Captivated (Stranded) by Mia West

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