The writer is running out of axe puns...

Her breasts are larger than the sports bra advertised, and full enough that you can see why she needs to wear one. Tho at the moment they’re mostly concealed by a curtain of her long dark hair.

“Clever,” you say with a chuckle. “I guess I have to wait for a strong breeze?"

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she says coquettishly.

You catch her gaze. “Do I look like a man who’s disappointed in any way?”

Her eyes soften, and you again feel like she’s unused to compliments. But she doesn’t blush this time as she walks (a little self-consciously) downrange to recover the axes. As she hands you your three, she says, “Well you better hope for more, because I fully intend to win these last two throws.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” you say with a grin, and turn to throw. You do pretty well, scoring two 5s and a 4.

Huntress takes a deep focusing breath, and you watch as all her self-consciousness falls away, her awareness of you going with it. Completely unconcerned by her partial nudity, she quickly and smoothly plants three axes in the bullseye.

You give her a golf clap. “Perfect shot, well done. But can she do it twice in a row?” you say in a mock sports announcer voice.

She tilts her chin up proudly and says, “Less talk, more butt.”

“Your wish is my command, m’lady,” you say with a slight bow and you unfasten your pants, pull them down over said butt, and let them fall to the floor. You step out of the pants and pick them up, making sure to give Huntress a good view of your ass. She gives you a golf clap in return, and you bow again, then go recover the axes. As you turn around her eyes are locked on you, and her face is flushed with something that’s not embarrassment.

You hand her three axes. “Final round. Anything can happen.”

“Anything indeed,” she says, and there’s a hunger in her eyes you haven’t seen before as she takes her axes and without looking tosses all three at once in the general direction of the target; they hit the floor with a clatter and bounce around for a few seconds before falling still.

“Oopsie,” she deadpans.

You stare into those beautiful brown eyes behind the mask, and chuck your three axes aside in the same manner.

“No winner, I guess,” she says, her voice deepening.

You smile and shake your head. “Just the opposite: no loser.”

And just like that she’s in your arms.