She's gonna forever say 'I got this' even with tears in her eyes.
I let the dagger release from between my fingers, feeling euphoria as it spins into the same spot as the last three times.
I hear the door open and close behind me, the person taking silent steps inside, their scorching gaze on me.
I watch Archer as he walks past my peripheral towards the table set out with an array of guns.
He picks one and starts to dismantle it, the noises of the parts unclipping and sliding the only other noise in the room beside his footsteps.
I move into position without prompt, already knowing what is expected of me.
We've been doing these training session for weeks now, interchanging between sparring and shooting.
"Have you worked with guns a lot?"
I almost smile at the question, but I don't, glancing at him over my shoulder. "I prefer blades."
"Is there a reason you don't like guns?"
"I never said I don't like them," I say as I turn back, twisting myself back to face the dummy. "I just prefer daggers."
"Daggers come in handy in small spaces, especially if you move fast enough. But guns are a necessity in this field too and you ran out of bullets last night, again."
He watches me before looking back at the dismantled gun in his hand, "You should always know how many bullets you've shot. Running out of bullets can get you killed." The snap of the pieces sliding together is loud as he approaches, "And makes you look stupid."
I lift a brow but all he does in grin.
"Six bullets."
The pieces of the gun click as he slides them together once more, his eyes never once leaving mine. He holds out the completed weapon, lifting a taunting brow at me as his other hand takes my dagger and he pushes the gun into my grip.
"Shoot."
"I know how to shoot."
He crowds forward, looking down at me as his chest brushes my shoulder. He points at the targets I've been throwing at. "Shoot."
I roll my eyes but line the gun up with the target, keeping my body in a good position.
"And count." He whispers.
I breathe out, flexing my fingers on the handle before I tilt my head to the side and squeeze the trigger.
"One." He whispers.
Hot air caresses my neck as I watch my bullet fly though the shoulder of the dummy.
"Again." Archer whispers, his head pulling back to be replaced by his hand. "Shoot."
I clear my throat, rolling my shoulders as I feel his finger slip down the strap of my top towards my spine.
I squeeze the trigger, fighting a shiver that rolls its way down my spine as his finger follows.
He places two fingers at the base of my spine, "two."
The bullet barely misses the dummy and I grit my teeth. "How do you expect me to focus when you're touching me."
"You had no issues last time." He mutters, voice dark. I narrow my eyes at the dummy, pushing the thrill away as he murmurs lowly, "Force yourself to, if you can focus through this then training is done." He hushes, "Head, heart. Hit one."
I breathe out, forcing myself to focus as I feel my shirt lift as his fingers begin dragging it up.
I close my eyes and breathe in, opening them to breathe out as I release the third bullet.
"Three." He flattens his palm on my waist, slightly squeezing my ribs.
The bullet was closer this time but not close enough, hitting the middle of the dummy's chest.
Archers hand winds itself around my waist, his chest meeting my back as he bends his lips to softly press them against my exposed neck.
My hand squeezes on the trigger, the bullet missing the dummy completely.
"Four." He murmurs, dragging his lips up my neck towards my ear as his hand moves downward.
Trying to ignore the sensations from my core, I fix my stance and focus, lining up the gun and tilting my head – and no, it's not to give Archer more room.
I breathe calmly, ignoring the racing of my heart and the heat travelling over my body and squeeze the trigger.
The bullet releases from the gun, spinning through the air and tearing through the dummies head, right between the eyes.
"Five."
Archer grasps my chin in his hand, tilting my face to his. "Good." He murmurs against my jaw before stepping back, leaving me cold. "Now do it again."
I look back at him in disbelief but he only smirks, and flicks his chin to the dummy, "Go on."
"Ass." I murmur before turning back and lifting the gun once more, lining up the shot and squeezing the trigger, not entirely caring where it goes.
I spin to face Archer as the hiss of the bullet sounds, narrowing my eyes on his before glancing over my shoulder at the dummy and smiling with satisfaction at the hole in its chest.
When I turn back around, Archer is closer, his eyes tracing my face. "You did good, Sarge."
"You didn't help." I shake my head at him.
He only shrugs, "I wasn't meant to." He reaches forward, slipping the gun from my grip slowly, his eyes on my own the whole time.
I tighten my grip, lifting a taunting brow his way.
He steps closer, fingers smoothing over mine on the gun as he lifts our hands together.
