Chapter Fifteen
Jules
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.
He doesn’t release me. I peek up.
His jaw is tense, and his eyes are locked on my face. The fist in my hair tightens when our eyes meet.
“Eat the rest of the bar.”
As I take a bite, Cillian moves closer. Through the shorts, his erection touches my chin. My eyes shoot down.
“Look at me.” His grip tightens, holding my head back. I keep my gaze up, breathing heavily. My hands are trembling. I eat the bar in small bites, dropping the empty wrapper when it’s all gone. I flatten my freed hand on Cillian’s thigh, creeping my fingers towards his waistband.
I never break eye contact.
Cillian doesn’t look away, even as his erection brushes against my chin again. Even as I part my lips for him.
He lets go of my wrist first, the skin reddened by his grip, and then he lets go of my hair. He clutches his own sides and stares down as if he’s going to make an absolute mess out of me. “The next time you get on your knees and open your mouth, I’m sticking my cock into it. Understand?”
I nod.
He turns away sharply and walks to the other side of the cabin and roughly opens the kitchen drawers. I kneel there, recovering myself. Throbbing arousal fades to a manageable pulse. I shakily get to my feet. “I’m going to wave and let them know we’re okay.”
“Good.”
I step around the damaged boards where the parasailing winch once was.
I rub my neck, remembering the way my head whipped forward as I flew up, the boat becoming a tiny speck.
I vaguely recall undoing the straps of my harness.
My fingers were numb, and I wasn’t sure in the moment if I was even moving them.
Mathieu is on the edge of the waterline with Seán, while the rest are in the shade of the treeline.
I wave, then give a thumbs-up. Both tried to grab me before I got into the water, and both were too slow.
Mary had called everyone over for a distraction, giving me the time I needed.
I think Seán got hold of Mathieu and stopped him from following me out.
I return to the cabin. Cillian has several lengths of rope on the floor, and extra life jackets next to them. He’s also found an entire box of flippers and snorkelling goggles.
In front of them are my blue boat shoes.
“They’re wet,” Cillian says, “but wear them. There are bits of glass on the floor. I don’t want you cutting your feet.” His gaze flicks over my knees, checking them. They’ve spent a lot of time on the deck since I got on the yacht.
I slip my feet into the shoes.
“We should bring back a protein bar for everyone,” I say. I go to the drawer where Cillian found mine. It’s full. I take out seven and offer the eighth to Cillian. “Might as well eat it now if we’re all having one.”
Cillian takes it, eating as we root around for more things. He checks a very specific drawer, hidden beneath one of the benches. He makes a pleased sound as he pulls out a knife sheathed in dark leather.
“That looks special.”
Cillian shows me. C.C. is stitched into the leather. “It’s a present from Seán’s parents.” He pulls out a wicked-looking blade. “It’s a survival knife. It’s thick like this so it can be used for splitting branches, and see this square bit at the back? You use it for starting a fire with flint.”
My hand finds Mathieu’s quartz, secure around my neck.
“Or any stone harder than steel.”
Cillian retrieves a length of leather from the same cubby, a strap for his waist that the knife sheath attaches to, and then finds a waterproof bag to stash them in.
The other knives on board are two filleting knives and a shucking one for oysters.
In the same drawer is a pair of scissors that I might build a shrine to later.
I’ve learned to appreciate simple tools over the past week.
I drag the debris out of the pool of water so it can drain and dry. I’m delighted when I spot Mary’s bag—the promised exchange for her distraction—and put that out on deck to dry in the sun as Cillian and I attach everything to the life jackets.
“I know more rope would be the best idea, but I think everyone will be much, much happier with that case of 7UP. What do you think?” I ask. “Are we bringing too much for the two of us?”
Cillian throws a look over the cans. “I think we can manage this much. Let’s get everything tied together and head out. Also…” He gestures to inside the cabin. “On the counter. I found them in the bathroom.”
I duck inside. A razor and shaving cream rest on the counter, alongside a toothbrush in an unopened pack and a tube of toothpaste.
I lunge for it, ripping open the packet and wasting no time brushing my teeth.
There are so many mint plants on the island it’s insane, and Seán showed us which little stems are good for chewing on to clean your teeth, but there is no substitute for toothpaste and a brush.
I lean out of the doorway.
“Thank you, Cillian,” I mumble around the brush.
Cillian chuckles. He’s tucking the phone back into its orange case. “You’re welcome.”
Once I’m done, I stash everything in Mary’s bag.
The edge of something bright orange in the pool of debris catches my eye. I wade in, pulling the can out of the water. It sloshes with liquid. I unscrew the lid and the pungent smell of petrol burns the inside of my nose. I quickly close it.
“No chance we could use this container for water storage?” I ask, bringing it out and handing it to Cillian.
“No, not for water.” Cillian looks it over. “But the petrol might come in handy for getting the signal fires lit. Let’s tie it here.” We secure the jerrycan to our rig.
“I thought pouring petrol on fires was bad?”
“Please don’t ever do that, it’s worse than bad.
But—this is a trick Seán’s dad taught me, and you’re not allowed to do it unless I’m supervising, because every course I’ve ever done explicitly says not to do it at all—dipping a twig or two into this can and setting them on the fire can be a lifesaver to help get it going.
” Cillian double-checks that everything is secure.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Ready.”