Page 58 of Shipwrecked

“That wasn’t about not wanting to look or touch. I hadn’t asked him beforehand if I could touch him there, and I wasn’t about to wake him from a dead sleep just to ask if I could clean him up,” Cillian says. “I’d have restarted the argument.”

“Probably not,” I say. “Jules is super affectionate when he’s sleepy. That’s when I get the most cuddles.”

“You get affection regardless.”

“Because I ask for it.”

Cillian meets my eyes.

“It doesn’t always have to be verbal, you know. Here’s my throat.” I lift my chin. “Touch it.” I take Cillian by the hand and guide him towards my naked lower half. “Here’s my dirty self, please clean and change me.”

Still, Cillian hesitates. Irish boys! “Were you raised Catholic? You think sex with men is shameful?”

“No. I mean, my parents are Catholic, but I’ve never believed.” His jaw is a hard line. “I’m going to clean you.”

“I’ve said you can several times now, in many ways.”

The tension doesn’t fully leave Cillian as he uses precious wet wipes that were stashed in the med kit to clean me. He takes a clean section of my shorts and uses it to wipe caked mud from my heels before guiding my legs into clean underwear, and then he wipes all the dirt from my ass before pulling them up.

The pinch in his brow is gone when he takes me by the arms, pulls me upright and sits me on the log. He pulls twigs and leaves from my hair, long fingers untangling the mess at the back of my head.

“I have some detangler spray in my bag, if you can do a proper job back there? I’d do it myself, but I’ve been judged to be on the verge of passing out, and thus unable for many various activities.”

Cillian snorts. He sits behind me, giving me a scalp massage as he, curl by curl, untangles my hair. There’s a pleased feeling to him now. Not quite like the pleasure he got out of winning our grapple, but something quieter. More delicate.

He was so confident as we worked together to get Jules off—the most delicious experience of my life to date—and so uncertain afterwards. After-sex jitters? A past casual partner used to have severe drops after he orgasmed, to the point where I’m not sure sex was even worth it for him. He was so anxious during the drop.

It could have been a crash last night, but Cillian didn’t come just now. It could also be many other things. There’s a lot of responsibility on Cillian. Perhaps he feels as shaky about the phone breaking as Jules does, but it looks different on him.

“Was I too forward?” I ask, as Cillian works through a troublesome tangle. “I turned you down last night because you didn’t seem sure, but I didn’t get that sense at all today. Was I wrong?”

“You asked for my hand last night,” Cillian says. “Which you didn’t get just now.”

“I most certainly did have your hand!”

Cillian huffs. “Your shorts did.” He’s making progress on the tangle, but I interrupt his work by scooting back till I’m flush against his chest and resting my head on his shoulder. The last of the tension has left his body. That quiet, delicate pleasure has softened his jaw, softened him.

And I figure it out.

He’s a softie.

He doesn’t just want to dominate his partner; he wants to take care of them after sex too. And, apparently, he doesn’t know how to go about asking for the latter. I can do my part in that regard.

“I’d like the rest of the back massage,” I say. “And can I have some water, too?”

Cillian huffs again, but he’s soft as butter as he extracts himself from me to fetch the water. He’s still relaxed when he returns to finish the back massage. I also ask for a calf massage, and I’m figuring out the wording for a prostate massage delivered with a nice, large cock when Willow wanders into camp.

“Can we borrow your knife?” Willow asks Cillian.

I have my leg in his lap, and his hands are on my calf.

“We’re cutting strips of vine,” Willow explains. She looks at our arrangement without commenting on it.

“I’ll help you,” Cillian says. He glances at me. “If you don’t mind keeping the fire going?”

Sitting around camp alone sounds boring, but I don’t think asking Willow to do it instead while I help Cillian build her shelter makes much sense. I suppose I can think about how I’ll apologise to Jules while I’m alone…

“Are you pouting?” Cillian asks.