Captivated (Stranded)

by Mia West

  “I win.”

  He turned to find her standing in the empty pool. “No fair. I was here first.”

  “Last one in, I said. Not last one here. Get naked, Ohio.”

  Naked. He looked at the sun, then shielded his eyes.

  She wore a playful grin, but it slipped at his hesitation.

  She would see them. All of them.

  She stepped out of the pool and came to stand in front of him. After a moment she said, “May I help?”

  “I don’t know.” Not about his clothes, or his stupid fear.

  “May I try?” she asked, and he hoped she meant both.

  He nodded.

  She knelt and plucked at his bootlaces, then pulled them off his feet. His socks followed. On her way back up, she lifted the hem of his t-shirt and drew it up as far as she could. He pulled it off and dropped it. She gave him a light dusting, circling him and humming under her breath. When she came back around she was smiling. “Nice jeans. I’d like to see you in them again.” She started flicking open the buttons of his fly. “But now I’d like to see you out of them.”

  He was stiff by now, half with lust, half with fear. She ignored his bulge, except to work his pants over it and down to where he could step out of them.

  “And these.”

  And his boxers.

  “Bend over.”

  When he did (would he do anything she told him to?) she slipped her fingers into his hair and ruffled it, sending more paper dust to the rooftop.

  “Did you bring a washcloth?”

  He straightened. “No.”

  “I’ll just have to use my hands then.”

  “Damn.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  When she stepped with him into the ankle-deep water, she lost her cool for the first time. “Holy shit, that’s cold!”

  He laughed. “Told you.”

  “It was warm last night.”

  “I let it sit in the sun all day yesterday.”

  “Darn. Okay, kneel with me, Ohio. Dunk your head.”

  He did, best he could in the shallow water. She worked the dust from his hair with a lot of splashing. He hoped some of it was reaching that shirt. When he came back up, he was happy to see it had.

  She glanced down at her breasts. “Right. One for you, one for me.” She scooped a double handful of water onto his right shoulder and wiped it down his arm. Then she splashed a double scoop right onto her chest. The water spread, and she helped it, until the shirt was plastered to her breasts. They stretched the thin fabric between them, luscious and, thanks to the frigid water, erect.

  If she meant to get him through this with distraction, he was ready to give her a fucking medal for it, and a few stripes to boot.

  “Better,” she said and scooped more water onto him. She kept her tit-for-tat promise, working her way around him, her hands warm under the chill of the water. They slid along his arms, down his back, up his thighs.

  What was she thinking? Was she having second thoughts?

  She didn’t seem to be because she was taking every opportunity press her tits against him. By the time she faced him again, his cock was full throttle. He pushed it aside and pulled her to him. Her mouth opened under his, and for several seconds he just tasted her—lips, tongue, teeth. When he pulled away, he took her hand.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

  “Because it’s my crazy, not yours.”

  “It’s mine now, Ohio.”

  “Evan,” he urged softly.

  She nodded. “Evan. Remember last night, when you said, ‘Whatever you want, Laine’?”

  “I meant it.”

  “Here’s what I want. I want to go over to the grass. I want to lay out the towel. I want you to show me every scar, every graft. And then I want you to go back downstairs and get a condom. Or three.”

  Jesus.

  Also, a small problem, but he’d tell her in a moment. In the meantime, he needed to know something. “You’re not fetishizing my scars, are you?”

  Her eyes widened. “What would make you think that?”

  “Something I read in the archive.”

  “Right.” She sat back on her heels. “No. They’re not fetish symbols to me. They’re proof of your resilience. And I want to kiss each and every one of them for helping you survive.”

  Sixty seconds later, he sat sprawled on the towel, Laine moving over and around him, good as her word, pressing kisses to his ruined skin. Only she didn’t call it ruined. She said fascinating (kiss), strong (kiss), unique (kiss). She didn’t flinch at any of them, not even the patches on his inner thigh and under his right arm, where they had harvested graft tissue. But when she came to his dick, she hesitated.

  So she hadn’t noticed last night. It was hard to see unless you were up close. In broad daylight.

  Like now.

  She looked up at him. “I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?”

  “No,” he said and tried to smooth the worry lines between her eyebrows.

  “Does it ever hurt?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes, when I’m really hard, or if I get hard fast.” He grinned at her. “Like around you. Troublemaker.”

  She smiled and then touched him. “What’d they do?”

  “They reconstructed the left side and part of my sac. One of these?” He lifted his balls. “Prosthetic.”

  She held them gently, then kissed both. Pulling away, she smoothed her fingers along his dick. It twitched at her.

  “They had to do a few surgeries. The first grafts they did didn’t stretch enough when I got hard. That hurt.”

  “Does it hurt right now?”

  “Not bad.” At her frown he tipped her chin up. “No more than normal, I promise.”

  “But what about sex? Or condoms.” She grimaced. “Do condoms hurt?”

  He chuckled. “No, and I wouldn’t care if they did. But I bet they’d actually help. Even out the friction, I mean.”

  “What do you mean, ‘you bet’? Have you not used one since your surgery?”

  “I haven’t needed to.”

