Page 69 of Shipwrecked

Cillian rolls onto his back and scrubs a hand over his face. “If I know I’ll get away with it, I’ll be ten times worse than I already am.”

“Like you’ll…use me…to get off?”

There’s a long silence. Mathieu sits up and peers at my face, his eyes glowing bright in the dark. He smiles his most charming smile. The one with two dimples. “Was that a request, Jules? It sounded like one.”

It hadn’t, in my wildest dreams, occurred to me to voice something so depraved. Or ask for it. Before Darren, I would pick out men who were self-centred, where there was a greater chance that a hook-up for them was about them getting off, and not about me. It sometimes worked out, more often it didn’t. Wanting to be used, but then not enjoying the man using me…it created a seemingly unbridgeable rift between fantasy and actuality.

Maybe that’s why I react so strongly to Cillian. I respect him. Him using me is perfect. And though Mathieu is sweet and warm, he’s also very sure in the way he touches me. There’s no worrying or second-guessing. No, I have to guide this interaction.

Mathieu’s smile sharpens. He lifts a leg over me, so he’s on top, knees sunk into the bedding either side of my hips.

Cillian tenses, but Mathieu has a hand in his face before a warning comes out.

“Give me your hand,” Mathieu says.

My hand trembles as I raise it. Mathieu takes in the shake, releasing Cillian to close his grip around my wrist, applying a little pressure. Without breaking eye contact, he kisses my open palm, then guides my hand downwards, spreading my fingers wide against his stomach. Lower. Lower. Lower.

“Mathieu.” Cillian’s voice is all warning.

“I know without you telling me, Cillian.” The downward descent stops just shy.

My breaths are coming low, affected. I ache to squirm, but hold myself totally still, waiting.

“Ha-ha.” Mathieu’s laugh is rough. Not exactly amused, too sharp for that. “I’m going to take a walk.”

“Please,” I groan. “Don’t do this to me again.” I reach for him as he pulls away. He’s too quick, and out of the lean-to. His smile is glorious and pent-up at the same time.

“Mathieu.” I sit up. “Please.”

Mathieu hesitates, eyes all black. I can picture him crawling back in and making use of far more than my hand. Cillian rustles. Mathieu glances at him, and the hesitation passes.

“Later.” He winks and vanishes.

Frustrated need shakes through my limbs.

I turn to Cillian, scowling. “I can hook up with whoever I like.”

Cillian looks unapologetic. “Get some sleep.”

“I’m hard now!”

“It’ll go away.”

“You’re hard.”

Cillian sighs. “Because I’m a degenerate. Go to sleep.”

I glare at him. Cillian gazes back and doesn’t crack.

I crawl to the tallest part of the lean-to and kneel. I face Cillian, hands bunched on my knees. His eyes are far more than unaffected now. My lips part.

“Don’t,” Cillian warns.

I glare.

“I made a promise, so don’t make me break it while your throat’s too sore to follow through.”

“It isn’t sore.”