Scorpion

“How did I know I’d find you here?”

I glance away from the scope to Mathijs. I heard him coming through the forest a while back, but I let him pretend he was successfully sneaking up on me. “What gave me away? The cameras or the sound of gunshots?” It wouldn’t be the former since I chose this spot blind spot.

“Neither. I just need to follow my heart to get to you.”

Always such a flirt.

He drops on the blanket beside me, closer than would ever be acceptable in a professional setting. I try to ignore it, but there’s no missing the way the distance between us—both physically and mentally—has been narrowing since I started working for him.

“That’s so cringey,” I say, attempting to disregard how his arm brushes against mine each time he breathes.

I have been in active war zones, for fuck’s sake. Am I seriously losing focus because we’re sort of touching?

Jesus Christ, Zalak. Get it together.

“Wait,” Mathijs mumbles as he stares down the scope. His lips part, and the smooth skin of his forehead wrinkles. “You hit it?”

I scowl and grip the weapon tighter, then check the ballistics computer for its calculation. “I want a kill shot. That wouldn’t have hit a vein.”

I’ve been practicing every chance I get. It’s a little hard to do when my only free time is at night, but I’ve been successfully fitting in at least four hours a week. To no one’s surprise, Mathijs has refused to let me pay for the ammunition I’m using, claiming that it’s for his benefit too.

Since our night on the front porch, he’s been making time for me every single day. Sometimes it’s for a quick break between work, or a full meal. Sometimes he joins me out here even though I’m certain there are a hundred more important things he could be doing.

Still, I can breathe a little easier when he’s here. I just haven’t figured out whether it’s because it means he’s alive and safe, or because I don’t feel so alone. After two and a half years, I have someone to watch my six, and that is the most priceless thing Mathijs could give me.

Lining up the shot takes greater effort now that I have an audience. Which is good. I need the added stress to keep me sharp. Inhaling deeply, I pull the trigger. My muscles solidify to withstand the recoil of the shot, and I keep my position to fire two more consecutive shots for good measure.

For fuck’s sake. I missed. Again.

Great. Unless someone will die from a shot to the hip bone and another to the shoulder, my dreams are still just dreams.

“That’s a good shot.” His appraisal burns the side of my cheek.

“No. It isn’t.”

My breath hitches when he forgoes any claim that we’re accidentally touching. His side presses up to mine, and he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, lingering for a second too long, gliding his finger along the curve of my cheek like he’s hypnotized by the contact. Heat explodes across my skin and I fight to keep my eyes open.

“You incapacitate them,” he says, voice hoarse. “Then you kill them. That sounds like a good shot to me.”

I blink, forcing myself out of my stupor and to the task at hand. Only, I can’t concentrate. I can barely see the target at the other end of my scope. All because the hand that was just touching my cold skin is flat against the small of my back. A thick jacket separates us, but the heat of him seeps through the material like he’s the purest form of fire.

For the sake of professionalism and everything we’ve been through these past ten years, I shouldn’t let this keep going. I need to shuffle to the side, leave enough room for our sanity between us, and make it clear to him that there are boundaries in place that neither one of us should cross.

We’ve both had time to lick our wounds, but I’m still raw. I’ll just bring him down with me. Plus, what if he decides he doesn’t want me anymore? What if I wake up tomorrow without a job? I’m certain he won’t do those two things, but still, there are so many compounding things that could make all of this blow up in our faces.

I need to put my foot down and tell him that we shouldn’t be doing this.

But the best I can do is grunt in response. I’m a selfish, reckless woman. I don’t want it to stop. I’ve missed feeling a body against mine. Missed feeling like there are two people on this earth and not just me.

I’ve missed him.

Mathijs leans in closer so his breath fans against my cheek, unfurling warmth throughout my body. My blood vibrates with anticipation, and for a second, I worry he can sense it radiating from me in waves. I don’t need to look at him to see his mischievous smile. He’s living for this.

“Try again,” he whispers.

A shiver rolls down my spine. His voice is an octave deeper than usual, and every cell in my body sings from the sultry timbre. “Mathijs…”

“Yes, Lieverd?”

God. I don’t know? Stop touching me? Keep touching me? I can’t decide. This is wrong. Fucked up at a degree that I’m not sure I can accept. I’d be lying if I said I never saw this coming. He’s been flirting with me since the very beginning, and not once has he acted anything but professional to every woman he’s encountered.

Every single sign led here.

To him touching me.

To his lips inches away from mine.

We’ll never be able to go back from whatever he’s planning on doing. Nothing about this feels like an innocent tease, something to get a reaction out of me. It’s not for thrills or out of boredom.

He wants whatever there is in the space between us. He’s dying for what we were before I left. And if I’m being honest with myself, so am I. God, I want everything he’s offering, and I’m selfish for it.

Rationally, I know I’ll never be the person I was back then. I’ll never wake up with a bounce in my step. I won’t sit around and laugh with friends like I used to. There’s no version of reality where either of us could ever be the teenagers who felt like we had our whole lives ahead of us.