  She bit her lip at that and looked back down at his cock, lifting it to study the underside. She ran a fingertip along one of the seams, and he sucked a breath. “Sensitive?”

  He exhaled. “Yeah. There and here.” He showed her the other main seam on the side. “And here, under the head, but that’s not just me. You probably know that.”

  Ducking her head, she kissed his length in three or four places (or twelve or twenty, he lost count), and then crawled up onto his lap. “You’re stunning, Evan. You stun me.”

  He looped his arms around her waist. “You’re pretty amazing yourself. I’m really glad you came over here, even if you had to end something to do it. I hope you keep going after what you want. You deserve it.”

  She gave him a sweet, lingering kiss. “Can I interest you in some big, scary, daylight sex?”

  He laughed, causing her to bounce on him. The resulting bounce in her breasts was downright inspiring. Unfortunately, “I don’t have any condoms.”

  “I do,” she said, almost shyly. “Look in my bag.”

  “Be right back.”

  He scandalized an old lady on the sidewalk below the balcony (or made her day, his Spanish was still pretty bad) but got down the stairs and back up in less than a minute.

  “What’s that?” Laine asked.

  He tossed the condoms on the grass near the towel and handed her the bottle. “You can help me, if you want.”

  She turned it over. “Lotion. Did you have this up here last night?”

  “Yeah. I have to use it after every bath. Otherwise the new skin dries out and itches like crazy.”

  She stood and squirted some into her palm, warming it between her hands. “Where first?”

  “Do my back?”

  As he smoothed the lotion over his neck and arm, his abdomen and cock, her hands massaged it into his shoulder blade, alo
ng his side, down his thigh. She spent enough time on his ass cheek that he turned to check on her.

  “All right back there?”

  She grinned at him. “Excellent.” She shook her head. “You have a great butt.” She spread a hand on each cheek and pushed them together, and then up and apart.

  He turned and drew her into him. “Now you’re making me self-conscious.”

  “Aw, it’s a nice ass. Makes me grabby.”

  He leaned down to kiss her pouty lips. “Speaking of grabby.” He pulled back just enough to slip his hands between them. Her breasts filled them with a mouth-watering weight. Kissing her more deeply, he plucked her nipples through the wet shirt.

  She gasped. “Grabby.”

  “Guilty.”

  “I hear troublemakers get punished around here.”

  He nipped her lower lip in his teeth. “Damn right they do.”

  “Which punishment is worse?” she said, breathless. “Being on top or bottom?”

  Oh, she was good. “Bottom, followed by top.”

  She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Trick question, trick answer.”

  He held her a few inches away from him to still the moment. “I just want to see your face.”

  “And I want to see yours.” She blinked. “I can’t play any more,” she whispered. “I want you too much.”

  He kissed her hard. She pressed against him, then pulled away with a grunt and peeled his shirt over her head. He helped her shimmy out of the damp boxers, and then he was lying down, pinned by her straddled knees. She scooted back to take his dick in her mouth and spit-slicked hand. If he’d thought he was hard before, he was a fucking rocket now. He was ready with the condom as soon as she lifted her head off him. Then she was cradling his cock in her hand and guiding him into her.

  Her tight heat pushed a stream of curses out of his mouth. She didn’t seem to hear them, just slid down his length eyes closed, lips open, fingernails branding his chest.

  He put his hands on her hips. “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes and focused on his face. On all of him. And the wonder never left her expression.

  “You with me?”

  “I’m with you.” She began to move.

  Slowly at first, her pussy rising along his length and then swallowing him whole again, with a lush undulation of her body. It felt great, but he had to ask. “Are you holding back?”

  “A little.”

  “Just a little?”

  “A lot,” she admitted. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I don’t think you will, but tell you what.” He gave her a playful spank. “Let’s find out if I have a limit.”

  “Really?” She pointed at him. “You have to tell me if it doesn’t feel right, okay?”

  He grabbed her finger and kissed it. “I promise.”

  Gradually, she rode him faster and faster until she was pistoning her hips in short back-and-forth movements. She didn’t rise off his dick, but pushed and dragged at him all the same. He gripped her ass, adding force to her movements and doing unspeakable things to the motion of her breasts. She stared at him, her breaths growing harsher. Soon they were just sharp, high-pitched sighs. She clutched at his shoulders, her hair swinging forward to tickle his neck.

  “Evan, I—ah—” Her fingernails dug deeper into his skin. “I’m about to come.”

  “Do it, Laine. Come on my dick.”

  “Oh fuck. Fuck.” She pistoned harder for several strokes and then ground into him. “Mm!” she said, her lips pressed tight, and her pussy clenched around him like a fist. After a moment, she moved a tiny bit, then froze with another cry, squeezing him with her thighs. She kept her eyes locked on his for the duration. It was one of the most magnificent things he’d ever witnessed, even when she held herself absolutely still.

  A long, suspended moment later, her legs relaxed, and her breath whooshed out of her. Holding her to him, he rolled them over, more or less gracefully, and came to rest braced above her, inside her.

  She touched his face. “How was that pain-wise?”

  “Fine,” he said and turned his face to kiss her palm. “Not done yet, though.”

