Bahamian Arms

Author's Note: This story is an original work of fiction. Future stories starring some or all of these characters might also be forthcoming based upon response and demand. Certain characters featured herein may also be found in other works by the authors. Feedback is desired and greatly appreciated. Email comments to the address in our profile. Thank you for reading.

Copyright 2009 by Jack and Josephine Cutter.

This story stars: Addison Cross and Carter Donovan.

This story contains: male-female erotic coupling, fellatio, cunnilingus, anal, showering, a vacationing high school principal, a professional hitman, and an evil arms dealer.

This story begins on Saturday, August 27.

* * * * *

There were three men present on the tarmac, huddled near the steps of the luxurious private jet.

The first man was bearded, heavy and black with flecks of gray, though the hair did little to conceal the glare on his face. The second man was clean-shaven with wide dark eyes that shifted from place-to-place, never keeping still; he carried a briefcase handcuffed to his arm. The third man, without question the most important of the three, was also heavily bearded and covered with an elaborate assortment of expensive robes, and there were golden rings on his fingers and dark shades covering his eyes, despite the night.

"Everything is prepared for your arrival," said the first man in a language that was not English.

The man in the robes nodded. "The shipment?" he asked, heavily accented in that same tongue.

"Two days," the first man replied.

Another nod. "We will meet our contacts tomorrow morning to negotiate the exchange," the man in the robes stated. "When we return, it will be as like the dawning of a new day. Praise be."

"Praise be," the first man replied formally.

"Praise be!" exclaimed the clean-shaven man.

"Praise be," repeated the man in the robes with satisfaction on his face.

Part One: Paradise

It was another beautiful day: the sun was shining in the center of a bright blue sky, the waters of the ocean were sparkling and warm, and the breeze off the surface of the sea was enough to cool the skin, but not chill it.

Addison Cross lay on her back on a towel on the beach, her eyes shut ever-so-lightly, and luxuriated in the sensations of vacationing abroad, sunning and sipping on fruit cocktails, and relaxing. It was the penultimate day of her trip to the world famous Atlantis Resort on Paradise Island in the Bahamas.

It was a trip she took once a year in the late days of August, by choice unaccompanied, her way of cleansing her mind and body and soul before the rigors of her professional life took root: in the field of preparatory education, September to June was quite the grind.

"Excuse me, miss?" a male voice asked from somewhere close by.

Addison opened her eyes and found a hunky young man standing over her, smiling down. He looked to be in his early twenties with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. His body was very nice, indeed. He was American, though it was difficult to pinpoint an exact region by his speech.

"Hello," she said, rising up to her elbows, her eyes shielded from the sun by the man's head and the pair of dark glasses she wore.

"I was wondering if you might like some company," he said in a low and conspiratorial voice. "Hoping, actually."

Addison never minded being hit on, not as long as the man in question was respectful about it. She also did not mind company on occasion, although she would not lead him on.

"Have a seat," she said pleasantly.

The hunk extended his hand as he sat. "I'm Jake," he told her.

"Addison," she replied as she took it. He held her hand softly, as if it might break.

"What brings you to the Bahamas, Addison?" he asked.

She smiled. "Just a little vacation before the busy season at work," she answered honestly, then laughed as she looked at her arms and added, "and to work on my tan, of course."

Jake used the opportunity to study her body without restraint. "Mission completed," he said with a flirty little grin. "You're gorgeous."

Addison smiled graciously. She took very great pains to keep herself in shape and her body was evidence of her labors: a willowy figure with large breasts, lean legs, and a flat stomach. She knew very well the effect her body in a bikini could have on men, as it currently was. She looked a great deal younger than her thirty-four years.

"Thank you," she said.

Which brought them to the turning point of the conversation. A little more hesitantly than his previous conduct would have had her expect, Jake asked, "Are you hear alone?"

Addison smiled sweetly. "You're a good-looking young man, Jake," she said, "and there are lots of beautiful girls on this island you could sweep off their feet with the barest hint of that smile, but I'm not looking for any romantic entanglements, nor a passionate fling with a younger man, sadly enough. I leave tomorrow afternoon and my goal is to relax as much as possible."

