Page 47 of Shipwrecked

Mathieu’s losing weight. People are snapping at each other. I want us to be rescued before the group falls apart, before we’re ready to leave the island and never talk to each other ever again.

“I broke the satellite phone, Mathieu. I slipped, and it broke.” I hide in him, trying to merge with his very being.

Mathieu cups the back of my head. “An accident. Don’t worry.” He doesn’t hesitate before the reassurance. Like the thought of getting angry with me didn’t even cross his mind. I think this is what Darren meant when he called my optimism fake. Mathieu’s the real deal.

“Don’t you feel shaky too? Like everything is upsetting?”

“I worry for us the longer we’re here. But I don’t feel shaky,” Mathieu answers. “Getting to wash my hair with shampoo was divine…and to clean my body with soap, and brush my teeth.”

Cillian enters the lean-to, sitting at our feet. “I’m going to be another few minutes. I’m just double-checking what’s in the med kit. Before I do that, do you need painkillers, Jules?”

I peer at Cillian from where I’m tucked into Mathieu’s neck. His body blocks the rest of the group from view. With the fire behind him, it’s hard to make out his expression, but I guess he’s decided to stop being cold to us. “I’m tired, but my neck isn’t sore.”

“And your hand?”

“It’s okay.”

Cillian assesses me, and his gaze slips to Mathieu.

Mathieu hitches his hip up so that his leg rests over mine. “Are you just saying that?” he asks. “I bet you are. To be safe, I think I should hold open your mouth for Cillian to stick one in and make you swallow.”

An image of me dropping to my knees for Cillian flashes behind my eyes. Cillian’s hand fisted in my hair, controlling me.

My breath stops. I squirm, and Mathieu presses his weight down to stop me, angling so I’m slightly beneath him, not just side by side.

“Oh.” Mathieu makes a gratified, pleased sound. His hand slides from my back, across my ribs, and presses against the front of my boxers. My cock is rising against the fabric. “Do you like giving oral?”

I clutch his arm as a flutter of shivers races through me. “I mean…” My voice comes out wispy. “Yes?” Lemon from his body wash lingers on his skin, and the faint salt of the ocean.

Mathieu’s fingers curve around my erection, my boxers a flimsy barrier. I groan.

“Shh,” he whispers. “Not too loud.”

I dig my face into his neck. “Do you?” I mumble.

“Receiving. Giving. It’s all fair play.”

Mathieu slides his hand down my shaft carefully, like he’s mapping me out. Once he gets the lay of the land, he strokes with a firmer touch.

“Jules,” he says, “you are not being quiet.”

His hand goes still, fabric and cock in his grip.

“I’m being so quiet.”

That gets a strained half-chuckle.

My grip on his wrist tightens, and I try to make his hand keep moving. Mathieu doesn’t budge. He presses a kiss that feels horrifyingly like time for sleep on the top of my head.

“I am.”

“Want me to cover your mouth?”

Mathieu’s mouth is against my hair. My face is pressed into his neck, and it didn’t vibrate as the words filled the air. They came from elsewhere. I peel my face away from Mathieu’s neck.

Cillian has adjusted his position, sitting sideways with the breadth of his chest and a propped-up knee blocking the open part of the lean-to. A human privacy screen. He’s facing in. Watching Mathieu jerk me off.

I can’t break away once our eyes meet. If I’m breathing, I have no awareness of it.