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Macarena hates this day. Absolutely loathes it. She never used to hate it, or at least didn’t hate it as much during the last five years.
What’s wrong with today?
It’s Valentine’s Day. That's what's wrong.
Even worse, today is her first Valentine’s day as a single woman in five years. Her asshole of a boyfriend decided that last week was a great moment to break up with her, right before this day of love with its chocolates and flowers and disgustingly happy couples everywhere. Has she already mentioned that she hates it?
Her first Google Search is the cliche ‘how to spend Valentine’s Day alone’. It results in needlessly long lists of activities that Macarena considers to be way over the top for a regular day in February. They’re all stupid too, like baking a cake or watching a movie with a mug of hot chocolate. No. She wants something fun and active and preferably also capable of giving her the adrenaline rush she so desperately needs. Anger has been the overwhelming emotion during the past few days and she wants to get rid of that. She briefly considers taking an extra kickboxing class today, but she hasn’t been enjoying her favorite sport as much lately.
Her second search is ‘what activities give you an adrenaline rush’. Although these lists are better, they contain fairly impossible activities for today, like bungee jumping and skydiving. Until Macarena’s eyes fall on an advertisement on the side of the page. It seems to be for an indoor shooting range, based on the various guns and targets the ad is showing. The accompanying subtext tells her to come practice her shooting skills with one of their instructors for an attractive price, she only has to call them to make an appointment.
Hm. Interesting.
She takes a screenshot of the ad and gets up from the couch, before walking towards the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. The idea of going to a shooting range is a little scary, because she’s never fired a gun before. She hasn’t even been near any kind of weapon and honestly, she doesn’t really see the point in doing this, but there’s still something attractive about it. She can't quite put her finger on what it is and why.
After an hour-long internal debate, she finally picks up the phone and calls the number from the advertisement. A man picks up and Macarena introduces herself.
“I’d like to make an appointment for today, is that still possible?” she then asks, crossing her fingers in the meantime.
There’s some rustling on the other side of the line. “Yes,” the man answers. “Is five o’clock okay? There’s a free spot for an hour.”
“Perfect,” Macarena replies. “See you then.”
Five hours later and exactly fifteen minutes before her appointment - Macarena is never late - she parks her car in front of the shooting range. It seems fairly busy, judging by the amount of cars, but once Macarena gets inside, there are only a handful of people. There’s a man at the reception, probably the same one as she spoke to on the phone.
“Buenas días,” he greets her. “I bet you’re the woman who called this morning. You're not a regular.”
“Yeah,” Macarena smiles. “I've never been. I wanted to try it, though.”
He puts her name in the system and fills out a form for her, which she has to sign right after. He explains some house rules and she pays the appropriate fees. In the background, she can hear some muffled shots and the sound of shell casings hitting the floor in rapid succession. A tingle of excitement runs down her spine.
“You can wait over there,” the man motions towards a few chairs in the corner of the room. “Your instructor will be with you in a second.”
While Macarena walks over to the chairs, she hears the man open a door and call out a name into another room.
“Zahir! Your five o’clock is here. Go to lane four, please.”
Zahir. Macarena whispers the name to herself, testing how it rolls off her lips. It’s an odd name, foreign almost. Unique. Macarena wonders if the person wearing the name is just as unique. She has no idea what to expect, really. Until the sound of footsteps makes her look up.
Black combat boots. Black jeans, not too tight, with chains hanging loosely through the belt loops. A black band tee and finally, a black bomber jacket.
Macarena meets dark green eyes and realizes that the person standing in front of her is a woman.
“Buenas,” the raved haired woman greets her. “I’m Zulema Zahir, your instructor.”
“I’m, uh- Macarena,” the blonde manages. She feels a blush creeping up her cheeks at the intense stare of the brunette in front of her.
“Okay, uh- Macarena,” Zulema teases. The sound of the chuckle that follows her words causes a pleasant shiver to run up Maca’s spine. “What is a woman like you doing at a shooting range on Valentine’s Day?”
The blonde frowns. A woman like me?
“I could ask you the same question,” she counters.
“I work here."
“Well, I just wanted to try this.”
“Are you ready?”
“Not at all,” Macarena replies, “but I want to do it.”