But is it so wrong to want all of that? The taste of familiarity. To spend a couple minutes pretending like everything’s okay. Like there is no war. There is no death. Just us, the open fields, and the taste of freedom. Us. I want us to happen again.

I want late nights under the stars, spontaneous adventures, and stupid jokes that have me snorting a laugh while Mathijs is rolling on the floor in tears. I want him.

Not as a means of distraction or a mindless pastime to make me feel something more than menial emotions. I want Mathijs now, the same way I wanted him before everyone around me died. I still think about him at night before I fall asleep. Still count down the moments until I can see him. Before working for him, I saw Mathijs in the faces of every man I went on hopeless dates with.

Every time I met someone who could have been my potential life partner, I asked myself one question: Would I risk it all for them?

The answer was always a resounding no.

But when I was fourteen, I was willing to risk my parents’ wrath for Mathijs. I was eighteen and ready to face potential abandonment for him. Maybe I could have blamed those behaviors on my naivety, but I remember asking myself the same question a few years ago when I thought about him, and my answer was still yes. Just like I would have for Gaya and TJ. Now, I’m risking my life for him every day. I risk prison time. I risk death. I risk losing my sanity from a single trigger event.

Still, I’m here.

I take a deep breath and aim. It’s harder to figure out the actual temperature when I feel like I’ve been set on fire. Mathijs’s fingers dip beneath my clothes to span the width of my back. I close my eyes and relish in the feel of skin on skin. How long has it been since human touch hasn’t hurt?

I pull the trigger. I don’t think either of us knows whether I made it anywhere near the target, but I’ve stopped caring. All I know is how his hands feel on me, and how the simple touch makes me close my eyes like I might be able to permanently etch this moment into my memories.

“Close,” Mathijs mutters against my ear.

I bite the inside of my lip and attempt to line up the next shot—putting more effort in it this time. His ministrations make my concentration dwindle into dust. Once he dips the edges of his fingers into the waistband of my tights, I pull the trigger. I don’t give a shit whether I’ve hit the human dummy or a real one.

Mathijs’s chest vibrates against my shoulder as his hand curves around my waist, skating the line of my underwear as he goes. I squeeze my thighs to alleviate intensifying ache between my legs. I know I need to push him away, but I can’t bring myself to because feeling wanted is the most addicting drug I’ve ever tasted.

I’ve learned how to hide in plain sight and not move a muscle while bullets fly my way. I’ve been trained not to speak if tortured. What I never thought I’d need to learn is how to stop myself from squirming.

“You just need to focus,” he muses as his other hand snakes closer to my side until I can sense him a hair away from hitting the side of my breasts.

“You know what you’re doing,” I rasp, not letting myself look away from the scope.

“I’m helping,” he says innocently. “Didn’t they train you to stay perfectly still even when you’re getting attacked? Show me how good you are at it.” Soft, pillowy lips brush against my cheek, and I fight the urge to turn to kiss him. I wonder if he’s still a gentle kisser, or if life has hardened him into steel. Has he grown possessive over the years? Turned down the path of needing to claim?

I can’t ever know. Kissing him seems like acceptance, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet.

“Show me why you’re one of the greatest snipers alive.”

His fingers breach my waist band until his entire hand is pressed against my lower stomach. My legs part involuntarily, and I internally chastise myself for being so needy. But God, I can’t help it. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been craving this type of intimacy.

“Watch your form, Zalak.”

Fuck.

I suck in a sharp breath to block out the spell he’s casting on me, but there’s no fighting the fact that his fingers are inching lower with every heartbeat. The ringing in my ears grows louder, and I’m shivering from the feel of finally having his hands back on me.

My hips buckle when he strums my clit, and desire pools between my legs, saturating the thin material of my panties.

“You flinched.” He tsks. “You can do better than that.”

Fruitlessly, I try to remember the calculation for the shot. Has the direction of the wind changed? Gone down?

The next strum of his fingers makes me lean my head against the rifle. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Pleasure bursts in each corner of my body and a low keening sound starts at the base of my throat.

“Shh,” Mathijs whispers, torturing me with the way he rubs in slow, purposeful circles, as if he remembers just how I like it. “You don’t want to give away our location now, do you?”

I think I might kill him.

“Is there something wrong?” he taunts while I struggle to keep myself still.

A bang goes off with the pull of the trigger. When I flinch, it has nothing to do with the recoil, and everything to do with the finger he slips inside me.

Jesus fuck it’s been a long time since anyone has touched me there. If I had any hope of shutting this down before, it’s all gone now.

He hums, pumping into me in agonizingly slow movements. I squeeze my eyes shut and groan, arching to take him in deeper. “You really shouldn’t be so distracted when operating a firearm, darling. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

My pussy clamps around his finger and my eyes flutter open, and I grip the gun to stop myself from grinding into his hand. I shouldn’t be anywhere near a rifle with how disconnected my brain has become to reality. Someone could walk by, and I don’t think I’d care right now. Hell, I don’t think I’d even care if I accidentally shot someone. But something else makes me pause, and once the idea takes hold, there’s nothing I can do to dispel it.

