Page 100 of Shipwrecked

Cillian runs a hand through his hair, peeling back strands that cling to his sweaty temples. I rise to my knees, shuffling over to him. My trousers, pushed down to mid-thigh, hamper my movement. I wrap myself around Cillian from the front, gazing up at him. “I’ll be good. Please.”

A brow lifts. “Will you?”

“I will. Really, really good. Genuinely good.” I reach for his cock, giving him the beginnings of a really, genuinely good hand job. Cillian studies my face as I stroke him, getting his monster cock perked up, interested in round two. I’ll paint Jules myself if I need to, but it’ll be much quicker work if Cillian joins in.

Jules waits patiently. I’ve already got him hard again by playing with his nipples, and Cillian only has to glance at Jules’s still, waiting body to know that he’s on board too.

Two hours later, we’re all laid out together, the bed thoroughly consecrated, Jules even more so. We have him sandwiched, and Cillian has given his elbow a thorough check. The last position had Jules on his hands and knees, me slotted behind him, Cillian slotted behind me, and the poor little Irish boy had to shoulder all of our weight for a few seconds when we came together.

“Why do we have separate rooms?” I ask.

“For our things,” Jules says. His voice is husky. “And if we fight, there’s a way to have some personal space.”

“Fight?” I ask. There haven’t been any fights. Grapples between Cillian and me in bed, but outside of it has been as wonderful as I knew dating them would be. I recall watching Jules in action throughout the school year, and how envious I’d felt of Darren… I dig my nose into Jules’s neck, breathing sweat and sex from his skin. “Dating you is exactly as I imagined…” I can be charming, or I can be bold, I can be shy, I can be quiet. They both roll with my mood, and they are never annoyed about it either. Cillian is dominant in bed but easy-going out of it. Once he gets to do proper aftercare, his post-sex jitters don’t tend to rear their head, and he’s so much more relaxed now that we’re not on the island. Even when I go out of my way to annoy him, he never gets properly irritated. Mostly, I only succeed in turning him on. “Cillian is alright, I guess.”

Cillian heaves a sigh, leans over Jules, and taps my ass.

I chuckle, catch his hand, and guide it up to my mouth to peck and nip. “I joke, I joke. You are also a good boyfriend.”

“You’re an alright one,” Cillian replies, earning a swat from Jules. Jules may as well have dropped a feather on the ground and expected the earth to yield.

Cillian huffs, clearly amused. “Fine, he’s…” He heaves another sigh. “I can’t say ‘good’. He’s never that, even when he promises.”

I may have misbehaved a tad… I grin at Cillian. He looks back with unmistakable fondness in those grey eyes. He’s easy to read. His emotions are more obvious than Jules’s. Jules can hide what he’s feeling, bringing his emotions to heel with practised control.

The only parts of myself I have ever tried to hide are my shyness, the jitter of nerves that rises at the prospect of talking to new people. I’ve always found it embarrassing to be twenty-one with social anxiety, like it’s something reserved for teenagers and I should have outgrown it by now. It isn’t embarrassing in front of these two men. Even in front of my parents, I cringe whenever I shy away from what should be an easy encounter, but with Jules and Cillian… No, there’s nothing like that.

I nestle in again, hugging Jules, reaching for Cillian’s leg. Both make objecting noises, but Cillian yields—as he always does over small things—and rests his leg over the two of us.

“Nap, then food,” I suggest. “I’ll cook.”

“Nap, then shower, then food,” Jules counters.

“Nap, then shower sex, then food. Final offer,” I counter-counter.

Jules hums. Then he says, “There’s a really big shower in the main bathroom. Three will fit.”

Cillian makes a sound. It’s a huff, which from him means he’s delighted.

“Deal?” I check.

“One of you owes me something. Put that on the table, and I’ll consider joining you.”

Owes him something? I twist toward him, but before I catch his eye, I feel the tremor that goes through Jules. “Oh?” I say, intrigued. “What are you owed?”

Cillian is too slow to answer.

I turn back to Jules. “What do you owe?”

Jules has gone still and attentive again. He tells me about a certain activity that Cillian and Jules had promised but never got around to on the island.

“Oh. Oh.” I grin. “Let me help you to the shower.”

Epilogue: Part Two

Cillian

12 months later