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Treasured Chest 5
🕑 Added 2020-10-16 23:00:02 +0000 UTC
Steve wasn’t shy about his body. Perhaps it was that a part of him never fully accepted it as his, never let go of that millisecond in the mirror when it was a stranger staring back at him. As well, the European theater had been no place for modesty. He’d bathed, shaved, and shat with a company who’d quickly grown used to his Adonis-like physique, never bringing it up except to razz him the way they would someone else’s long toes or hairy back. And there’d been a fair share of sexual encounters, both before and after he went into the ice. Steve tried not to take advantage of civilians’ gratitude towards being rescued, but he was forced to concede that many women were simply attracted to him. To the point where it seemed ungracious not to indulge at least a little.
He was the soul of discretion and did his best to leave the lady equally as satisfied as he was, but was still circumspect about that whole area of his life. Some people mistook that for chastity. Steve, on the other hand, didn’t understand the modern-day urge to turn everything into a joke or a tweet or some kind of secondhand pornography. He preferred to think there was some intimacy in his dealings with women, not a kind of prostitution without money changing hands.
So perhaps he shouldn’t have been flustered by Lara insisting he go naked on her yacht, as well as being nude herself. Yet he was. His arrogant assumption that he would eventually grow used to the sight of Lara’s unclad body was, put simply, horseshit. Every time he saw her luscious physique, the way she carried herself with such insouciant confidence—a way of flaunting herself and daring him not to look and not caring if he looked—he felt a surge of arousal.
It took all his control not to walk around rock-hard all the time. It was almost enough to drive him to try and avoid her, but that felt like too much of a surrender. After the battles he’d fought, running away from a naked woman seemed ridiculous. And yet every time he looked at her—every time—there was something new and supple and delicious about the sight of Lara.
“Tut, tut,” Lara tsked—managing with unerring accuracy to stumble onto Steve just as he pulled his swim trunks over his lower body. “I’d have thought the great Captain America would be more true to his word.”
“I’m going fishing,” Steve said, picking up a spear in demonstration. “I’d have thought you’d want me to have at least some protection in open waters.”
Lara grinned. Liking it when he fought back. “I would hate to see you damaged. Unless it’s me doing the damaging, of course.”
Steve made his way to the yacht’s railing. He had also been surprised by how seemingly reticent Lara was to take advantage of his availability. He certainly felt her eyes on him, caressing him at any idle moment, admiring his physique like he was a statue by some master sculptor and she wanted to memorize every detail, learn every stroke of the chisel that had gone into his creation. It seemed impossible that she didn’t want to act on the lust she obviously felt for him.
But of course, it wasn’t that Lara didn’t want him. It was that she wanted him to want her—to lose control of himself and take her as he had done on their first night together. It was a tempting prospect, but some peevish part of Steve compelled him to refuse. He wondered how long he could go without giving Lara what she wanted. How long Lara could go without giving him what he wanted. One of them had to give in. They both knew they wouldn’t make landfall without a repeat performance of that first incredible fuck.
Squatting and then pumping his legs, Steve propelled himself over the railing in an arcing swan dive that carried him right down into the water. He hit with barely a splash, then began the hunt. This was one more bout in their games of one-upmanship. He was gunning for a big tuna, fresh meat to put to shame the frozen cuisine that Lara’s wealth and privilege had secured for her.
Kicking his legs, angling his body to cut through the water, he orbited around the yacht. Not wandering too far, but also appreciating the distance from Lara, the break from her, the effect of the cool water on his body, which regularly felt like it was simmering between the sight of Lara and being seen by her.
Then he saw the yacht’s glass bottom. It was only part of the hull, a lowered pit at the back of the hold, but it served double duty as a hot tub. That was how Lara was using it now. She laid naked in the pool of seething water, the ocean pressing in on all sides, separated from her only by a bubble of glass. Steve was reminded of a foaming champagne bottle, the bubbles roiling inside, obscuring and tantalizing her perfect form just enough to make it unclear what she was doing. That compelled him to look closer. And the more he saw, the closer he looked.
***
Lara grinned at Steve through the cacophony of bubbles in her Jacuzzi and the shifting currents in the ocean outside. He didn’t notice. His attention was torn between her womanhood—never more evident than it was now—and trying to maintain vigilante of his dangerous surroundings.
Between her legs, Lara massaged her slit with her middle finger, working it in a slippery wetness with such sweet difference from the water caressing her body. She saw Steve watching her, seeing her play with herself, and it added to her arousal, making this piddling little toying with herself worthwhile in its perversity despite Steve offering her a much better option.
Her clit grew stiffer, more engorged, as she eyed the growing bulge in Steve’s trunks. She wondered if this foolish man was ever going to come back aboard, make his way to her, and fulfill the fantasy she was clearly entertaining herself with.
Lara knew she was being naughty, tempting a man like this. Not just seducing him, but outright overwhelming him with lust for her, practically ravishing him in the hopes he would return the favor more physically. She moaned, knowing he couldn’t hear it through the glass, knowing he wanted to. She worked her hips against her plying hand and stared hungrily at the monstrous swelling at Steve’s crotch. Spreading her knees wide apart, Lara let him see her finger as it delved inside her. She left no doubt what awaited Steve when he finally thrust himself into her cunt.
Bubbles trailed out of Steve’s nostrils, past his even row of perfect white teeth, as he forgot himself and let slip some of the breath he had meant to hold. He would have to come up for air soon. Where would he go from there?
Here Lara was, laid out in front of him like a jewel, like a pearl in an oyster, a blossoming flower waiting to be picked—a million metaphors swam through Steve’s mind and none of them seemed sufficient for Lara. He was trying to keep some level of professionalism going, something to their working relationship between passion and desire and want, but as superhuman as he was, Steve was still a man. There had to be a point where his body and its urges had to be listened to.
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Shendude
Love it, more please?