There’s this one other disturbing thought circling my head: I want him to fuck me.

I need to forget how to spell my own name. I need him to make me go nonverbal with how thoroughly he’s fucking me. His fingers aren’t enough. There are too many layers between us and it’s becoming harder to stay put than it is to start moaning out his name.

But my self-control is fried anyway.

I’ll deal with the aftermath of this later. For now, we’re just two people.

I push my hips against his, needing to feel that I’m affecting him just as much as he’s affecting me. The truth of it is evident in the hard bulge that meets me. I bite down on a scream when his fingers plunge inside of me, pummeling like he’s wanting to send me into an early grave.

My eyes roll to the back of my head. Every atom in my body is vibrating with pleasure.

I barely notice my surroundings. Hell, everything on the other side of the scope is a blur. The lusty haze over my vision has impaired every one of my senses, and it only gets worse with my nearing climax. Still, I want more.

Would it be so bad if we went there? I’m a grown woman. Sex doesn’t have to mean more than just sex.

The pressure in my core builds with every drive of his fingers. I’m nothing more than a wet, panting mess, silently begging to be stretched out on his cock. I need to feel him more than I need air. I can’t remember what it’s like to have Mathijs take me like there’s no other person on this Earth for him, and I think I’ll die if I don’t get the reminder. Soon.

I gasp when he suddenly pulls out his fingers and shoves my pants down my hips. Automatically, I arch my back to grant him easier access. I’m so desperate for him and everything he has to offer—sexual and otherwise—but I’m so fucking scared of what might come next.

For one heavy moment, I think he’ll realize what a bad idea this is and walk away. We’ll go on pretending like nothing ever happened, and I’ll live the rest of my life regretting that I didn’t say something or do something—anything—to show him how much I care about him. That I appreciate him. That I never stopped loving him.

With one kiss against my shoulders, all my worries vanish. I shiver from the warmth of his hands groping my ass. Slowly, he pushes my panties to the side, like he’s waiting for me to put a stop to this. I answer with the raise of my hips, and something tangible passes over us.

Mathijs straddles my thighs with his, blocking out the cold, and yanks a cry out of me when he fills me in one fell swoop. Whatever stretch I felt around his fingers is nothing compared to the ecstasy of this. It’s everything I could hope for and more.

“Fuck,” he groans at the same time I buckle forward. It’s a miracle the sniper hasn’t fallen out of my hold. “Why’d you stop? Take the shot.”

My fingers shake as I grip the rifle and bring it back into position. It’s impossible to line it up when my vision is so hazy. Now, I don’t think I’ll even make it in the general direction of the target. Each roll of his hips rocks me forward. If it weren’t for all the time I spent sitting in the back of a truck, gun aimed, the sniper would have flown from my fingers a long time ago.

The shot rings through the clearing. Little gasps force out of me with each one of his thrusts. All I can hear are the lewd, wet sounds as he slams into me.

“You’re doing so well, Lieverd.” His voice is husky as his hand moves beneath my shirt to cup my breast. “Just pretend I’m not even here.”

My nails dig into the metal of the weapon at the way he twists my nipple. I’m breaking every single cardinal rule of using firearms, because I point at a tree less than half a mile away and shoot. The bullet hits the very center of it. Bark explodes everywhere from the use of long-distance ammo on a close shot.

Mathijs’s pace becomes more relentless, more desperate. As if seeing me handle a gun is making him lose his mind. The realization of it hits me like a ton of bricks, and my lungs seize. Every part of me does. The orgasm rips through me without warning. The cry that tears past my lips echoes between the trees.

I don’t bother trying to stop my moans. I even give up holding the weapon while my eyes roll to the back of my head and I fall to the ground to lift my hips to meet him thrust for thrust.

All it takes is the pinch of my nipples and the push of my lower back against the blanket, and blinding light impairs my vision. Liquid white heat burns through my veins. My core spasms and tightens around him, prolonging my orgasm to a point where I can’t figure out which way is up and which is down.

Dots dance behind my eyes as his thrusts become animalistic. I swear I can taste him at the back of my throat. He finishes with a groan, spilling his come into me. Mathijs’s hands land on either side of my head, and a laugh bubbles out of him as he presses a kiss against my temple. “Ik ben duizend keer voor je gevallen, Lieverd.”

I frown, unsure what he’s saying. He was never the best at speaking Dutch, but it never stopped him from trying. Either way, I try to get ahold of my trembling body, but my clit is so sensitive, even the breeze feels too damn much. At the same time, the only thing that would make this perfect is if I could close my eyes and fall asleep with him still inside me. The exhaustion of life and sex has rendered my bones numb, but right now, I could almost fool myself into believing that whatever comes next will be easy.

“Did you get the shot?” he asks, still on top of me.

We both grab a scope and look through it. I still at the same time he barks out a laugh.

I hit the target in the balls.