Hunter and the Dancer
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Consensual, Romantic, Fiction, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Slow,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - When a low-level assignment goes off the rails, Hunter Lightfoot struggles to protect an opinionated, headstrong, fifteen-year-old girl while unraveling a conspiracy that leads all the way to the White House.
“You’ve GOT to be kidding!”
Mike Lister sighed to himself and studied Hunter sitting across the desk from him. Hunter’s dark, intense eyes were flashing indignation, rightly so. But it was an unusual, one-off event. “It’s only temporary,” Mike informed him. “Jeff’s being recalled. His father’s been seriously injured. Wouldn’t you want the same consideration if your father was hurt?”
Hunter grunted and frowned. “There has to be someone else. How about that kid, James Pander? He’s a useless waste of space.”
“He doesn’t have the expertise, doesn’t speak the language, and isn’t familiar with the area,” Mike immediately countered. “Come on, Hunter. It’s only for ten days or so. Help me out here.”
Hunter shifted in his seat. His penetrating eyes studied Mike as if trying to read his mind. “He’d make a good babysitter. That’s all you need. How hard can it be to keep an eye on her?”
“Hunter,” Mike sighed in exasperation. “Don’t make me order you. I’m asking as a favor. Besides, you’re due for a break. This will be a good, much needed ten-day rest. Think of it as a vacation.”
Hunter stood suddenly and looked down at Mike. “Alright. You owe me, Mike.”
Mike Lister smiled to himself. As contrary as Hunter Lightfoot was, he could be trusted, and right now that’s what Mike needed. He picked up a briefing folder and held it out. “Here are the details. You’ve been booked on the American Airlines’ five-forty flight.” Checking his watch, Mike added, “You’d better get moving.”
After Hunter grabbed the folder and left, Mike leaned back and swiveled his chair to stare out the window. From his office, the view of Washington was nothing to look at: cars gridlocked and edging angrily in search of faster lanes; the street lined with plain, characterless concrete office blocks just like the one he was in; gloomy light from a dark, overcast sky threatening more rain. Mike stared out not really seeing. He wondered if he was doing the right thing. Should he have put his foot down? Hunter Lightfoot was one of the best agents the Bureau of Diplomatic Security had and he was needed elsewhere. He was unconventional and unpredictable; difficult to anticipate. They were traits that made him very, very effective despite his relative youth - twenty-nine years old. Why had Lightfoot been specifically requested? The orders from on high had been unequivocal.
A phone trilled, breaking Mike’s train of thought. He swiveled back to the desk and answered.
“Is it done?” a deep, raspy voice asked.
“Yes, Sir. But why Lightfoot?” Mike asked, yet again.
“You don’t need to know, Mr. Lister.”
The phone went dead. A feeling of foreboding passed through Mike before he shook it off, his attention turning to the pile of work on his desk awaiting his decisions.