Jake was silent for a moment, then he smiled and nodded. "I understand," he replied. "Thanks for letting me down easy. Speaking to someone as beautiful as you had me very nervous."

She smiled. "You did just fine," she told him.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Addison," he said as he rose to his feet, his young male body glistening in the sun. Another time, another place, maybe, and Addison would have ravaged a body like that . . . or let it ravage her.

"Likewise," she agreed, and lay back on her towel and closed her eyes.

Just another day in paradise, she thought happily to herself.

* * *

The night sky glittered with the light of a thousand stars. Steel drums pounded out a soothingly rhythmic beat as throngs of bikini-clad women and board-shorted men grooved to the music. It was an ocean-side bar with light food and a live local band, and very popular with the young and unmarried crowd. Darkened tables ringed the edges of the straw-hut covering the dance floor.

The man seated at the darkest and most secluded of those tables flipped open a miniscule black laptop in front of him. He was steeped in shadows and the momentarily flicker of bright light as the screen flared to life did little to illuminate him.

The computer was encrypted. He entered the password and waited, and soon he was rerouted to a secure section of the hard-drive. There was a message waiting for him, which read:

MARK EN ROUTE ON SCHEDULE. PRIMARY WITH SIX SPARES. LOCATION ALTERED TO IMPERIAL SUITES, NO FURTHER INTEL. RECOVERY AND COMPLETION.

The man closed the computer and turned his eyes to the crowd. His preparations were in place; the location of the room did not yet matter. There was significant time to kill prior to initiation and there were worse places to be when it came to killing time.

He scanned the crowd and almost instantly noticed a woman seated alone at one of the tables on the opposite end of the dance floor. She was moving ever-so-slightly in her chair to the rhythm of the beat, sipping a red-colored cocktail, perfectly content with her situation. He noticed those things in the span of an instant and immediately formulated his read on her.

He noticed those things, yes, but he also noticed how strikingly beautiful the woman was: long brunette hair flowed off her head and swept over the graceful curve of her shoulders, piercing blue eyes recognizably brilliant from across the dance floor, and a generous swell of bosom on her chest, neatly tucked into the cups of a conservative bikini top.

The man rarely mixed business with pleasure, but there was something so intriguing, so enticing about the woman that he decided to bend his usual rule: he was not one very easily intrigued. He tucked the laptop back into his bag, rose to his feet, and approached.

* * *

Addison noticed the man seated in the shadows across the dance floor, but did not give him much thought beyond that he seemed, although draped in darkness, to be decently attractive. She was not looking for anything romantic, however, as she had told the young man on the beach earlier that very day, not to mention numerous other men since her arrival on the island five days prior, but was rather perfectly content to soak in the sights and sounds of the party atmosphere surrounding her without actually taking direct part.

And yet when she saw that same man moving towards her, staring intently at her with eyes so dark she wondered fleetingly how it was he could see out of them, something stirred in the depths of her that was very much uncharacteristic, and slightly unsettling.

The man reached her and Addison realized her initial impression had not done him justice: he was not just decently attractive, he was gorgeous. Dark hair fell from his head in thick straight locks, while those incredible dark eyes combined with chiseled features to form one very handsome face, and beneath the tight black polo shirt and dark linen pants it was easy to tell that his body was strong and well-shaped, and he moved with the kind of cat-like grace that spoke of abundant athleticism.

"Hello," the man said in a soft voice.

"Hello," Addison replied. She was surprised to find she was a little nervous; not since college had a man made her feel nervous at the outset.

"Might I have the pleasure of a dance?" he asked.

Addison was surprised and it showed on her face. It was not the kind of question she expected, nor was it phrased in a way that was often heard. The phrasing showed a command of language rarely seen anymore, as well as intimated respect of a bygone era seldom found in men of the younger generations.

Before she knew what was happening, Addison extended her hand for him to take, which he did, leading her out to the dance floor with a hold on her that was as strong physically with his hand over hers as it was mentally.

