Matchmaker 04: April

It didn't hurt that he was sexy as hell and made me feel like no other man could. I might have had one or two lovers that could compete with his skills between the sheets, but no man could best him. Where he shined far above all other men, however, was how he conducted himself when he wasn't making me squirm and moan. While a couple of my former lovers might match his skills as a lover, taken as a complete man, no one I'd ever been with was close to his equal.

The video was on a loop, so we continued to watch until it returned to where we walked in. "Ready?" he asked as he stood.

"What if I said no?"

"Then we'll leave. You don't have to do this."

"But you think I should?"

"I think you'll be less afraid of guns once you're comfortable around them and realize they don't spontaneously kill people, yes."

"You'll be there with me?"

"Right behind you."

I nodded, summoning my courage. I trusted Chuck to protect me. "Okay. Let's do this."

He led me out of the room and to the main counter. He'd already paid, but he talked to the man behind counter, discussing the various weapons available for rent. I heard things like Beretta, 9-millimeter, forty Smith and Wesson, Glock, and other words that meant little to me, though Chuck was nodding in understanding.

"We'll take the 'S' and 'W' model forty-one." The man reached into the case, pulled out a pistol, and laid it on the counter. "Four boxes of ammo," Chuck added before the man placed four small boxes beside the pistol, along with two sets of ear protectors.

Chuck thanked the man, picked up the gun and checked it with practiced expertise, before handing me a set of the protectors and placing the other set on his head. He picked up the gun and the boxes of bullets before leading me into the range. There were already a few people blasting away, but with the ear protectors over my ears, the roars of their weapons weren't painfully loud.

He led me to a firing lane, motioning me in and then stepping in behind me. He gave me another safety lecture, reinforcing the information from the video, loaded the weapon, and placed it on the counter in front of me. He fitted a target and ran it out about twenty feet.

"Why so close?" I asked, speaking loudly so he could hear me.

"Because if someone is much farther away than that, they're not a threat. We'll start here and see how you do before we move it down range." He loaded the gun with one bullet, placed the weapon on the shelf, stepped back, then stepped in behind me. "Okay, give it a try."

I picked up the gun, almost shaking with fear. It was a big, burly gun that looked deadly in my hand. He reached around me and placed his hands over mine.

"Okay, first, you're not going to hurt it, so get a good grip," he said, squeezing my hands around the pistol. "This is a .22, so it has almost no recoil. There's nothing to be afraid of. Place the front sight on the target and line it up so it's even with the rear sights in the notch." He released my hands. "Give it a try."

Gritting my teeth, I squeezed the trigger. The gun spat and a hole appeared in the upper left corner of the paper.

"Well, at least you hit the paper," he said as he stepped up behind me and placed his hand on the weapon, his voice full of dry humor.

He took the weapon from my hand and loaded it full before placing it in front of me again.

"Shut up," I growled as I picked up the gun. I tried again. This time I hit the target in the center of paper, but nowhere near the bullseye.

"Better."

I kept firing, punching holes in the paper, until the gun stopped working. My closest shot was still at least three inches below the center of the target. I started to turn toward him, but he grabbed my hands and gently forced me to put the weapon on the counter.

"Remember, rule number one is 'The weapon is always loaded.'"

I wasn't going to point it at him. "But it's empty."

"Rule number two. 'Never point the weapon at anything you don't intend to destroy.'"

"Sorry."

He smiled at me. "No worries. You're still learning. Ready to reload?"

He walked me through putting more bullets in the gun and I tried again. I spent fifteen minutes plinking, as he called it, away at the target as he gave me pointers and advice. No matter what I did, I couldn't hit the bullseye, though my shots were much closer to the center, and a few of them were in the black.

As I began loading the gun, I suddenly realized I was no longer nervous about handling the weapon. I slapped the magazine into the pistol. I really focused, determined to put at least one bullet from this magazine somewhere in the inner black circle in the center of the target, even if I couldn't hit the bullseye. I slowly squeezed off the shots, remembering his words of advice, but I didn't do much better.

"This is hard!"

"It's not hard, but it takes practice."

"Can you hit the bullseye?"

"At this distance with that gun? Easy."

"Show me."

