Page 57 of Shipwrecked

“Put your hand back down for me.”

It’s shaking as he sets it back on the ground. His breath comes in heaving pants. I’m so tense I could spill any second.

I adjust my position, letting go of his other pinned hand to brace my forearm next to his head. I lean in, meeting his eyes. “Keep them there, okay?”

Mathieu nods.

“Eyes on me.”

He focuses, so I reach down between us, setting my hand against him again. He reacts immediately, entire body curling up. I see the way he wants to grab me, and how hard it is for him to keep his hands still. He quakes with the effort.

“Good boy,” I murmur. I curve my fingers around his cock through his shorts. “Is that too rough?” I ask.

Mathieu shakes his head.

I ache to kiss him, but I hold back, wanting to watch his eyes even more. They’re glassy and lust-murky, and his entire body shakes as I stroke him, moans coming in this strangled way, like he can’t catch his breath.

His eyes flutter shut.

“On me, Mathieu,” I correct.

“I’m trying,” he groans, almost crying.

“I know, and you’re doing great. Look at me.”

Mathieu gets his eyes open, his entire body tensing up. His fingers sink into the dirt, and I watch his eyes flare as he orgasms. I stroke him through his climax, his cock pulsing in my hand. The force of his convulsing body takes me by surprise. Mathieu babbles in French until his entire body goes slack, and he gasps in harsh breaths.

I stop stroking and just hold his cock.

Mathieu opens his eyes, his lashes wet with tears. “Your turn?” His voice wobbles.

What I would like to do is push down his shorts and come on his cock. Or, while he feels soft and obedient, put him on his stomach and spill between his cheeks. I could just rest my hand on the back of his neck. I wouldn’t need to be rough.

I take in his expression, the wrung-out state of his body. I push aside my desires and press a kiss to his wet cheek. “When you don’t look ready to pass out, maybe.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Mathieu

I float in the after-effects of pleasure, enjoying the tingling down to my fingertips. There’s earth caked on my heels, dead leaves and twigs in my hair, and a wet patch against my hip. Cillian presses a kiss to my other cheek and wipes away the tracks of tears.

It’s been a long time since a hand job made me come like that. Probably not since I was a teenager, drunk and messing around, and my friend made a rare show of dominance. I’m not usually one to lose the upper hand…not once things reach the sheets.

I hear a zip and peel open an eye. Cillian is taking a pair of shorts out of my bag. I still haven’t moved when he returns to me, and he stares down like a giant, studying my prone body. In return, I study him. There’s an edge in his eyes. I swear I can see into his mind through them. He’s imagining taking me, and he’s not imagining being gentle about it.

Oh, how I love a good, dirty fuck. Someone as strong and firm as Cillian is undoubtedly excellent at lovemaking.

I catch his eye and grin. I let my knees fall open, showing him where there’s plenty of space to sink his knees into the earth…

Cillian’s jaw tightens. “Can I change you?” he asks. His cock is a clear, unmistakable outline straining against his shorts.

“If you must,” I sigh. I lift my hips and tug down my soiled shorts. Cillian’s head jerks to the side, averting his eyes.

“You know,” I say. “What does and doesn’t make you shy is rather inconsistent.”

Cillian kneels outside of my legs and still avoids looking at my exposed self. “I’m not shy,” he denies.

“You don’t like the look of men’s cocks?” I ask, curious now. Mapping out Cillian isn’t as easy as I initially thought it would be. I’d pinned him as bi-curious from day one and suspected there might be some bi-shame thrown in, but now I’m not certain. “You went out of your way not to look at Jules’s last night too.”