And then her body pressed against his, her breasts coming into and against his chest, her arms wrapping around his midsection as he took firm hold of her shoulder blades, and then they were moving as one to the beat of the drums, and she could feel her heart fluttering in her chest.

He moved his head to whisper in her ear as they moved. "Don't be frightened," he breathed, and the heat of his breath caressed the skin of her upper neck.

It was then that she realized she was trembling. "I'm sorry," she whispered back, and for one of the few times in her life, Addison felt vulnerable and exposed, and more than a little helpless.

Which is she heaved a deep sigh and sagged further into his muscular arms when he answered, "Don't be sorry. Beautiful women need not be sorry for the ways they affect the men around them. You have very much affected me."

And the steel drums echoed and the dance floor pulsed, and the revelers rocked and swayed their hips and heads in time with the beat, and rum of myriad colors and proofs flowed like water from the fountain of youth.

And in the center of the throng, wrapped in a bubble that blurred the edges and an embrace that was tight and comforting and alluring and completely unexpected, heart fluttering wildly and heading south to soak the cloth between her legs, Addison knew in the depths of herself that she would not leave the bar alone.

* * *

The limousine driver stood at the side of the car, watching the entourage approach. There were four individuals, two of whom were carrying automatic weapons, while a third carried a metal briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. The fourth walked one step ahead of the rest of the group, which made him the primary client in the driver's eyes.

It was a different kind of job. First, he was told there would be no luggage responsibilities. Second, the driver knew none of the names of the men he was driving and nothing of their business on the island, only pick-up and drop-off instructions and the clear direction that he was not to engage any of the men in conversation of any kind. No one would have to tell him twice about that last bit: when guns were involved, he did not want to know.

When the entourage reached the car, the driver opened the door and held it as they piled in without word or thanks of any kind. These were men of power, which meant they had either little time or little inclination for minor pleasantries with the hired help. The driver rolled his eyes as he closed the door.

Their destination was a special entrance to the Atlantis Resort. The men, the driver knew, would be staying in expensive suites at the Royal Tower Imperial Club, which meant they were not only wealthy and powerful, but also well-connected; the driver had it on decent authority that the reservation was last-minute and those types of power suites usually had a significant wait-list.

The drive was a short one, mere minutes from the private landing field to the hotel. The divider was up and the driver heard nothing from the back. They reached their destination and the men shuffled out as quietly as they had come and swept through the gold-plated double doors without acknowledgement of any kind.

That was the third thing the driver had been told: this was not a tip-generating job, which was just ridiculous. It never ceased to amaze him how wealthy people were the cheapest of all travelers; perhaps, he figured, that was why they were wealthy to being with.

And just like that the job was done.

The driver had been involved for no more than twenty minutes, which for five hundred bucks was nothing to be too upset about. He grinned to himself: if he hurried, he might be able to make one of the many parties the resort was sure to have going on at the moment, maybe spend some of that not-so-hard earned cash and get a little action from a hot young tourist.

Not too bad for a random night in paradise.

* * *

He kissed her for the first time while they were still on the dance floor, the barest hint of his lips upon hers, a maneuver designed to enflame what was already simmering. She melted into his arms and into his mouth, and in that moment he realized he would have to amend his plans for the night to accommodate her inclusion.

Which, he quickly determined, would not be difficult with the current timing pattern.

He kissed her for the second in the elevator on the way up to his room, his mouth more insistent this time, his hands skimming down across the skin of her back and the track of her spine, teasing and respectful, but unmistakably clear. She was more animated now away from the crowds, returning the advance with fervor, and he was pleased.

It was clear she would be an excellent partner.

Their third kiss, the kiss that truly ignited the night and set it to burn, occurred just inside the door of his suite, even before he got the lights on. She was buzzed, but not drunk; the perfect position, as she was coherent and thoughtful enough to make decisions and remain involved, but loose enough to throw caution and inhibition to the winds.

