He seemed less than enthusiastic, like there was something weighing on his mind. He turned out the lights and Irene could hear him struggling to get out of his trousers. When he slipped beneath the covers he lay apart and Irene had to reach for him. She took his penis in both her hands and lightly massaged the foreskin. When he was unresponsive she had to wonder if there was some problem he hadn’t discussed with her. Something medical. Or psychological. And she realized how very little she knew about him.
Jack was up early the following morning. He quickly slipped from the bed, checked on her and thinking she was still asleep, he picked up his phone and crept silently into the bathroom. Irene was immediately on high alert. What kind of real estate call would necessitate hiding behind a bathroom door?
Irene jumped to a conclusion. He’s fuckin’ married, she thought. He’s in the bathroom calling his wife!
Irene was blinded with madness. What an idiot she had been and throwing back the covers, she stalked to the bathroom door with her ears pricked.
“I’m with the woman now,” Irene heard Jack explaining into the phone. “There was a case. I saw three men unload it from the plane.” He paused, listening. “Yes sir. I’ll email the photographs. I can’t be sure just yet but you’ll have the information as soon as I do.” Jack listened again. “Yes. Thank you, sir.” And Irene heard him place the phone down on the bathroom counter-top then the sound of the shower curtain being raked across.
Irene sat on the edge of the bed trying to bring meaning to what she had just overheard. When the shower sputtered she went in search of his jacket. He had tossed it around the back of a chair and Irene felt about the pocket. She found his camera in the left-hand side.
Keeping an ear to the sound of the shower. She scrolled back through his photographs.
There was a close-up of her, seating in the car, her right breast partially exposed in the gaping neckline of her sun dress. She resisted the urge to delete the photo and kept scrolling back. There were several shots of resort properties; the ones he had taken from the window of the car. And finally three shots taken at the airport: One of her coming down the boarding-steps alone, and two of Silvers with his men, the case swayed between them.
Irene turned off the camera and went to replace it, but there was something else tucked inside the pocket. It was a small leather folder. Curious, she flipped it open. Inside was his shield and beneath, his picture ID: Special Agent Jack Namath. US TREASURY DEPARTMENT.
When Jack came out of the bathroom he found Irene sitting in her bathrobe. She had been debating whether or not to confront him with her newly found discovery. But she realized she needed time to think, to work things out, and decided not to show her hand. “Is that for me?”
He was wearing a bath towel around his hips and Irene pointed to the bulge in front. He smiled shyly, looking more like the Jack she fallen for on Cayman. “It’s just a towel,” he quipped, “but I couldn’t think what else to get you.”
“Idiot.” And Irene ran her hand up his thigh and cupped his testicles under the terrycloth. The bulge began to lift. “You can’t go downstairs looking like that.”
“What’s a fellow to do?”
“Only one thing to do.” And Irene lay back across the bed. She pulled open the front of the robe and lifting her feet from the floor, she separated her knees. Better the devil you know, she thought to herself.
Jack stepped forward and took her with a long gentle rhythm, quickly bringing her along, her aching body shimmering as two orgasms overtook her, one after the other. She rolled her hips up to him and sensing Irene’s increasing need, he came up on her a bit, adjusting his position over her and the degree of his penetration. He drove in deeply, then pulled back, angling to where he knew the soft knot was nestled, just beneath the pubis. With a hand positioned at the edge of the bone, he pressed down, capturing her between the pressure point and the head of his penis. He skillfully coaxed her to the brink while buffeting her clitoris with coarse pubic hair.
The result was instantaneous. Irene’s back arched, her head went back and she fisted the bed sheet either side to stop from pounding on him. He brought her to the very edge, paused for what seemed a glorious eternity, one last deep thrust, then total release.
Irene was moaning, “No more. Please, no more.” She felt the spasm, the exchange of bodily fluids. Her body bucked, responded, racked with pleasure; the warmth coming up into her belly. And she let go and was drifting, drifting. Like floating on a tranquil salty sea.
After they had finished cumming for each other, she took him by the penis and led him back to the shower. He soaped up her breasts, did her back and they washed each other’s genitals.
They roughly toweled off on the balcony and dropped into loungers to let the warmth of the sun chase away the dampness. Moments later, Jack was ready again and standing, he presented his penis to Irene’s lips. She kissed him but playfully pushed him away from her mouth. “Later, big guy. I got plans for this morning.”
Irene met her assembled flight-crew for brunch by the pool. They were dressed casually in swimwear, short skirts, sun dresses and tennis shoes. The waitress was passing out plates of freshly diced, fruit salad with generous scoops of cottage cheese. The sandwich bar had just opened for anyone who wanted something more substantial and there was coffee and a frosty jug of Bloody Mary’s.
Brad English bounded across the terrace looking like a game show host.
Sissy glanced up and saw him coming. “Oh-oh. Something tells me we are about to be accosted.”
“Good morning, ladies.” Brad waved, his caps shining incredibly white in the morning sun.
“Told you,” Sissy mumbled and forked a slice of pineapple onto her tongue.
“Girls, this is Brad English,” Irene got to her feet. “He’s going to be our co-pilot for the next week.”
“How’s he going to look in a bikini?” Debbie said under her breath. Linda, sitting beside her, started to giggle and Alex turned to hush them.
“What’s up with Bev, then?” Erin piped in, her Irish brogue sounding coarse in the soft morning air.
“Nothing’s up.” Bev’s hottie voice rose from the back. “I’m going to be a passenger for a week and you better be nice to me or I’ll complain to the management.”