We changed places, and he quickly loaded the weapon and shot three holes in the center of the target. He made it look so easy it pissed me off.

"I want to try again," I snapped. We switched places again, but I did no better. "Sometimes you annoy the hell out of me," I grumbled. We had only a few bullets left, and I wanted to see what he could do. "Show me how it's done," I said as I stepped back.

"You sure?"

I nodded determinedly.

He put our last target on the holder and ran it out almost twice as far. He loaded the last six bullets into the gun, fired them quickly, and then brought the target in close. Only two of them were bullseyes, but the other four were within an inch of the center.

"Not bad," he commented.

"But you only hit the bullseye twice."

He nodded. "Yeah, but all six are kill shots. Your heart is this big," he said, making a fist and covering all six of the holes. "I don't worry about being perfect when good enough will do," he said, again proving how rational he was.

We started packing to go. "Why'd you rent a gun? You didn't want me shooting yours?" I asked as we swept up the little bits of brass the gun ejected when it fired.

"I wanted to start you out with something that wouldn't scare you. That's a .22, but I don't care if you shoot my gun. You want to try it?"

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"Not a bit. The only thing is, it's a compact 9mm, so it has a lot more kick than that .22."

"Oh," I grunted, suddenly unsure of myself.

He smiled. "I have no doubt you can handle it, but I wanted to give you fair warning. Want to try it?"

I licked my lips. The nervousness was back, but I didn't want him to think I was a wimp. "Okay, sure, I guess. It won't hurt me, will it?"

He shook his head. "Not with only a few shots."

He pulled his weapon from the holster, placed it on the counter, and pinned the target he'd used back up. I smiled. He wasn't worried about telling his shots from mine, probably for good reason. He again ran the target out to the distance I'd been practicing.

"There you go."

I picked up his gun. I was surprised his gun was smaller and lighter than the .22 I'd been using. I lifted the weapon, aimed, and slowly squeezed the trigger as he'd taught me. The gun roared, the shock rippling through my hands and up my arms. It didn't hurt, but the difference between the .22 and his 9mm was the difference between a tabby cat and a tiger.

"Wow!" I breathed. I wasn't sure I wanted to do that again. I put the gun down and looked at the target, searching for the hole. I couldn't see one. "Did I miss the entire thing?"

"Maybe," he said as he flipped the switch to bring the target to us. "I'll be damned."

He touched the much larger hole in the center of the target to show it to me. My heart leapt. "I just needed the right gun!" I crowed, feeling very pleased with myself.

"Uh-huh," he grunted as he grinned down at me. "Let's see if you can do it again."

He ran the target back out, and I shot it seven more times, emptying the gun. One was in the black, and the rest were scattered all over the paper. My hands were tingling, and I'd proven the bullseye was nothing but a lucky shot, but I didn't care. I'd take my successes where I could.

We finished cleaning up, turned in the rented gun and hearing protection, and stepped outside. "What'd you think?" he asked as we walked back to his truck. It had stopped raining while we were inside, but it looked like it could start again any moment.

"It was okay. I'm in no hurry to run out and buy a gun, though."

"You sure? I think they sell pink ones now." He chuckled at my glare. "Yeah. I wouldn't carry one of those either." He opened the passenger door for me. "I didn't expect you would, but I can tell you're not nearly as afraid of guns as you were."

"I guess," I mumbled as he hoisted himself into the driver's seat. "I still don't like them."

He shrugged. "That's fine. I'm not trying to convince you that you need to own one. But at least now you can make informed decisions."

"Thank you for teaching me."

"You're welcome. Ready to try something else new?"

"What?"

"Want to drive back?"

I snickered. "Are you kidding? This thing is huge!"

"When in Texas..."

"That's okay."

"You're sure?" he asked, his voice playful. "There's nothing sexier than a beautiful woman who can handle a weapon and drives a big truck."

"Oh really? Maybe in Texas."

"Where do you think we are?" He paused, his smile growing as he looked at me. "No, I think maybe you're right. I'm not sure I could handle you if you were any sexier."

I chewed my bottom lip as I smiled at him. "Is that so?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

I opened my door and stepped out. "Move your ass over. We're going to find out."