I narrow my eyes on his as he steps forward once more, his chest skimming mine as his hand tightens and a shot goes off.
Our hands drop, "I thought you said there were only six bullet in that."
"I lied," Archer looks down at me, his jaw flexing, "Should've checked it yourself."
I purse my lips, moving my head to the gun in my grip as I check the clip, three more bullets sit nestled in their confinements.
"Well played." I whisper, looking back up at him before I look to where he shot his bullet.
The bullet hit the other dummy between the eyes, a near perfect shot.
"How-"
"Practice." Archer murmurs, slipping the gun from my hands and walking it back to its place on the table, sitting it down with a soft thud.
I follow behind him, steeping so close to his back that I can feel the heat through my singlet, reaching around him to grab the dagger I was throwing out of his grip.
Stepping back, I turn and stalk back to my place. Saying over my shoulder, "Are you that good with daggers?"
His silence stretches on for a second before he answers, "No," He says truthfully, his words rougher than normal.
I look over my shoulder at him, "So you're only good at handling guns, pity. There's something about a man handling a dagger that's," I pause, "Attractive."
He laughs lowly and I can practically feel as he stalks closer, "Trust me, my fingers are quite talented without throwing daggers."
I tilt my head to the side, staring at the target, "I wouldn't know." Not turning to him as I narrow my eyes and throw the dagger up in the air, preparing to catch it before throwing it.
Except it never falls back towards me, the dagger swiped from the air before gravity can force it down.
Finally, I turn towards Archer, watching as he holds my dagger in his fingers once more.
I stare into his eyes, letting my lips tilt in a smirk, "If you're so good, prove it."
He narrows his eyes on mine, stalking forward and crowding me backwards.
I swallow as my feet move until my back hits the wall beside the dummy.
Archer leans forward until his eye line up with mine, his gaze flickering from mine to my lips and back again.
I watch from the corner of my eyes as he brings the dagger up to the straps of my top, slipping it under the thin fabric.
"There's just a few things in my way." He hushes, dark eyes hooded.
He slices through the fabric in one quick swipe, the strap hanging limping as he moves to the next one and repeats the process.
My top stays up by some miracle as he flings the dagger away from us, finger trailing from my chin and down the middle of my chest, the singlet dragging down with his finger.
It pools at my waist, leaving my chest completely exposed to the sizzle of the heat emanating from him.
His eyes capture mine in his searing gaze, drawing me into him before he releases them, eyes flickering downwards.
I look down, mesmerized with his finger as it skims the rise of my chest and dips between my cleavage, caressing the valley between my breasts.
I swallow harshly as he drags it further down to my naval and his other hand meets my waist. His head lifts from his perusal of my skin to meet my eyes, his hazel irises dark with desire.
My mouth pops open slightly at the look in his eyes, the feel of his rough fingertips on my sensitive skin as he drags both palms up my sides before circling them to my breasts, squeezing softly, his thumb circling one mauve nipple.
I pull in a harsh breath as his head dips down, taking the other between his wet lips, sucking and nipping at the sensitive bud.
I'm so lost in the sensation, I barely hear the squeak of the hinges as the training room door opens.
"Am I interrupting?" A voice pierces through the lusty haze in the air, Archer's back snapping straight as he crowds me into the wall.
I peak over his shoulder at the man standing there, head tilted down to give us some resemblance of privacy.
"Clay." Archer groans out, looking down at me and tracing the contours of my face. His eyes close briefly and he steps back, fingers wrapping around the ruined fabric of my top and pulling it up to cover me once more.
He turns on the spot, facing Clay.
"What are you doing here?"
Clay huffs a laugh, "I live here," He continues looking towards the ground, "And I train everyday at this time, Archer. Or did you forget?"
I see Archer's head whip to the clock in the corner of the room, his shoulders slumping slightly.
I move from around him, holding my shirt up as I begin walking towards the door, chin high.
"Where are you going?" Archer voice pierces me, and I stop, looking over my shoulder at him. His gaze scorches me, heat traveling down my spine.
I shrug coyly, "You have training."
He narrows his gaze on me, shaking his head as I turn and walk for the door. Nodding my head at Clay when he looks up at me.
He nods back at me, green eyes still filled with distrust but not as strong as the curiosity behind his eyes.
Curiosity I can't afford to let grow.
I slip past him and out the door, breathing out before running up the stairs, already thinking of the next step.