Page 41 of Shipwrecked

I stare in shock at the pieces of the phone. It’s built like an old Nokia—a rubber casing, a tiny square screen. How is it broken? How is it broken?

The pieces slide down the deck towards the ocean. I rise to my knees, scrabbling. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Cillian snatches the antenna rolling by his heel. “It’s my fault.”

We come together with four distinct pieces: the back cover, the front cover, the antenna and the battery. Cillian puts it back together, bar the antenna, which has snapped off. There’s a gouge in the rubber along the side. The screen stays eerily black.

He tries several times to boot it up. I bury my face in my hands, my eyes burning. Cillian sets the phone aside and kneels. Arms fold around me. Cillian pulls me against his chest and cups the back of my head. “I shook the boards under your feet. It’s my fault.”

I lean into Cillian’s chest.

“There’s a chance Seán will be able to fix it. At the very least, we’re going to have a much more comfortable wait for rescue, which is only going to be another few days.”

Is it really only going to be a few more days? Shouldn’t we have at least seen a helicopter or a low plane flying by, searching for us? Anxiety swirls in my stomach.

“Jules, it was an accident. I’m sorry it happened, but we didn’t do it on purpose. Take a deep breath.”

I do, and though the knot doesn’t ease, the wobble in my breaths evens out. The stinging recedes from my eyes.

“We should rig up something that floats,” I say thickly. His shirt muffles my voice, making it sound like I’m crying. “To bring things over to the island.”

“I agree. Swimming all this over one piece at a time would take a million trips.” His chest rumbles.

“There’s tons of rope. Life jackets.”

“Let’s get a few lengths of rope over, and we can get bamboo stalks cut and turned into a raft.” Cillian runs his fingers through my hair. “Sound good?”

I reluctantly pull back. Cillian wipes away the tracks of fallen tears. His gaze lingers on my mouth. Is he going to kiss me again? His touch lights up my nerves. I feel the ghost touch of his firm grip on my jaw, and his warm lips on my mouth. As my breathing goes shallow, he tears his gaze away and stands.

I gather my composure before following Cillian into the cabin. From a drawer, he takes a protein bar and offers it to me.

“We should get everything to the beach first to ration it all out properly,” I say.

Cillian comes around the counter and crowds me against the wall again. My heart rate shoots up, but Cillian doesn’t touch me. He pushes the bar into my hand. “Eat it.”

“I think we should wait.”

Cillian sets his arm above my head, leaning over me. His eyes are bright. “I’m not moving until you eat. Everyone’s going to be getting their own, you’re just having yours earlier.”

I can’t deny my hunger. We haven’t been successful in catching fish, so we’re all lacking in protein.

“There are fishing poles on board,” I realise. Hopefully still in usable shape.

“There’s even a non-stick frying pan.”

The phone tension recedes further from my mind. There’s so much here to make life more comfortable. With the thought of a reliable source of fish, I open the packet. My eyes flutter shut at the first bite. “It’s chocolate mint.” It’s partly melted. All sugar. “I’ve never had anything so good. Have some.”

Cillian doesn’t respond. I peel open my eyes. He’s staring at me with hunger, but not the kind I associate with chocolate. Heat throbs in the pit of my stomach, and my cock twitches. I struggle to swallow. Cillian leans in to eat me, kiss me, bite me—I don’t know. I’m ready for anything.

How am I going to get my cock into you?

Maybe it’s the isolation. Seán said Cillian was straight, that he had recently broken up with his girlfriend. I bet, whether in a relationship or single, he doesn’t get through a week without someone inviting him into bed. And with the close contact and the cramped sleeping arrangements, I don’t think any of us have got relief of any kind since crashing into the shoreline.

I’d love for him to use me to relieve himself. I don’t even need to get off. He can use me to get off and I’ll, I’ll—

His hand slides up my neck and comes to rest against my throat. “Eat it.”

With a groan, I sink to my knees. Cillian’s hand slips into my hair, bunching it into a fist. His other hand grabs my wrist as I try to pull his shorts down, squeezing. His erect cock strains against his shorts. I felt it earlier against my ass, but he’s larger than I had time to appreciate in the moment.