Captivated (Stranded) (6 page)

Naked.

Make that naked and
wet
.

He stood in some kind of low pool beneath a tall, flared tank. The tank looked like a funnel, and she realized that was exactly what it was: a rainwater collection tank. Evan was bathing in the pool at its base.

She stood silently for several minutes, watching him. The moon gave off just enough light to highlight the contours of his body, which was…

She gulped air.

Gorgeous.
That damn uniform really had some explaining to do for hiding this body from her. Muscular thighs, flat belly, flexing arms, broad shoulders, and every bit of him now streaked with rivulets of rainwater. Laine’s mouth twinged with thirst. She lifted a hand to her throat, and the movement caught his eye.

He froze, the cloth in his hand dripping its water back into the pool. He couldn’t bolt, she didn’t think, if the only access was behind her. At any rate, he didn’t move. She waited for him to tell her to go away. But he didn’t do that either. So she stepped toward him.

He straightened when he realized she was approaching, and squeezed the rest of the water out of the cloth. It hit the surface of the pool with a
sloosh
that gave voice to the slippery-sliding sensation in Laine’s belly. He watched her, his gaze so intense she let hers drop to the small pile of clothing several feet from the pool. A t-shirt and shorts, she thought. So he did own other clothes. Beside them lay his towel and a bottle of something.

When she reached the pool, she raised her eyes to his. They struck her with an expression she couldn’t read. Fear? Anger? Want?

That last one, she hoped.

His hand flexed on the cloth, and she realized he hadn’t moved to cover his cock. It rested against his sac, dark against darker hair. Her nails bit into her palms.

Slowly, she held out her hand toward his washcloth. “May I?”

He looked down at it as though he wasn’t sure how it had come to be in his hand. He gave it to her. Leaning down, she dipped it into the water again, trying not to gawk at his crotch, as tempting as it was. When she straightened, she held his gaze and stepped into the pool.

A harsh breath gusted out of him, as if the splash of her foot had proven to him she wasn’t a figment. She slowed her movements, willing him not to retreat. Inching closer, she placed one hand on his arm and raised the cloth to his chest. When she touched him with it, he flinched but otherwise stood still.

Up close, his pupils seemed to have consumed his irises. They bore into her. They begged her.

And so she washed him. Drawing circles with the cloth, she focused on the unscarred side of his body first, hoping to either relax or arouse him enough that he wouldn’t protest when she reached his other side. He let her stroke the cloth over his skin, though he watched intently. Again and again, she dipped the cloth and pressed it to him, marveling at the firm give of the muscle beneath his skin. He was pale, causing the hair on his chest to stand out, as well as the thicker hair that began at his navel and descended to his cock. Her fingers itched to touch it—all of it—and his cock stood at half attention now. But it still seemed wary, so she moved around to wash his back.

He couldn’t watch her here and carried the uncertainty of that in the stiffness of his spine. She laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a light squeeze, before drawing her soothing circles on his back. He responded with something too low to hear.

She stopped stroking. “What?”

He turned his head so she could see his profile. “I said, harder. Please.”

Something kicked in her belly, and she had a sudden image of him in the hospital, subject to sponge baths and probably tissue cleansing before that. Had the nurses been gentle, or had they had to be rough?

Without thinking, she gave his shoulder blade a soft bite. His breath hitched, and when she began scrubbing his back, he groaned and leaned into her, inviting her to dig in. She did, using her free hand for leverage against the solid bulk of him.

She could see the scars on his left side now, but when she pulled up slightly, he pressed them back into her cloth. So she treated them to the same punishing scrub as the rest of his back. Working her way down, she dipped into the concavity at the base of his spine. She had to move her other hand down to keep her balance, and placed it on his abdomen so she could press him back into the cloth. As casually as she could, she slid her fingertips through the hair below his navel before settling her hand. He covered it with his own, and a shock zipped up her arm at the calluses on his palm. She scrubbed and scrubbed, pressing on his belly, and he gripped her hand. Would he move it lower? Or was he holding it in place? Lost in the implications of both actions, she knelt in the pool without realizing. The next thing she knew, she was nose to cheek with his ass.

