Page 49 of Shipwrecked

“Because Mathieu was doing the work, and you’ll sleep better now,” Cillian says.

“And,” Mathieu adds, with a cheeky sideways glance at Cillian, “he got super turned-on watching.”

Chapter Eighteen

Cillian

Jules falls asleep mid-complaint, face tucked into Mathieu’s neck.

I knew it. He’s been trudging around with hardly a spark left all evening. I lean over him, making sure he’s asleep, then rearrange the blankets over him and Mathieu. Mathieu watches as I reach in and ease Jules’s dirty boxers off. I fold them but hesitate before reaching back in again.

Mathieu raises an eyebrow and holds out his hand for the boxers. I hand them over, and Mathieu wipes Jules with a clean bit of fabric, kissing Jules’s hair as he does.

“I’ll be a few minutes,” I murmur, taking them back from Mathieu.

“Enjoy yourself.”

Seán, Yasop and Willow are talking amongst themselves at the far side of the fire. Seán glances at me as I stand. I have Jules’s underwear bundled in my far hand and angle my body away from him. I gesture towards our “toilets”, escaping before he gets an eyeful of what he undoubtedly doesn’t want to see. I walk that way a few feet, then divert and head towards the ocean, glancing behind me once I reach it. The orange glow of the campfire bounces off the leaves and branches above it, but trees hide the entrance.

The cool breeze off the ocean washes over me. Calm thoughts evade me, so I slip a hand into my shorts instead. I’ve wanted to do this since first thing this morning when Jules was getting in my face. And then when he followed me out to the yacht. And, if I’m honest, several other times throughout the last week.

Jules locked on to me the second my hand covered his mouth. He watched me with total concentration, waiting for my cues. I tip back my head, guiding my cock out. I work myself, replaying the moment. Jules struggling to keep his eyes open as Mathieu stroked him. His squirming turning into shudders when Mathieu pressed his weight down. His pupils blown wide, his breaths humid against the back of my hand.

My hand speeds up.

I wish I’d sunk my cock into him on the yacht. Why didn’t I?

“Fuck, fuck,” I chant. I’m fucking him. I’m fucking that ass and that mouth. Right now. I’ll swim out, grab an energy drink, feed it down his throat, and fuck him.

My orgasm hits hard. My balls lift, and I spill out over my fist, pumping through my climax, wringing out every millisecond of pleasure. Sensation teeters into sensitivity, and I stop, panting.

I stare at the stars as I catch my breath.

Okay.

I am not going to swim out, grab an energy drink, feed it down his throat and fuck him.

“I am going to behave like a normal human being,” I mutter, walking into the water until it reaches my knees. “I’m going to clean his boxers, grab a fresh pair from his bag and get them on him, and then go to sleep.” And pray he doesn’t wake up tomorrow pissed off at me for all the manhandling. Morning-after break-ups are common. Girlfriends who like the intensity in the moment are pissed off about it after a night of sleep to mull it over. Or they like it once, then realise that I always get like that during sex—not just the first time—and get pissed off.

Disrespectful was the word Kara had hurled at me when she broke up with me.

Not that I should be worrying about Jules breaking up with me. We’d have to be dating first. I suppose he could kick me out of the lean-to. I’m sure that if he wants me out in the morning, he’ll have me out in seconds.

When I get back to the camp, everyone’s sleeping. I top up the fire and rejoin Mathieu and Jules. Jules hasn’t budged. I work under the blanket to get the clean boxers on him.

I lie down. My mind keeps whirling, and Mathieu’s constant shifting isn’t helping me settle. Jules mumbles something and rolls over to me, throws an arm and a leg over my body, and tucks his face into my neck instead. His breaths are steady, and he smells nice. My chest aches. It reminds me of the way I feel when Seán’s parents remember my birthday or turn up with takeaway for dinner, having remembered that I like my burgers with extra tomato and no lettuce.

“Is Jules going to kick me out?”

“Kick you out?” Mathieu whispers.

“Of here.”

“For what?”

Awkwardness folds around me. Sex isn’t something I’ve ever discussed with another man. When I’m dating someone, I bring up the subject before things move to the bedroom. I’d hate to scare someone by—and that’s why I’m nervous. Because I didn’t say a flipping word to Jules before pinning him to a wall, fisting my hand in his hair and covering his mouth. “We didn’t talk about it first.”

Mathieu huffs, like he’s amused.