Page 37 of Good Duke Gone Far

“Neither do I,” he said as he crossed his arms.

“I have ways.”

A dainty hand slid to his thigh, inching closer to his groin. He should just say yes. To the hand. Not the gun training. Or should he just say yes to the gun training? With a single touch, he was losing his faculties to reason properly.

Her fingers were a hair’s breadth from his ballocks.

It was a long ride. Maybe he need only say yes to both. Did that even make sense?

“Alright. Where’s my gun?”

The hand withdrew, and he exhaled in an addled state of relief.

Wait, why was he teaching her about guns? He shook his head. He was a mess. He reached over to the one bag he had brought with them and pulled out his flintlock. Setting it on his knee, he pointed to the barrel.

“This part here is the–”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I don’t want to know all the boring stuff, Quinn. Just teach me how to shoot it.”

“But you should know the parts–”

“I don’t care about those. All I need to know is what happens when I pull the trigger.”

“Well, there are a lot of different answers to that scenario.”

Kat snatched up the gun.

“Whoa!” was yelled almost loudly enough to stop the horses.

“How does this thing work?” He could tell she wanted to wave it around. Point. Aim, Shoot.

“I’m trying to tell you that,” he said.

“Try a little harder and a little faster.”

“Get over here right now.” Quinn patted his lap.

“Why?”

“Why?” he echoed. “Just get over here. You want to see how it works. I’ll show you.”

Kat tugged on her skirts a bit, and in doing so inadvertently pointed the gun at Quinn’s chest.

“Watch where you point that thing.” He grabbed her hips and settled her snuggly atop his thighs. His intention was to sit behind her, so he could assist her in lining up a shot. But being behind her served to remind him of what they had done earlier that morning, and his body, his lower body more specifically, started to react.

“Well, I assumed it wasn’t loaded, Quinn.”

His cock digging into her bottom, he murmured, “Oh, it’s loaded, doll.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” He lifted his right arm parallel to hers to show her how to hold the gun. “Like this,” he whispered in her ear. Holding the gun straight, the frizzen pointing up. “This is how a man about to duel might hold it. Stable. On two feet. Steady aim.” He rotated their arms ninety degrees to the left, so that the gun was angled as if it were lying on a table. The frizzen now pointed directly out toward the carriage door. “This is how a man wild in war might hold it. This way the relentless weight of the handle doesn’t knead into his wrist. The weight is more balanced. The gunpowder stays in. And other boring facts.” His finger gently applied pressure on the trigger. “Then you pull here.”

The softest click sounded, and Kat bounced on his lap.

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