Page 80 of Shipwrecked

I’ll talk to Seán’s mom and brush up on my techniques.

Jules’s hands on my back were unexpected. It’s been a while since I’ve had a partner touch me so tenderly. Usually, after things move to the bedroom, soft, intimate touches are no longer forthcoming. I don’t think I’ve ever even kissed someone gently before. I’m not sure where that came from.

“Sounds nice,” I agree. My semi is pressing against the back of Mathieu’s thighs. He shifts, and it slips between his legs. He goes still.

“Sorry.” I move away, but he grabs my side.

“It’s good, it’s good. You can warm up between my legs.” Mathieu tightens his thighs, trapping me. “You’re big.”

“Proportional,” Jules says.

They’re curled up face to face. Jules’s fingers skim down my sides, over the notch of my hip. His hand flattens over the swell of my ass.

“He’s curved. To the left.”

“Oh?” Mathieu sounds delighted, as if the conversation couldn’t have gone in a better direction. A squirmy feeling spreads throughout my body. I’ve seen girls glimpse me in the bar and bend their heads together, obviously talking about me. In that setting, they would have been talking about looks in some capacity. How I am in bed has likely been discussed by ex-girlfriends. Or ranted about.

But I haven’t ever had two guys—one I jerked off, one I jerked off on—discuss my cock right in front of me. I doubt many people have.

“Is that why you took so long? You were mapping out the thing between my thighs?” Mathieu asks. “Which is getting bigger as we speak.”

I clear my throat. “You’re squirming.”

“No, but I can.”

Mathieu does exactly that. I grip his sides, fingers curling into his skin. The pressure is criminally good. His balls cushion the top of my shaft, and Mathieu reaches down, cupping my head in his palm, fingertips teasing the underside. Heat spreads in my lower abdomen.

Jules rolls off the bed. Mathieu stops rubbing me, going tense. Jules is only a shadow. Over the pounding rain, I hear him digging through the bags.

“Jules?” Mathieu asks with a note of caution.

“Just a moment.”

He doesn’t sound upset. But is he? I’m sure that Jules is accustomed to masking his feelings, and I don’t want to fuck things up. Especially since we’re just after making up… I relax my grip on Mathieu, and he lifts his leg so I can slide out.

“Here it is!” Jules says. A bottle cap snicks open, and the blanket rustles as Jules rejoins us. I hear the wet sound of slick skin on slick skin. “Shoot,” Jules curses. “I poured out too much. Here.”

Mathieu flinches.

“I’m sorry. Ah, wait, I shouldn’t—”

“You should.” Mathieu recovers. “It’s just that your hands are cold.”

All I see is a lump in the blanket where Mathieu’s knee is lifted. I can hear something going on. My cock is straining forward to find out what.

Mathieu’s head shifts back, a strangled groan falling from his lips. A moment later, I hear a mouth on skin. I can make out Jules at Mathieu’s neck, trailing kisses.

“Rub some on my balls too,” Mathieu groans. “And my cock. Ah, parfait.”

The rain and the blanket aren’t enough to dampen the sound of the hand job taking place. I reach for myself, running a loose fist over my length. Shivers break out across my skin.

“I lubed up his thighs for you,” Jules murmurs between kisses. I catch the shine of blue eyes flashing in my direction.

I reach down. Mathieu’s skin is slippery and warm. Lube is spread generously across his taint and crack, covers his balls, and a generous few inches of thigh. I slide my cock between his thighs, pushing my erection up so I press against his balls.

Mathieu jerks. “I’m going to come.”

“No.” I find Jules’s hand, stopping him from jerking off Mathieu. “Not yet.”