Page 7 of Shipwrecked

“Excuse me.” I try again. “But you will end up on the ground.”

With a groan, Jules tips his head back. UV handprints frame his cheeks.

Mathieu trails messy kisses down the column of Jules’s neck, and then he slips his hand down the back of Jules’s trousers. Mathieu has to wiggle his hand between our bodies to get it there, and it involves a lot of cock contact.

“Oh,” Jules moans, pupils blown as his lids flutter between half-mast and shut. His head rests on my chest, and my gaze catches on his parted lips, slick and swollen and red. My cock twitches. “Cillian? What are you doing?”

Good question.

“I wanted to apologise for—”

“Ah.” Jules reaches up and cups the back of my neck, fingers curling through the hair at my nape. Shivers race across my skin. Blood rushes south.

“Sorry? You, oh God.”

Mathieu’s not just copping a feel.

“—calling you bossy,” I somehow manage.

Mathieu grasps Jules firmly by the hips and spins him around. Jules’s hands flatten on my chest, and I catch his waist, steadying him. Jules makes no effort to support himself.

Mathieu takes a condom out of his pocket.

“We’re going to get thrown out of the resort if you don’t stop,” I hiss. “We’re in a public hallway.” My cock is now completely hard. I have no idea what’s wrong with it.

Mathieu startles, regarding me as if I’ve appeared from thin air. I think he genuinely didn’t notice me until now. His gaze darts down to Jules, who has his back to Mathieu and is being held up by me. Mathieu folds his hand around the back of Jules’s neck. Jules twists and locks eyes with Mathieu. He goes still, as if waiting for an instruction.

My stomach tightens at the obedient reaction.

Mathieu studies me, perhaps catching on to the way my body is keyed up and interested.

“Spit-roast?” Mathieu suggests.

My gaze slips to Jules’s mouth. It’s still invitingly red. Jules meets my gaze, drunken lust swimming in his eyes. Clearly, he’s up for Mathieu fucking him against a wall. And maybe he’d part those lips for me. I can picture him swallowing me down already.

“No,” I say. “Public hallway, remember?” And because I can’t help myself, and have learned nothing from friends and girlfriends getting pissed off at me in the past, I continue, “Mathieu, he’s drunk.”

I brace for anger at trying to ruin Mathieu’s hook-up. Instead, Mathieu turns that grip on Jules’s neck into a rub. “Are you too drunk for sex?” Mathieu asks.

“Definitely not.”

Mathieu grasps Jules by the chin and peers into his eyes. Jules holds still. “Hmm. Hmmmmmm. I think Cillian is right.”

“But you’re drunk too,” Jules objects as Mathieu releases him, slipping his condom back into his pocket. “It cancels out.”

Mathieu pauses. “Does it?”

“Yes!” Jules says.

“No,” I say.

Jules does his argument poor service by pulling out of my arms and stumbling into the wall. Mathieu and I dart in to catch him, managing it just as Darren comes around the corner.

He scans the scene, mouth tightening when he spots Jules. When he focuses on Mathieu, it relaxes. “We’ve got the drinks we won at the table. Everyone’s waiting for you guys to do the shots… But Jules, hold off. You look like sh—” He catches himself. “You look a little green.”

Jules curls towards the wall with a groan, this one sounding far less aroused than any of the noises he made earlier. “I’m going to lie down,” he mutters.

“Smart choice. Cillian, can you bring him to the room? Mathieu, we can let the others know he’s calling it a night.” Darren puts his arm around Mathieu, steering him away. Mathieu resists the arm pulling him away. He glances from Jules to me.