“Passenger?” Erin shot back. “You best be finding something to wear, dear. You got a bikini for every day of the month. But no damned clothes!”
“Girls. Please.” Irene cursed herself for sounding like an old school marm. “We’ll be flying a charter this week and Bran wants to share the details with you. Brad…”
Brad stepped forward and looked around the tables. It was a sight that stilled his heart. God, he thought. There must be a mile of bare leg showing here. He started to explain that the Bikini-Bus would fly to Miami the following day to pick up both the US and Colombian Beach Volleyball teams.
“Tomorrow night in Miami, there will be a press conference followed by a reception,” he expounded. “The drinks and food will be paid for by my client and all of you are invited to attend.” He was looking into the girls’ upturned faces and trying to decide where first to try his luck. God, they were so gorgeous; all of them. “And I’ll be there,” he added with a chuckle.
There was a frustrated groan from somewhere in back that had Alex throwing a scrutinizing look over her shoulder again. Brad, as thick as he was, thought he had evoked a moan of sexual frustration and his spine straightened.
“The following day, we fly back to Cracker-Jax. There will be twenty volleyball players and their coaching staff.” He had their attention now and was thrilled. “Also a delegation from the Olympics Committee.”
The platinum blond bitch. That’s the girl he decided to single out and he started to speak directly to Melissa. “Sports Illustrated, Volleyball Magazine, Island Life, This Week In Sports will all be sending journalists and photographers. And both CNN and NBC are onboard.”
He had picked the wrong girl in Melissa. She of all the girls was acutely tuned to a man’s bird-dogging. She eyed him with disdain but Brad was oblivious. He couldn’t get past how beautiful she was with hair like a silky mantle and her upturned nose. He felt he was tumbling head over heels into her icy green eyes.
“And a photographer from Playboy will be hanging around trying to talk you out of your clothes.” Which is precisely what I’ll be doing, he thought to himself. “Whether you do or not is up to you and your conscience, but I warn you, I have a subscription to the magazine.” His eyes traveled up the length Melissa’s legs to the hemline of the shorty sports skirt and he wondered how her nude skin would feel on his.
Brad swallowed a guilty knot that had formed in his throat and looked over at Irene, wondering if the older woman might be reading his thoughts. Melissa caught the moment of distraction.
When he turned his attention back to the girls, Bran was staggered. The sweat broke out across his forehead and ran into his eyes. Melissa had raised a foot, parking the heel of her tennis shoe on the edge of the seat, tucked up against a buttock. There was the bulge of extended thigh muscle and she rested her cigarette hand across the cocked knee.
Brad ran a finger under each eye lid and started to speak but the words squeaked like he had a mouthful of dust. Melissa swung her knee to the side and abruptly he was staring at the wedge of pink underpants that cupped Melissa’s bulging crotch. The heat suffused his cheeks. Looking up, Melissa exhaled, blowing him off with a thick blue plume of cigarette smoke. Brad English had never been in love in his entire life. But suddenly, all that had changed.
Toby tried not to stare. He prided himself as being a gentleman and held his reserve around the girls. But Irene wasn’t a girl.
Irene was a glorious mature woman and Toby, standing at the bottom of the boarding-steps, squinting up into the morning sun, found he had a wonderful view of her legs. He admired the elongated muscles of her thighs and the bunched calves. Irene fidgeted above him on the landing by the open door to the plane. She was wearing her midnight blue swimsuit that was cut high over each hip and spiky heels that appeared to stretch her legs into eternity. Toby watched her lean out over the railing to look to the lane-way, the movement tightening the backs of her thighs and lifting her heart shaped bottom. One of her heels lifted out of a shoe. Toby felt a quiver in his loins and he offered a silent apology to his departed wife.
Toby watched Irene pluck up the pendent that hung between her breasts and study the bottom where a digital display told her she should have been airborne ten minutes ago. Where were they?
The turbos were gently turning and in the co-pilot’s seat, Bev sat drumming her fingers and keeping an eye on the instruments. Passenger indeed! For once, she was dressed conservatively in charcoal gray slacks and a white blouse. She leaned across and looked toward the lane and then back to where Irene was still straining, her hands gripping the rail of the boarding-steps. They were prepped for takeoff but three of the flight-crew hadn’t shown. Debbie, Tracy– and Alex, of all people. Alex who was such a stickler when it came to punctuality, hadn’t shown up for work. Something was very wrong.
But fortunately, Scirocco and his buddies didn’t seem to notice the delay. He, Carlos Sandro, Brad English in his nifty new uniform and a couple of the others, were leaning over the bar in the rear of the aircraft and watching Jordan’s breasts jiggle as she oscillated her cocktail shaker. One of the men had produced a deck of cards earlier, and they had drawn to see which lucky man would do the honors. Under Scirocco’s judgmental eye, Jordan had come out from behind the bar and, pulling her thick mane of hair over a shoulder, she presented her back to the winner. The guy tugged, the strings parted, and he ran his fingers down her spine and touched her about the bottom. Jordan balled up the tiny triangles of fabric that had contained her breasts and turning, she squeezed herself seductively, her pink nipples peeping out from beneath her thumbs. Then she had retreated to the safety of the bar before they could think up more mischief. So now Jordan made martinis; shook her cocktail shaker and tried to ignore the men as they watched her tiny nipples doing perfect circular gyrations. Linda watched, her brows clouded. She was clearly upset.