I remained still as the veil of sleep slowly parted, enjoying the quiet of early morning as I listened to Tara's deep, rhythmic breathing. She was asleep beside me, lying on her side, her back against my chest as we spooned. Today was our last full day together. Tomorrow morning at ten I'd drop her off at the Brownsville airport where a charted jet would be waiting to whisk her back to Los Angeles. From there, I would make the six-hour drive back to Houston.

I didn't want to take her to Brownsville. I knew it was impossible, but I wanted her to come home to Houston with me. She was a celebrity and I was a nobody, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Yesterday, on three different occasions, I'd started to bring the idea up, but the words always stuck in my throat and died unspoken. I didn't want to put her on the spot or make her uncomfortable by asking her for something I knew she couldn't give.

I'd had a good time this past month, and I had my memories of our time together. I should content myself with that, but dammit, I wanted her. We were about as different as two people could be, and we'd had a few rocky patches, but despite it all, I liked her. I liked her a lot, probably more than I should.

I slowly stretched so I wouldn't wake her, a lazy smile touching my lips. I didn't like fighting with her but making up had been fun.

I'd had a few relationships in my life, the latest ending a few months ago. I'd been happy enough, and I thought my girlfriend was as well, but I'd been wrong. In hindsight, after spending a month with Tara, I realized there had been something missing. Something had been missing from all my previous relationships. I hadn't known it at the time, and I couldn't define what it was now, but whatever was missing, Tara provided it. Maybe it was our differences that added the spice, proving the old adage that opposites attract. Maybe it was the fact that we knew we'd only be together a month that concentrated our feelings and made out time together so intense. Maybe it was something else entirely. I didn't know what I'd found with Tara, and I didn't care. The only thing I knew for certain was I wanted her in my life.

It was too early to say I'd fallen in love with her, but I couldn't deny the fondness I felt for her. I held her, cupping her breasts in my hands as I rifled through my memories. I remembered the first time we walked on the beach at night and how the moon's radiance fell on her to give her an ethereal glow. Just the memory of her grinning at me, how her amusement touched her eyes, was enough to recreate the thrill I felt each time she graced me with a smile. I softly kissed her shoulder, recalling how the early morning sun streamed through the windows, causing her to glow with the radiance of an angel as she rode me in the give and take of pleasure. I longed for her, for her touch, for her kiss, for her smile. I might not love her, but the thought of her going back to L.A. where I'd never seeing her again made a cold, hard, lump form in my stomach.

I kissed her shoulder again as I lightly caressed her skin, slowly dragging my fingers from her breast, up her arm, down her side, and over her thigh. I knew it would take several minutes before she began to come around, but I didn't care. I loved the sensation of her skin beneath my fingertips, and I could caress her forever.

I continued my caressing, teasing her from sleep, my fingers dancing over her flesh as I lightly stroked the back of her legs and teased her erect nipples. She began to move, her slow, silent, writhing as I touched and tickled her from slumber erotic in the extreme.

She sighed and rolled to her back. "Don't you ever sleep?" she mumbled, her eyes still closed, her voice slow and thick with sleep.

I smiled, kissing her softly now that I had access to her lips. "Want me stop?"

She sighed again. "No. Fuck sleep."

"I'd rather fuck you," I murmured as I slowly feathered kisses over her face and breasts.

She was always sluggish first thing in the morning, but I knew of a way to wake her up. I draped myself lightly over her and, starting with her lips, kissed and licked my way down her body. She began to respond as I paused to feast on her breasts, and by the time she opened her thighs to my kisses, she was fighting her way up from sleep.

Her soft groan of pleasure as I indulged in the banquet of her womanhood stirred the fires within me. I licked and kissed as I continued to tease her awake. We played this game every morning, to the enjoyment of us both.

Because of our looming separation I wanted to draw this out as long as possible. I took her to the edge of orgasm, her soft sound of erotic agony making my blood run hot and fast, before I pulled back, leaving her squirming with unfulfilled need. After building her up a third time, I quickly kissed my way back to her lips and wrapped her up with my arm under her head. I gently played with a nipple with one hand while tickling her flower with the fingers of my other as my lips alternately caressed her lips and breast. In the past month I'd learned through extensive research how to coax her to the edge of orgasm and hold her there.