She gets up from her chair and follows Zulema into a room with all kinds of equipment. While Zulema gets them vision and hearing protection, ammunition and of course, a handgun, Macarena observes the older woman. Her movements are steady and confident, it looks like she’s been handling guns her entire life and it’s strangely attractive for some reason.
Zulema makes sure the gun is unloaded - magazine removed and actions opened - before handing Macarena her protection gear. “We’re only going to be shooting with a regular handgun, but there are people with larger firearms that make a shit load of noise, so you better put these on.”
The blonde follows Zulema’s movements and slides the hearing protection over her ears. Finally, they get to go into the hall where everything happens. Zulema walks over to lane four and puts the handgun down on the shelf inside the booth. She puts the protection glasses on and turns to Macarena, who has already done the same thing.
“Have you ever fired a gun before?” Zulema questions.
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll show you first and then you can try.”
Zulema talks her through the important technical aspects of the gun itself. Macarena carefully follows the movements with her eyes, not wanting to miss a single second. For some reason, she doesn’t want to disappoint the raven haired woman standing next to her.
“I’ll explain the grip once you’re actually holding the gun, that’s easier,” Zulema finishes, while she quickly loads the gun. “For now, take a step back and to the right.”
Macarena does, stepping away from the older woman and a little to the right, like she asked. This gives her a perfect view of Zulema’s side profile; her dark eyeliner, confident expression and lips set in a straight line temporarily distract Macarena from paying attention.
“Never put your finger on the trigger if you’re not ready to fire,” Zulema’s voice pulls her back into reality. “Rest it on the gun frame until you’ve adjusted your posture. I generally put one foot back, but there are various options. We’ll find out which position you like in a second.”
It’s obviously not meant like that, but Macarena swallows nevertheless at the choice of words.
“Okay.”
“Like I said, I’ll explain the grip in a second,” Zulema continues. She adjusts her hands and Macarena watches as she concentrates and puts her finger on the trigger. Her face sets into something cold and dangerous and she takes one deep breath, before she pulls the trigger.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Four shots. Right through the heart of the target.
Macarena could swear that the last bullet doesn’t even make its own hole, it just slips through the previous holes made by the first bullets. She can’t do anything but stare, completely in awe of the older woman.
“How do you do that?”
Zulema’s face relaxes again and she turns back to face the blonde. “Practice.”
“I want to be as good as you.”
“Rubia,” Zulema’s voice is smooth and a little seductive, “you will never be as good as me.”
Macarena doesn’t know what to do with herself. Is she imagining things or is Zulema flirting with her?
The brunette’s fingers work quickly and very smoothly as she reloads the gun, before stepping aside to give Macarena some space.
“Come here,” she motions. “Stand in front of me.”
Macarena does what she’s told and steps in front of the slightly taller brunette. Zulema puts the safety on, before handing the gun over to the blonde, who takes it without hesitation.
The gun is heavier than she anticipated and it feels dangerous and scary in her hands. She shivers nervously and looks at the target at the end of their lane; a large, rectangular piece of paper. It has a large circle in the middle with points ranging from one to ten, one being the very outside of the circle and ten being the exact middle - bullseye - and Macarena feels her hands trembling slightly.
Zulema slides behind her and the blonde shivers as their bodies press together. Two strong arms come up and around her shoulders, before Zulema’s hands cover Macarena’s own, effectively stopping the trembling.
“Relax,” Zulema offers, more gently than Maca expected her to be. “You can’t shoot a gun if you’re shaking. Calm down.”
Easier said than done with you pressed up against me, the blonde thinks. She takes a breath and tries to focus on her task at hand, and it goes a little better.
“Your thumb a little more towards here,” Zulema explains, tugging on Macarena's fingers. “And these upwards. Finger off the trigger. Keep your feet next to each other for now.”
Macarena carefully follows the brunette’s instructions, although the heat radiating off of Zulema’s body could easily distracts her from the task at hand. She tries not to focus on that.
“Tight grip.”
Maca grips the gun a little tighter.
“Relax your shoulders.”
Maca does.
Zulema takes the safety off with one finger, before her hands fully wrap around the blonde's again.
“Now you can shoot.”