His right side was even paler than the rest of him, practically glowing in the moonlight. The left side appeared darker, the skin tones uneven. The moon set everything in shades of lavender and charcoal, and she wondered what colors those might be in daylight. Her heart wanted to caress those scars with a light touch. A deeper, more primal instinct, and one he had already responded to well, was to nip him with her teeth.

She did, not hard, but distinctly enough that his hand came back and pressed her head against him.

After a few seconds, she sat back and resumed washing him, loving how his musculature flexed as he worked to maintain his balance. His cleft was dark, intriguing, and the urge to smooth her fingertip (her nose, her tongue) down into it was strong. But she wasn’t sure how he’d react, so she contented herself with a thorough washing, pushing up from his thigh on each side with enough force to part his cheeks a few times. At some point her free hand moved down to the front of his thigh. He trembled under it.

She lavished attention on the backs of his legs, enjoying how her motions plastered his dark body hair, which eventually sprang back to its natural whorls. His calves felt tight, and here she temporarily set down her cloth to press her thumbs into his muscle, right leg, then left. He lifted each in turn to help her, putting the fingertips of one hand on her shoulder for balance. She worked down to his ankles, then his feet, and then she couldn’t wait any longer. She fished the cloth from the pool and moved to kneel in front of him.

If his cock had been unsure before, it was all systems go now. It jutted at her, thick in the shadow of his body. Placing a hand on his buttock, she scrubbed the fronts of his legs, shins to knees to thighs, eye to eye with his cock, until she could reasonably claim that its turn had come. She looked up to find Evan staring at her, a deep crease between his brows, his jaw ticking.

“Soap?” she asked.

He swallowed. “I dropped it,” he said, his voice soft and raw.

She swept the surface of the pool until she found it, a smooth bar with a bergamot scent. She used it to build a rich lather on her bare hands.

She touched him.

Chapter 7

Evan grabbed her head with both hands. It was either that or fall over. He jerked his hands back to his sides as soon as he thought he could stay upright on his own. As much as he hoped she might (someday, please, maybe now, or later, whatever) put her mouth on him, he didn’t want her to think he would force her.

But God, her fingers. It was like they were everywhere at the same time. Slicking his dick from root to tip. Sliding around his balls. Slipping into his pubes and pulling tight. Until now he had been able to pretend (almost, sort of) that this was just a really great bath, a little frisky but mostly Laine saying thanks for letting her stay in his place (in his bed). But not now. This went beyond thanks. He’d never demand it, that was for sure. And she knew what she was doing. He guessed if you studied sexy shit all day, you picked up some pointers.

But it wasn’t just that she knew her way around. He was pretty sure she was enjoying herself, and in ways she might not even realize, like how her mouth was hanging open a little and she was rubbing her breast on his leg. Even in the moonlight he could see her nipples pushing against her shirt. No bra, of course not, she’d come from bed (his bed) and hadn’t even put her skirt on. He couldn’t see them very well, and now they were soaked from kneeling in the pool, but her panties looked exactly right, pretty and practical like her. He was going to peel those panties off, and he was going to take his sweet fucking time about it, but not right now. Not until she had finished working whatever magic she had in mind.

He stepped his legs apart in case her magic needed more room.

She looked up at him. She winked.

His knees almost buckled.

With both hands, she surrounded him in a whole-dick grip, then slid her soapy hands toward her. Again she did it, and again. Then she kept one at his base and used her other thumb to circle the sensitive spot under his head. His balls tightened in response. He breathed out slow and deep, willing them to drop, to stay where she could get to them. She didn’t wait for them and went looking, one of her hands gently kneading his sac, coaxing them down again. Then she gave them a little tug and circled the top of his sac with thumb and forefinger to keep them there. Satisfied she had them where she wanted them, she turned back to his dick, gripping and releasing on each upward pull, letting him bounce heavily back into her hand each time. He watched, fascinated and—if he was honest—pretty proud of his dick. It hurt, but he would stand it. He hadn’t been this hard in years, not with fantasies, not with magazines or books or videos, not even with Stacy—

Fuck.