  “I need a minute,” she said. “Can you wait?”

  “For you, always.”

  She seemed to hiccup.

  He bent to explore her neck, licking from the hollow of her throat up to a spot under her ear that made her grab at his ribs. He drew back to lift her hair to the light, marveling at it. “It has so many tones,” he told her. “I could never get it right.”

  “You could try again.”

  “You think I should?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Laine.” He wanted to say things to her, but they were big things, future things, and he wasn’t sure either of them was ready. So he kissed her instead, slow and sweet, and tried to put everything pulsing through him into that kiss. Somewhere in the middle of it, he started to move.

  Her low moan echoed his, her hands caressing his ass. He swung in and out of her in strokes as long as he could make them. He wanted to do everything for her, make her feel things she’d never felt before. Push her to do all the things she’d ever dreamed of doing, and then be there to celebrate with her when she blew them out of the water. He dug his knees into the towel and pushed with more force. The effect on her was immediate, and she lifted her knees toward her chest, opening herself even more to him. She keened at the change in pressure.

  “Look at me, Laine.”

  Her eyes snapped wide and (miracle, it was always a miracle) she smiled at him. “I see you,” she said, slipping her fingers into his hair and pulling it. “Fuck me, Evan.”

  His belly tightened. He drove into her.

  “Can you do it harder?”

  Whatever she wanted, wherever, whenever, however.

  Harder, her voice echoed in his brain as he pounded into her. Harder, Evan. No, it was her, her lips were moving. Fuck me, she was saying. He couldn’t hear her over his heaving breaths. But he could see her lower lip catch on her front teeth over and over on the F. On the V of his name. Fuck me. Fuck me, Evan.

  The orgasm hit him hard. He scrabbled at the towel with both feet, trying to get as deep inside her as he could. Her hands, hot and strong-fingered, gripped his ass, holding him against her. Her eyes…

  They never left his.

  He stared into them, vaguely aware of his dick’s final surges, and imagined, deep down and behind closed doors, that he was filling her with his cum. Giving her everything until he had nothing left, skin to skin, scars to scars.

  She cupped his scarred jaw in one hand. “I know,” she whispered. “I want it, too.”

  His breath broke out of him like a sob, an embarrassing sound. He buried his hot face in her neck, kissing the sweat from her skin, breathing her in. Her arms came around him and pulled him close, asking for his weight on top of her.

  He gave it, and they lay under the morning sun, several feet off the towel, she with him and he with her.

  In the light.

  Finally.

  Epilogue

  Evan positioned himself at reception on Monday morning, arms crossed over his chest, and practiced scowling. Clearing his throat, he rehearsed his line.

  “What the hell were you thinking?”

  He tried a few inflections, emphasizing hell, then thinking, imagining Magda’s contrition upon hearing each one.

  “She’s really pissed, Magda.”

  Actually, she was really naked. Or had been when Evan had left the attic to come downstairs. Naked and dreamy and sated, her hair tangled and her throat shining with perspiration. She had grabbed his collar and pulled him down for a kiss that had almost made him late. The ghost of her lips lingered on his left ear.

  “Let’s call in horny,” she had whispered.

  No problem there, not with the condition or the thought of spending all day exploring each other. That’s what they had done on Sunday, and it had proven an excellent plan. But the
last thing Evan needed was for Magda to arrive and come in search of them.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” He threw some extra growl into it. “What the hell, Magda? What the—”

  She appeared on the sidewalk outside, her purse over one shoulder, keys in hand. Her eyes were already trying to see into the lobby. But she didn’t look eager, exactly. A little crease marred the space between her silver eyebrows.

  The deadbolt clunked home and she pulled the door open. Her motions stuttered when she saw him, but she got through the door and closed it behind her.

  He glared at her.

  Tapped a forefinger on his bicep.

  Clenched his jaw.

  What the hell were you thinking?

  She approached him, taking in his stance, his apparent mood. Then she stood before him, her lips compressed. She didn’t look the smug matchmaker this morning.

  “I’m so sorry, Evan.”

  Her voice came out softer than normal, as if she worried she might wake some angry beast if she spoke too loudly.

  He frowned at her for a moment longer…but he couldn’t do it.

  Letting his arms falls, he dropped the scowl and stepped forward to hug her. Surprise kept her immobile for a second or two before she hugged him back.

  “Gracias, Magda.”

  She gasped and pulled away, studying his face. “¿Sí?”

  He smiled. “Sí.”

  She started to open her mouth again but stopped when he pointed at her.

  “You’re still in trouble,” he said.

  She looked at his pointing finger with trepidation. “Is she angry?”

  Probably still naked, he thought. “No, but an apology wouldn’t go amiss.”

  “Of course,” Magda said. “Where is she? In the archive? I’ll—oh! There she is.”

  He followed her gaze to Laine, walking toward them through the main gallery, looking as beautiful as ever, with maybe the slightest flush across her cheeks. He loved that flush.

  Magda launched herself at Laine with sorrys and perdónames, and it was a full minute before Laine could wedge a word into the flurry of apologies. By that time, she had sent a questioning glance to Evan, to which he’d shaken his head. Nope, couldn’t do it.