The younger woman takes a deep breath and focuses on the target. Is she just supposed to pull the trigger and hope for the best? She doesn’t know for sure, but she tries exactly that.
One. Two. Three.
The bullets hit the target, but that’s about all there is to say. Two bullets pierce through a blank part of the paper, one bullet just barely hits the outer circle with its one point. Macarena is in the middle of beating herself up for barely hitting the target, when Zulema’s next words put her at ease.
“Not bad for a first time,” the brunette comments. “At least you hit the paper. Step back with one foot,” she offers. “And try again.”
Macarena does what she's told. Zulema’s hands stay wrapped around her own to keep her steady and it feels safe enough to try again. She relaxes, aims at the target, positions her fingers - tight grip - and pulls the trigger once more.
Four. Five. Six.
This time, her bullets actually hit the target. Maybe because this position feels better, with one foot backwards, or maybe because she’s finally starting to relax and enjoy this. Whatever the reason, she hits the three, five and six points on the piece of paper.
“You’re a natural.”
Suddenly, Zulema’s deep voice is very close to Macarena’s ear, still covered by her ear protection but yet very sensitive to every single tone change, and it seems the brunette is aware of this.
“I’m a fast learner,” Macarena answers breathily.
The tension between them is noticeable and only grows stronger during the next few seconds of silence. Every nerve ending is on fire as Zulema’s breath tickles the side of Macarena’s neck and her strong hands stay wrapped around the blonde’s, their bodies pressed together.
“Let’s try again then.”
Zulema helps adjust her grip a little and she explains some final things, before letting the blonde try again. On her own this time, and Zulema would be lying if she said that she didn’t miss Macarena’s body already. The same goes for Macarena, who immediately misses the comfortable heat of a body behind her.
Nevertheless, she tries to shoot by herself. The first three times are a little uncomfortable, because she has to hold onto this heavy weapon all by herself now, but she gets used to it. She hits the target every time and she's quite proud of herself, although she never gets more than seven points.
As Zulema presses a button in the booth to switch to a new target, Macarena already knows that she will be coming back to this place. Not for Zulema - okay, maybe a little for her - but because she wants to get better at this. The feeling of shooting a gun is exhilarating.
For now, she just misses the older woman’s body wrapped around her. So she turns her head and meets dark green eyes who are staring at her with an unreadable look in them.
“Can you explain the grip one more time?” she asks innocently. “I want to make sure I'm learning it the right way."
A smile tugs on the corners of Zulema’s lips and she shakes her head, knowing perfectly well what Macarena is trying to do here. She knows but still plays along, because she wants it too.
Soon, Zulema’s voice is in her ear again and Macarena momentarily closes her eyes to revel in the sound of that soft whisper a little longer. She feels hands running up her arms and then another, final comment.
“Relax your shoulders, remember?”
The brunette presses down on Macarena’s shoulders, before her hands slowly creep towards the back of her neck and linger there, stroking over the skin.
Macarena leans back, resting some of her body weight against Zulema’s front in a silent attempt to ask for more. It’s given to her in the form of hands sliding down her body and settling on her hips, before pulling her a little closer in what’s meant to be an instruction on her shooting stance.
It’s too much for Macarena.
She turns her head and locks eyes with Zulema. Every single touch of the brunette sends tingles through her entire body. Maybe it’s the attraction to danger - loaded guns, flirting with a stranger - or the undeniable connection they seem to have. Maca doesn’t know and frankly, she couldn’t care less. The words leave her mouth in a pleading whisper.
“Take me somewhere.”
That somewhere becomes the backseat of Zulema’s ridiculously expensive car - Macarena briefly wonders if working at a shooting range pays that well - and the blonde quickly finds herself sitting on Zulema’s lap.
The tension is still there, definitely, but there’s some uneasiness between the two of them. Zulema has seen enough women in the shooting range, but this one is different. She would almost say she’s attracted to the young blonde and that usually doesn’t happen this quickly.
Macarena just plain old wants the woman in front of her. Needs her. She manages to summarize this overwhelming and all-consuming desire into two simple words that leave Zulema breathless.
“Touch me.”
Zulema bites her lip as her eyes grow impossibly darker. This is almost everything she wants. There’s just one more thing.
“Say please,” her voice is smooth, like the tips of her fingers running over Macarena’s cheek as that one manages to breathe through parted lips, desire running through her body.
