Straw Men
She doesn't remember learning the crossbow. She picked it up, pointed it, and shot. *wham* Bullseye. Straight through the heart, literally. None of this bullshit about posture and clearing your mind.
She'd complain, but that would mean telling Blondie to get his hands off of her, and she's happy with them right where they are.
For now.
He murmurs in her ear, his voice like sex and whipped cream. "Straighten your arm," his fingers slide over her elbow, "like this." His other hand strokes her hip, correcting her balance.
Her arm wavers, the arrow dipping to the ground. "Like this?"
"No." He chuckles softly, and she can feel his lips beside her ear. "Stop thinking." He repositions her arm, brushing her wrist with his thumb. "Just feel. Aim."
She squints at the target for a moment. "Just feel, huh?" For a minute, she clenches the bow, looks at the arrow's tip, and forgets his body, his palm easing down her back. She sees the target clearly, and she understands.
A breeze whisks through her hair. She releases the arrow, following it as it pierces the air, whirring, and when it plunges deep into the straw target, she hums with pleasure.
And drops the bow in surprise when she realizes one of his hands has snaked under her top. As it thuds on the ground, she thinks he might have grumbled, but she's too distracted by his other hand, two fingers knuckle-deep, sliding in and out of her.
She starts to wonder when that happened, but her climax hits her like an avalanche, and it's all she can do to stay standing.
When it's rolled past, she leans against him, twisting to look him in the eye. "What was that for?"
"For not thinking."
She laughs.