And her first decision seemed to do exactly that: she rammed her tongue practically down the back of his throat. Her arms wrapped around his head, pulling him closer, and labored breathing and the wet slapping of lips filled his ears as the taste of her practically set his blood to boil. He had chosen very well with this one, he knew.

When finally they broke for air, the woman drew back with a wild look in her brilliant blue eyes. "The bedroom," she whispered fiercely, "before I lose my nerve."

He did not need to be told twice. "Behind you," he told her, pointing, "through there."

She grinned wickedly. "Follow me," she cooed, and swiveled on her heels.

He was only too happy to follow as she sashayed purposefully across the room, swishing her hips in that sensual sort of way only women of greatest innate womanliness are able to properly perform, arms arching out and up to draw her hands through her beautiful brunette hair before dropping to her waist to tug at the knot of her patterned sarong.

The wispy cloth fluttered through the air as she tossed it aside and he took the opportunity to ogle her exceptional body, displayed utterly but for the small white string bikini. She was lithe and lean with a long sleek back and nicely curved hips, and a pert little bottom. He was already well-informed on the size of her breasts, despite having not yet viewed them in full, but the way the large mounds peeked out around the sides of her slim torso was a glorious sight, indeed.

The bedroom held more delights, however, and so he followed, stripping off his polo as he went.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins in such a way as he had not experienced in quite some time; his business required an unusual degree of composure, which at times meant he was difficult to please in the bedroom. A woman would usually have to work at it somewhat, but this woman had him riled and ready with hardly any effort at all, and it thrilled him.

Still, he would not rush. He would take his time with her, savor as much of her as he could in the short span of time they were together.

She stopped at the edge of the bed and he closed the distance between them, and together they tumbled softly onto the luxurious mattress, arms encircling as their mouths found one another once more. The kissing lasted for a long time, longer than he could remember kissing anyone since his earliest days learning about women, and yet he was satisfied. Her lips, her tongue, her mouth; all worked in tandem to produce wonderful sensations, sensations he hoped he was returning to her. Their hands were not idle either, exploring and measuring and teasing any and all non-erogenous areas within reach, as if saving the best parts for later.

And then, quite suddenly, it was not enough.

She growled and rolled on top of him, straddling his waist. Her fingers raked along the bulging muscles of his chest, then dropped to the belt and zipper of his pants. She was wild-eyed again, seemingly on a mission, and he was not about to stop her despite wanting desperately to see and touch and taste her luscious breasts.

It was not to be, however. At least, not yet.

She slipped down his legs and off the bed, coming to rest between his thighs with her knees on the floor, and as she went she deftly pulled his linen pants along with her. His boxer briefs followed soon thereafter, leaving him naked and exposed, his seven-inch column of a cock rising like a monument from his neatly trimmed crotch.

"Oh my," she breathed, and their eyes met, his dark and her bright, and the look she gave him said more than words ever could. He sagged back against the mattress, preparing for the pleasure she desperately wanted to give him.

He jerked when he felt a cool stream of air swirl around the tip of his cock, and he raised his head to watch as the woman opened her mouth wide and carefully guided the mushroom head inside. It was one of his favorite sights, a beautiful woman taking his penis into her mouth, and this one did not disappoint. She surprised him then, however, by exhaling another hot, moist funnel of air around his shaft. The sensations were magnificent, but merely the hors d'oeuvres.

"Tease," he murmured, one of a select few words spoken by either of them since their meeting.

She smiled, lighting up her eyes. "Yes," she answered breathlessly.

And then she swallowed him.

It was one of the most extraordinary maneuvers he had ever seen; the woman opened her mouth wide, and the next moment her lips were nestled against the flesh of his groin, the head of his cock lodged several inches down her throat. There was no gagging, no jerking, no excess motion of any kind; it was as smooth as he imagined it would be slipping past her nether lips.

And then she went to work on him.

She murmured softly as she lifted her head, pulling back but never quite off. Her gorgeous eyes sparkled mischievously, the sight of which he enjoyed almost as much as the blowjob. He trailed his fingers through her bounty of hair and clutched the back of her head, holding it as she resumed her ministrations.