Macarena’s arms come up to wrap around Zulema’s neck as she leans in, her breath tickling just below the brunette’s ear.
“Please touch me.”
Zulema does.
Where Macarena is a fast learner in terms of learning how to shoot a gun, Zulema is a fast learner in terms of learning how to read her body. She quickly learns about the spot right below Macarena’s jaw, where the skin is soft and sensitive. She kisses and sucks and bites down, hard, and soothes the painful spot right after. Macarena’s hand finds her hair and pulls, not as hard but definitely not gently either, a silent indication that Zulema should stop teasing.
Zulema decides that it’s only fair. Macarena has done everything she asked for, so she deserves a reward.
Despite the limited space in her backseat, she manages to flip them over so Macarena is half lying half sitting against the window on the side and her hands immediately start working on the button of the blonde’s denim jeans. Macarena helps her by sliding the jeans over her hips and down her legs, where Zulema tugs them over her ankles and drops the piece of clothing onto the floor. She leans over the blonde and they move and tug and shift, but they can’t find a somewhat comfortable position.
Macarena has an idea. She sits up and pushes against Zulema’s shoulders until that one is sitting with her back against the leather, looking up at her with dark eyes. She throws one leg over Zulema’s and her hands find the brunette’s shoulders as she sits down on her lap.
Zulema’s left hand comes around to support the blonde’s back, while her right finds Macarena’s lace underwear.
“You’re wet, rubia.” Her comment is cocky, confident. Like she knows exactly what she’s capable of. “Shooting guns really does it for you, hm?”
“You know it’s not just that.”
“What else is it, then?”
Macarena slips her finger in the waistband of her underwear and leans on one knee to pull it down one leg, then on the other knee to pull it down her other leg. The lower part of her body is completely bare and she holds Zulema’s gaze as she lowers herself onto the brunette’s fingers, gasping at the sensation. The answer to Zulema’s question comes in the form of a moan.
“You.”
The older woman has to bite back a moan herself. Fuck.
The situation she currently finds herself in is already unusual enough, but the feeling that rushes through Zulema's body like an unexpected wave crashing on the beach way too early tops everything. She now recognizes the undeniable sensation of attraction, which immediately tells her that this won’t be the last time she’s touching the blonde like this.
When Macarena starts to move, she is pulled back into reality. The reality of a hot blonde riding her fingers in the backseat of her car, mind you.
Her free hand grips Macarena’s waist.
“Good?” she asks.
“Yeah,” the blonde breathes. “More.”
The brunette obeys and curls her fingers.
“Fuck!”
“Quiet,” Zulema shushes her as she quickly glances out the window of her car. “You’re gonna get me fired.”
“I don’t care,” Macarena shoots back. “Get another job.”
Zulema shuts the blonde up for good this time by kissing her. She only realizes that she normally doesn’t kiss strangers when their lips are already pressed together, but fuck it. She needs this, and it seems Macarena needs it just as badly. Her continuous whimpers and moving hips speak for themselves.
“Por favor,” the blonde pleads. “Zulema.”
The brunette decides that this angle is not it - it’s good, but not enough for everything she wants the blonde to feel - and she sits up, pushing against Macarena’s shoulders until that one is once again half sitting, half lying against the side window.
She kisses the blonde once more.
“Earlier, when I asked what a woman like you was doing here,” Zulema confesses. “I saw the hesitation on your face. Don’t take it like that.”
“What did you mean then?”
Zulema stops. Hesitates. Thinks. Decides.
“I meant beautiful. I was wondering why a beautiful woman like you is here on Valentine’s Day, at a shooting range, and not spending the day with someone else.”
She holds Macarena’s gaze for a few seconds as they observe each other, trying to figure out the other’s thoughts and intentions.
Macarena finds the sudden honesty and softness from the slightly intimidating brunette difficult to deal with. This is not supposed to mean anything, but Zulema is making it complicated. To be honest, it was already complicated from the second their bodies pressed together in lane four of that fucking shooting range.
Zulema breaks the spell by lowering herself onto the floor between the seats and pulling the blonde closer by her thighs. Macarena’s hands automatically find raven hair and she cries out when Zulema does exactly what she’s been waiting for.
