More Than a Hotline Fling

-25-

Damian's POV

The morning after June and I finished a movie, showered, and slept with her head on my chest, I locked down our apartment's security. She hummed her disapproval over the book in her hands, her latest public library's lost treasure. One glance at the page that turned her cheeks pink showed the content was filthier than what we'd done on the sofa.

I scheduled a locksmith to change our locks to allow only my and June's digital fingerprints. With a silent frown from June, I arranged for her to have security escorts when I wasn't present.

And I was hellbent on June continuing her self-defense classes and getting a gun in her hands.

My level of comfort around guns was like they were a life-saving extension of my body. On Patrol pursuits, I'd fired countless warning shots from my Glock. I aimed it with the safety still locked to establish control of an unstable situation, not fire actual shots.

In seven years, I shot a perp six times, four in the thigh and two in the shoulder. None of my shots were deadly but all crippling enough that they stopped the perps when they fled or attacked. The gun was my last resort; words first and taser second.

I hadn't fired any weapon since I moved to Vice, although I still carried both my Glock and taser while on duty. At home, I kept a healthy stockpile of defensive options. As well as two tasers, my personal guns I registered and purchased from NYPD's off-duty authorized list: a Smith and Wesson TSW, SIG Sauer DAO, and a Glock 26.

All my guns were secured and locked away with two mags in my Barksa Biometric Rifle safe. The biometric fingerprint scanner held only my and June's prints. So far, her fostered friends hadn't broken through the three steel deadbolts and protected edges.

If only I could lock June up with them.

June's comfort level with guns bordered between assuming they were as nonexistent as any need she had for one and extremely uncomfortable. She never questioned my motives for owning them.

She's also never been tailed or reconned before.

Thirty minutes after we departed home, June and I reached our remote destination. The smell of leather and lead hung in the thick air, musty from a lack of windows.

Fifteen target stalls were separated with gray partitions, each fifty yards from their targets and equipped with the necessary safety equipment. Every stall was open but I trailed behind June until she picked the one deadset in the middle, where we both slipped on noise canceling headphones and eyewear.

With a step back, my eyes swept over my girlfriend.

Fuck, this was a bad idea. She's wearing those tight leggings I like her ass in.

Who am I kidding, I like her ass in anything. Or even better, nothing at all.

June's ass, along with the rest of her, stood with her legs separated. A slight arch in her lower back emphasized the roundness of her ass, which was all my cock needed to rise to the occasion.

Her curves worked against me, as my cock swelled with appreciation. The thighs I loved to go down in between were spread wider than her shoulders and her stomach braced. She shifted a deeper arch in her lower back so that ass popped out at me.

I'd say focus Damian, but I am and it's getting painful.

The visual feast of her curves distracted me from the gun she held in her hands. It trembled with the same comfort level as mine whenever she made me hold one of her animal friends. My hand palmed down the rod straining my pants and I forced my mind back to the reason we were here.