Stacy.

The thought of her, of what she had done, hit like a dull blow to his gut, and he staggered a step. God damn it. Why now of all times? Why here, on a roof in Spain, for Christ’s sake, with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, worshiping his mangled dick as if it were good as new?

He pulled his hands away from his face and looked down to find Laine watching him. Her hands had stilled.

“Should I stop?”

He tried to clear his throat. “Please don’t.”

“Please don’t what?”

She wanted a clear directive. “Please don’t stop,” he said.

She looked at him for a moment longer, then tilted her head to one side. “May I do more?”

“
Fuck
yes.”

She smiled and, holding his gaze, filled a cupped hand with water and splashed it on him. For several seconds, she focused on rinsing him off. Her hands made the same rounds—dick, sac, pubes—and when she seemed satisfied all the soap was gone, she grabbed his hands and put them on her head. “Hold on tight, Ohio,” she said with a grin, and then she was on him.

God help him, he might have pulled out some of her hair.

Because she wasn’t gentle. One hand circled his dick and gripped hard as she drove the rest of him into her mouth. He felt her tongue press up along the new seam underneath as she dragged his dick back out and (yes, thank you, God) caught the rim of his head just enough with her teeth. Her mouth came off him with a pop that they probably heard down at the church (he really needed to go sometime) and then she sucked him back in again. He got the feeling she had no idea what his dick looked like, or she wouldn’t be going to town on him like this. She might not touch it at all. He sure as hell wasn’t going to stop her to give her a tour. He’d do it later. Maybe. Or maybe they could just stay in the dark? Fuck, why did he have to think so goddamn much?

Thinking became a nonproblem when she pulled back and slipped her middle finger into her mouth. It glistened when it came out. Staring at it, he tried every mind trick he’d ever heard about to lead that finger where he wanted it. Afterward, when his brain was actually working, he would realize he could have just asked. But in the moment, seeing her dripping finger sent his brain waves into berserk static. Hers must have synced up, though, because that warm, wet finger came up behind him and slid down the crack of his ass until it rested on his hole.

Praise Jesus, he was a fucking Jedi.

Laine looked up at him. She and her finger were waiting.

“Yes,” he said, knowing he sounded half-strangled and not giving three fucks.

Holding his eyes, she tongued his dick. Circled the head slowly. Dipped into his slit.

He gripped her hair.

With her front hand, she trapped his balls again, pulling down just enough to give his belly a warm tug, the slightest warning. Pursing her lips, she smoothed them over his head before pressing her tongue to the underside. When she took him into her mouth this time, she did so slowly, no teeth, all tongue and lips and soft palate. She sucked. She tugged. She nibbled. And then that wet finger began to move.

It made tiny circles against his pucker—pressing, easing up, pressing, easing up—until he thought he’d lose his mind. She must have sensed it (maybe she was a Jedi too) because on her next long suck of his dick, she pushed her finger past his sphincter and kept pushing until her palm smacked his taint.

He grunted.

That was all he got out before she was moving again. Everything about her was in motion now—her mouth pulling on his dick, hand tugging his sac, finger sliding in and out of his ass, not to mention her nipples straining against her flimsy shirt, and her hips, which pumped up and down in the pool as if she couldn’t stop them. Widening his stance even more, he looked up at the sky, but the city light drowned the stars so he looked back down at the miracle between his legs. Forcing himself to let up on her hair, he cupped her head instead. He couldn’t help pumping into her mouth a little bit, and she greeted him with a loud groan that reverberated down his dick. The hand at his ass seated itself, and she began to use short, tight strokes there. The pressure inside pulled a wordless half-shout from his throat.

She was a fucking
genius
, his Iowa, and God bless libraries, every one, and also schools that sent gorgeous, giving women overseas to read dirty books.

“Keep doing that,” he pleaded.

She doubled down, if that was even possible, pulling and pushing, sucking and moaning and swirling and twisting until—