, annoying isn’t the word, babygirl,” I respond, but step back.

She firmly grips the gun with her right hand, pulling the bolt with her left. The movement is steady, she aims, and I notice her chest expand as she inhales, then fires as she exhales. Her arms absorb the recoil, and when she turns to me, her eyes are wide.

“It was frightening and exhilarating,” she says, turning back to the target. Brooke fires three more times before placing the pistol on the stand.

I step forward and remove the magazine, then turn to her as she’s already taking off the ear protectors.

“So?”

“It’s a strange feeling, my heart is racing and my adrenaline must be at its peak because I feel like my whole body is vibrating.” The blonde raises a hand, and her fingers tremble slightly. “How did I do?”

I press the button that brings the target closer so she can see better.

“Your first shot hit the white part, the next two got closer each time, the third hit the shoulder, and the last one was right in the center of the chest. For a first time, you did very well. Now you know what to do; here’s the other magazine,” I say, handing her the ammo I had in my pocket. “I want you to shoot until there’s only one bullet left in each magazine.”

“Why?”

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