With a skilled tongue running through her folds and two fingers pushing back inside of her, Macarena cries out in pleasure.
“Yes!”
Zulema feels a tingle run down her spine at the sound of the blonde’s voice, breathless, desperate and so fucking loud. She decides that she’ll gladly accept getting fired for this. It’s worth it.
Soon enough, the windows are fogged and one of Macarena’s hands has found the roof of the car, pressing against it as her back arches with pleasure. Her shoulders hurt and her neck hurts even more and she’ll definitely be sore in the morning, but she’s loving every single minute of this.
“Right there right there right-”
Zulema doesn’t really need those words - the tightening hand in her hair and Maca clenching around her fingers says enough - but nevertheless, she stays right there until the blonde comes. Not so quietly, of course, and Zulema prays the sound is muffled by her car and no one can hear them right now.
Although … the idea of others hearing them is strangely attractive.
When Macarena finally calms down a little, Zulema slowly moves back up the blonde’s body, resting her face in the crook of her neck. Just as she’s about to make another cocky comment, she’s abruptly interrupted by a hand sliding into her jeans, and immediately under the waistband of her underwear.
“My turn.” A cheeky whisper reaches her ears just as two fingers slide inside of her and Zulema gasps. Surprised and definitely turned on by Macarena taking charge, she balances one hand on the arm rest near the window to prevent herself from falling over.
“Oh.”
Macarena looks up at the brunette as green eyes flutter shut and lips part in a silent moan. What a sight that is.
“Fuck.” The swear word easily leaves Macarena’s lips, while she carefully observes the brunette’s movements for any kind of reaction. It comes in the form of arousal dripping down her fingers and a not-so-silent moan this time. “God, Zulema, you feel so good.”
“More,” Zulema demands. She normally doesn’t want her counterpart to talk, likes it better when they shut up and just fuck her. This is different. Macarena isn’t saying these words to turn her on, she’s saying them because she genuinely means it.
The blonde’s free hand slides underneath the black shirt Zulema is still wearing. The brunette’s unsteady breathing hitches when Macarena uses her nails to draw pretty red lines down Zulema’s back.
“You like that? Pleasure mixed with pain?”
Zulema shivers. Macarena takes that as a yes.
“Good,” she continues, knowing that her words are having the desired effect. “I want you again. Later. In my bed. Then you can show me just how much you like your pleasure with a bit of pain.”
Zulema is almost embarrassed by how close she is already, but Macarena doesn’t seem to mind. She pulls the brunette even closer while that one tries to hold herself up and manages to remain fairly quiet - being caught having sex at your job is one, but being caught while you’re being the loud one is two - as the blonde works her over.
Macarena’s finger quickly finds her clit and that, in combination with her earlier whispered promises, is enough for Zulema.
“Fuck, Maca!”
The blonde guides her through it and smiles when Zulema, completely spent, collapses on top of her.
Silence, aside from heavy breathing, is finally broken when Macarena chuckles.
“I can’t believe I did this,” she confesses.
Zulema pushes herself up, muscles already protesting, and sits up straight in the backseat. “Did what?”
“Sleeping with a stranger.”
“I can’t believe you’re still calling me a stranger now I know what you sound like when you come,” Zulema counters, feigning hurt.
Macarena laughs; a full, carefree laugh that only makes Zulema more aware of her attraction to the blonde and the trouble she's in.
“You’re still a stranger,” Maca whispers, leaning over until their lips are closer together, “it doesn’t matter that you know what I sound like.” Her fingers, the ones that were inside of the brunette a few minutes ago, come up and disappear into her own mouth.
Zulema watches the movement with wide eyes, unable to come up with a power move of her own.
“I now know what you taste like,” Macarena finishes, releasing her fingers with a popping sound. “That makes us equals, no?”
Zulema straightens her work outfit with an unreadable expression.
“I’m nobody’s equal.”
Macarena closes the final buttons of her blouse. Her eyes twinkle as she says the next words.
“You could be mine.”
Zulema fixes her with a look and leans over, opening the car door, before getting out. Macarena simply giggles at the brunette’s denial and follows her, back into the fresh air.
Maybe Valentine’s Day as a single woman isn’t so bad after all.