mobofair
patreon
Treasured Chest
🕑 Added 2020-08-07 21:59:59 +0000 UTC
Lara Croft heard something moving through the water.
As keen as her senses, that wasn’t much of a challenge for them. She was in the middle of the ocean, or at the very least, so far off from shore that she might as well be in the middle. There were no seabirds to disturb the silence with their cawing, and no other people for as far as the horizon stretched. The ocean was calm, the waves so quiet she could barely hear them over the sound of her record player singing out the aria Vedro con Mio Diletto from Il Giustino.
What she could hear was the sound of a man knifing through the water. His form was good, she judged from the regular chop of his arms and legs, but the man was simply too large to camouflage the vast quantities of water his passage displaced. She compared him to the Takian fishermen of Lao Lao, none of whom were above five foot five. They could swim through the currents with barely a ripple in the water. This man, she judged, was big enough in comparison to pose a certain danger. Especially if he was armed.
The prospect was thrilling, but Lara always tempered her risk with caution. She reached off of the towel that held her lotion-wet body and picked up one of her twin Heckler & Koch USP Match pistols from her gunbelt. She moved the gunbelt under the beach bag she had brought out with her and pulled the gun underneath her towel, so she was holding it out of sight.
It wasn’t like she had very many places to conceal it. She was taking advantage of her privacy to suntan with nothing more on than some oil and her sunglasses, the summer-hot sun pouring down on her naked body with such intensity she felt a little like she’d just had a good spanking.
It was not a very ladylike way to receive guests, Lara conceded, but then, her visitor was the one who hadn’t phoned ahead.
A waterproof, military-grade rucksack came sailing over the side of her yacht, splashing down on the hull. Its impact disturbed the record player enough to make the record skip. Lara winced at the sound of the needle scratching. She rearranged herself slightly, folding her arms under her chest to prop herself up a little as her guest hauled himself up after his bag.
The pose hid her breasts, or most of them, at least—she was rather voluptuous—but Lara neither could hide her bare buttocks, nor did she try to. As far as she was concerned, she had nothing to be ashamed of.
And neither did her uninvited guest. He stood well over six feet tall—tall enough for Lara not to care about the precise measurements, just that he towered over her as her old-fashioned upbringing insisted a man should tower over his woman. His chest and shoulders were huge, his legs long and well-muscled, his arms equally sculpted. All that muscle should’ve been bulky, but he carried it with the economical grace of a well-trained dancer. He wore only a pair of swim trunks. His handsome face was clean-shaven, the better to show off his geometrically square jaw, and his shortly cut hair was sandy blond. He combed his fingers through it, taming it down to being somewhat neat.
If anyone were to happen upon her naked, Lara could think of much worse choices.
He swept his gaze over the yacht, quickly noticing Lara’s bronze tan against the white lacquer of the hull and the mahogany glaze of the deck. He was, of course, taken aback by her nudity—Lara would’ve been offended if he weren’t. For a moment, he stood there gaping at her creamy skin as it cascaded down from her windswept hair to the almost pornographic bulge of her naked ass… nearly enough to eclipse the appeal of her long, tapering legs with their toned thighs and powerfully muscled calves.
Lara, through some small feminine tricks, flaunted herself while not even appearing to move, except to angle her head slightly so as to inform him he was being regarded. “Do you mind?” she asked.
“I, uh, miss…”
“The record,” Lara clarified. “Either put it back on track or put it out of its misery.”
“Oh. Yes.” He noticed the record player and, almost grateful to take his eyes off her, moved to correct the needle. The aria resumed. “I didn’t know they still made these things.”
“They don’t. I didn’t know I’d wandered close enough to land for someone to swim out.”
“You didn’t. There was a plane that went by about an hour ago.”
Lara’s eyebrow raised, impressed. “That was you?” she asked, allowing a slight acid note of doubt into her voice.
“Bailed out over your last known coordinates, then I started swimming.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “You’re a hard woman to find.”
“It depends on who’s finding me.” Lara picked up her dive watch from the deck and checked its face. About a minute before she turned over. And that might be just a bit too forward for a first impression. “Allow me to cut to the chase. You’ve a motley assortment of blackguards out for an ancient artifact. Some kind of superweapon of this type or that. You, being the heroic sort as I can tell from the set of your jaw, want to stop them. But as you didn’t pay too much attention in school, you’ll need someone who knows her way around a pyramid and can also handle herself in no small amount of trouble. And, preferably, she isn’t too much of a wanker either. Is that about the size of it?”
Now, those broad shoulders moved with the shakes of a repressed chuckle. “More or less,” he said, amused.
“I’ll go a step further, at the risk of being presumptuous, and suggest that since I heard a single-engine turboprop plane an hour ago and not some fancy Quinjet, that this is a mission that would be flying under the radar, if you can forgive the twee metaphor. Hence it would be best if we appeared to be no more than wayward heiress Lara Croft—and one of her comely conquests—happening to enjoy a boat trip in the area, rather than the forces of good rallying their armies.”
“You’d be correct.”
“Mmm, I could get used to you telling me I’m right.” Her watch beeped. Lara silenced it. “Would you be a dear and get my robe from the bag? I’m starting to feel underdressed.”
“But it’s hard to believe you can wear anything any better.”
Lara took her sunglasses off to display how her eyebrows had raised. She could see herself liking his company. He was starting to get into the swing of things.
The man opened up and rifled through her tote bag, finally coming up with a folded robe which he unfurled and held out gallantly for her to put on. He was, perhaps, expecting for her to insist he turn around, or close his eyes, which she got the feeling he would eagerly do. Instead, she nonchalantly got to her feet, showing him her fully exposed body as another woman would display a cute skirt.
In the last few years of her twenties, Lara’s body was still in its prime, her youth in full bloom. Her breasts were double Ds, big and supple enough for any lad magazine in England, and enough to fill most brand-name bras to overflowing. Thankfully, gravity had no more to say now than it had during her teen years.
Her cleavage was perky enough to do without a bra and she usually wore only a sweater or blouse over her naked chest. It always amused her to see someone’s eyes widen in astonishment at how much of her voluptuousness showed through even the most conservative clothes. Her nipples were plump as ripe cherries, for one thing, and when her top rubbed against them enough, they usually stiffened, making it perfectly clear what was and wasn’t between them and the grateful viewer.
She had also toyed with the idea of not wearing panties. She wasn’t now, of course, but usually she found ‘going commando’ uncomfortable and a little too showy. Lara didn’t consider herself A Lady, but she was ladylike, and she disliked the thought of anyone sitting across from her being able to look up her skirt and see the effort she’d put into her private gardening.
Though her figure was almost perfect in proportion, giving her plenty of cause for pride in her curves and musculature, she still felt that her body was a precious gift to be bestowed on those she chose, not taken for granted by anyone with a camera phone. The reaction she got as she displayed herself to her new friend proved to her the wisdom of such a privacy. He looked at her like a boy with his first Page 3 girl.
He was, in fact, so distracted that he didn’t notice Lara holding her gun behind her back, using sleight of hand to conceal it from him as she stepped into the robe and pulled it about her luscious body. She slipped the USP right into the robe’s pocket with him nary the wiser. “Now that we’ve gotten to know each other so well,” she quipped. “Perhaps you might tell me your name?”
“Steve,” he said, still sounding a bit stunned. She hoped she hadn’t rocked him too much on his heels. As much as she appreciated his appreciation, she would like it more if he knew how to handle himself. “Steve Rogers. Captain, DOD.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Steve. That swim must’ve taken a lot out of you. Let’s get you some food. I’d hate to see you run out of energy…”
Comments
Shendude
Well this is fun.