I pressed firmly against her button with steady pressure, knowing the pleasure it gave her, as I battered a nipple with my tongue. She gasped as her back arched, thrusting her breasts upwards as I walked her on the knife edge of relief.

"Please," she whispered as I slowly relaxed the pressure against her clit and gradually drew her back from the edge.

"Please what?" I murmured as my lips danced over hers.

"Please let me come."

I smiled, her soft begging so much sexier than her fake cries of pleasure. I began to build her up again, my fingers dancing as I inched her toward orgasm. When she squirmed in pleasure, I took her lips in a passionate kiss as I withdrew my touch, moved between her legs, and slid into her center.

She moaned into my kiss as she wrapped her legs around me and locked her ankles, squeezing me tight with her powerful legs. The walls of her pussy fluttered around my shaft as I forced myself deep inside her, driving with my legs as I pressed in as hard as I could and held myself there as her legs quivered. Her nails bit hard into my back as we strained against each other until she pulled back from the kiss with an explosive exhale.

I held her head, watching her face as the tension washed out of her. Her eyes slowly opened as she relaxed with a sigh, her eyes and smile almost loving in their softness. She was the most incredible woman in the world, and I was going to make her mine.

I clamped my arms tight to her side in the way I knew she liked, holding her head in my hands as I caressed her cheek. "Come to Houston with me," I murmured as I began thrusting into her slowly.

She smiled up at me. "You know I have to go home."

"You could live in Houston."

Her smile widened. "With you?"

She thought I was teasing her. I began to drive into her harder. "If you want."

She huffed out a brief laugh. "You'd wear me out."

"Are you complaining?" I asked as I increased the speed and power of my strokes.

"No, but you know it's impossible."

"It's not," I insisted.

"I have a career."

"I'm not asking you to give up your career, only that you come to Houston with me."

"For how long."

"For as long as you want."

"You know I can't do that."

"You can," I whispered. "I want you. I want you in my life."

"And in your bed?"

"Yes," I growled as I gave it to her, pounding into her furiously for several long moments as I held her gaze, my face becoming hard as pleasure began to overwhelm me. I grunted, fighting my orgasm and stilled my hips, thrusting in hard and deep and holding myself there. The pause allowed me to not only stall my rising orgasm, but Tara liked it when I held myself deep.

She spurred me with her heels as she began thrusting against me before groaning as her face twisted in frustration. "You're stopping?" she asked, her voice full of surprise.

"You want me to keep fucking you?"

"God yes!"

"Come to Houston with me."

She began to relax as her own pleasure began to reside. "So you can keep fucking me?"

She thought I was playing an erotic game. "Yes, but I—"

"You like fucking me?"

"Yes," I rumbled. "I love fucking you, and kissing you, and holding you. I want to feel you in my arms as I fall asleep every night, and wake up the next morning with you there. I want—"

We tumbled as she pushed at me and twisted her hips. She swung her leg over me, holding me erect as she lowered herself over my cock. Again the morning sun hit her from behind and surrounded her with a halo of light as we made love.

"Would you fuck me every night?" she sneered as she rocked her hips slowly.

"I'd fuck you every morning and every night," I growled as I gently mauled her breasts.

She stared at me, a small smile playing at her lips. "You think you can keep getting it up?"

I smiled back at her. "Come to Houston and find out."

She bent, pressing her breasts into my chest as she lowered her lips to mine. "Maybe I will."

My heart soared. I pulled her lips to mine and kissed her thoroughly. "I want you," I whispered. "I want you with me."

She sat up again. The look on her face told me she finally realized I wasn't playing a game. "You're serious? You really want me to come home with you?"

"Yes."

She watched me for a moment as she sat on me, my cock in her pussy, my hands cupping her breasts. "You know I can't."

I drew my legs up as I pulled her down, holding her lips close to mine. I began thrusting into her again, clinging to the thread of hope her words had given me. I was going to do whatever it took to make her mine.

"You can."

"I told you, I have a career."

"You don't have to live in L.A. to be a singer," I growled. "Or an actress. Lot of singers and actors live other places beside L.A."

"Why? Why do you want me to—shit, you feel so fucking good—why do you want me?"