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. ”
“That wasn’t about not wanting to look or touch. I hadn’t asked him beforehand if I could touch him there, and I wasn’t about to wake him from a dead sleep just to ask if I could clean him up,” Cillian says. “I’d have restarted the argument.”
“Probably not,” I say. “Jules is super affectionate when he’s sleepy. That’s when I get the most cuddles.”
“You get affection regardless.”
“Because I ask for it.”
Cillian meets my eyes.
“It doesn’t always have to be verbal, you know. Here’s my throat.” I lift my chin. “Touch it.” I take Cillian by the hand and guide him towards my naked lower half. “Here’s my dirty self, please clean and change me.”
Still, Cillian hesitates. Irish boys! “Were you raised Catholic? You think sex with men is shameful?”
“No. I mean, my parents are Catholic, but I’ve never believed.” His jaw is a hard line. “I’m going to clean you.”
“I’ve said you can several times now, in many ways.”
The tension doesn’t fully leave Cillian as he uses precious wet wipes that were stashed in the med kit to clean me.
He takes a clean section of my shorts and uses it to wipe caked mud from my heels before guiding my legs into clean underwear, and then he wipes all the dirt from my ass before pulling them up.
The pinch in his brow is gone when he takes me by the arms, pulls me upright and sits me on the log. He pulls twigs and leaves from my hair, long fingers untangling the mess at the back of my head.
“I have some detangler spray in my bag, if you can do a proper job back there? I’d do it myself, but I’ve been judged to be on the verge of passing out, and thus unable for many various activities.”
Cillian snorts. He sits behind me, giving me a scalp massage as he, curl by curl, untangles my hair. There’s a pleased feeling to him now. Not quite like the pleasure he got out of winning our grapple, but something quieter. More delicate.
He was so confident as we worked together to get Jules off—the most delicious experience of my life to date—and so uncertain afterwards.
After-sex jitters? A past casual partner used to have severe drops after he orgasmed, to the point where I’m not sure sex was even worth it for him. He was so anxious during the drop.
It could have been a crash last night, but Cillian didn’t come just now. It could also be many other things. There’s a lot of responsibility on Cillian. Perhaps he feels as shaky about the phone breaking as Jules does, but it looks different on him.
“Was I too forward?” I ask, as Cillian works through a troublesome tangle. “I turned you down last night because you didn’t seem sure, but I didn’t get that sense at all today. Was I wrong?”
“You asked for my hand last night,” Cillian says. “Which you didn’t get just now.”
“I most certainly did have your hand!”
Cillian huffs. “Your shorts did.” He’s making progress on the tangle, but I interrupt his work by scooting back till I’m flush against his chest and resting my head on his shoulder. The last of the tension has left his body. That quiet, delicate pleasure has softened his jaw, softened him.
And I figure it out.
He’s a softie.
He doesn’t just want to dominate his partner; he wants to take care of them after sex too. And, apparently, he doesn’t know how to go about asking for the latter. I can do my part in that regard.
“I’d like the rest of the back massage,” I say. “And can I have some water, too?”
Cillian huffs again, but he’s soft as butter as he extracts himself from me to fetch the water.
He’s still relaxed when he returns to finish the back massage.
I also ask for a calf massage, and I’m figuring out the wording for a prostate massage delivered with a nice, large cock when Willow wanders into camp.
“Can we borrow your knife?” Willow asks Cillian.
I have my leg in his lap, and his hands are on my calf.
“We’re cutting strips of vine,” Willow explains. She looks at our arrangement without commenting on it.
“I’ll help you,” Cillian says. He glances at me. “If you don’t mind keeping the fire going?”
Sitting around camp alone sounds boring, but I don’t think asking Willow to do it instead while I help Cillian build her shelter makes much sense. I suppose I can think about how I’ll apologise to Jules while I’m alone…
“Are you pouting?” Cillian asks.
“No.”
“You are. I’ll do the other leg later,” Cillian says. “Promise.” He fetches his knife from our lean-to as Willow grabs a bottle of water.
I spring up, circling the fire that doesn’t need tending, and scan the food and utensils, already itching to leave the camp now that I know neither Cillian nor Jules will be in it. “Can I cook something filling for lunch?” I ask before they leave. “Or are we rationing?”
“I wouldn’t mind something substantial,” Willow says. “And we’re all doing physical activities right now…” She looks at Cillian. I do too.
“That should be fine,” he agrees. “But let me double-check with Seán first.”
They head off. I pace, racking my brain about what to do. Eventually, I plump up our pillows, straighten the blanket and search my bags for something that might cheer up Jules. Darren’s lean-to catches my eye. His old one, if he gets the one he’s building today finished.
There’s a stone near my foot. I toss it at the shelter, imagining it hitting him in his stupid brain.
“Can’t talk to anyone attractive,” I mutter under my breath. “Makes sense, I suppose. He’s way out of your league, jealous idiot.” After I’ve had a dozen imaginary arguments with Darren about what a terrible boyfriend he was, I turn my attention back to Jules.
I don’t think railing about how terrible Darren is will make him feel better. No, I will apologise for how I reacted to the news—though I think I responded aptly—and ask for forgiveness.