I’m not sure where he went for the rest of the night but when the bar closed he was leaning against my Rover. I had a hard time not attacking him there but he made me drive to my condo and take him upstairs to the bedroom. Waiting could be foreplay according to Gray. Maybe he was right. I shot off like a rocket when he first entered me and came two more times before I went into my post sex coma.
I WANTED TO DO SOMETHING special for him, so with a little help from Adam, I took Gray out to Finn O’Malley’s farm the next weekend.
"I'm excited about our excursion." Gray said. "I want ice cream to be included at some point."
Just the look of him made me feel good. "Not to worry. We'll get that on the way back.”
“Sounds good.” He made a big show of licking his lips. “Make sure it has whipped cream. In my sex dream about you last night, you were wearing a whipped cream bikini.”
“You had enough energy for sex dreams?”
“Baby, every night after you wear me out, I’m dreaming about waking up and doing you again. And let me tell you, last night had me so horny this morning, I had a hard time getting out of bed. Good thing you’d gone down for breakfast because otherwise I’d have eaten you before the coffee and bagels.”
I held up a hand to forestall any further description of his fantasies. "I only brought one pair of panties with me today, so you've gotta stop talking about sex right now."
"Does my talking turn you on, Samantha?" Just the tone of his voice could get my engine working.
"You know it does."
Taking pity on me, Gray started telling me about his friend Hamilton and Hamilton's sister, who was a dead ringer for some girl who posed in Playboy. "So you harass poor Hamilton about this, knowing that it's not his sister."
"Sure, we'd never do it if it was his sister."
"Why not?"
"Because we're assholes but not that big of assholes,” Gray explained. Marine logic, I guess.
"So where we going?” he asked as we moved further west from the city center.
"Finn's farm. His dad owns—or I guess Finn, since his dad died, now owns about a hundred acres of land out west. His mom has horses."
"I don't know how to ride," Gray admitted.
"Me neither,” I answered. "I want you to teach me to shoot a gun."
"For real?" There was surprise and excitement in that question.
"Yup."
"That's some hot shit, Samantha. Now I'm the one with wet panties."
Finn met us at the back lot of his property. There were wooden targets at various angles and then just a lot of empty space. A couple of collapsible tables holding cases, ammunition and protective ear gear were waiting for us.
"So some of this stuff is Noah’s and Bo's and some is mine and Adam's. Mal doesn't believe in firearms so he sent this along for you to enjoy after you’re done shooting." Finn held up a bottle of red wine that read The Prisoner on the label.
"Nice man, what do I owe you?" Gray stuck his hand in his back pocket to reach for his wallet.
Shaking his head, Finn replied, "Nothing. It's for Sam." He slapped Gray on his back and kissed me on the cheek. There was grief in his eyes, still lingering from his father's death, and I followed my instincts by throwing my arms around his waist and squeezing him tight.
"It gets easier. I swear,” I said.
Finn hugged me back and then pushed away to hold me by my shoulders. "I can see that."
Gray
INSTRUCTING A HOT GIRL HOW TO shoot a gun was a lot different and more pleasurable than doing it with a recruit. I even found myself curling around her like some doofus in a chick flick, but I guess those doofuses knew what they were doing because it felt damn good. Holding Sam snug against my frame as we both held and shot guns was one of the best things I'd ever done with a girl before outside of the bedroom.
She shot the Ruger 357 revolver that had a barrel only a couple inches long. Her arm jerked up with every shot and not one of the bullets hit the mark that stood only fifteen feet away. I handed her the Magnum 45. It weighed over three pounds more than the little pistol but the longer barrel would have less of a kickback.
"You can do a two-handed stance or try the one-handed side stance." I reluctantly let her go but realized that the sight of her holding the big gun all on her own was just as hot. She shot all six of the bullets in quick succession and then laid it on the table.
Pulling her ear protection off, she said, "I kind of like that one. I'm surprised at the amount of recoil in the smaller guns.”
The revolvers had to be Noah’s because he was the more methodical and patient. He’d like spinning the cylinder and placing his bullets in the chamber one by one. Bo, on the other hand, would've wanted the ability to shove another magazine in as quickly as he’d emptied the one in the stock of the gun so the Glock and the Sig Sauer were probably his. I preferred my Colt 1911 Rail Gun. The .45 bullets it shot packed a big punch, and despite the fact that it took more maintenance, it had better accuracy. There was nothing quite like the toys that the Corps issued. Everything else may suck but the munitions were awesome.