Page 59 of Companion Required

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kennedy

Kennedy was awoken from a deep sleep by a loud ping from his phone.

When he’d fallen asleep, he’d been worried about waking to find Kieran—always the early riser—having a panic attack, or a crisis of heart or conscience, or complaining about new and inevitable soreness in parts of his body where this kind of thing had never happened. What he hadn’t expected was to find Kieran fast asleep, his warm body and stiff cock pressed up against Kennedy’s back, his arm draped around his midriff. Kennedy lay there savouring the moment. Lazily, he reached out a hand and brought the phone to his face, to check the messages on the display.

Steph 10:10: You’re not answering your cabin door.

Steph 10:30: Are you onboard? Simeon says he hasn’t seen you.

Missed call.

Steph 11:00: Where the fuck are you? The boat leaves at midday.

Panic rippled through him when he checked the time—eleven-ten. He sat up and pulled the covers back, before throwing the phone down.

“Kieran! Shit!” he said, jumping into action and waking a sleep-ruffled Kieran with a shoulder shake. “We’ve overslept. Get dressed. We have to check out.”

“Chill out. I need to use the ‘loo,” said Kieran, leisurely sitting up on the side of the bed and pushing his hands through his locks. “And grab a shower. And what about breakfast?”

“No time,” said Kennedy from the other side of the bed, yanking on his underwear and trousers. “We can do that back on the boat. If we manage to make it.”

“What do you mean?” said Kieran.

“The boat leaves port in forty-five minutes.”

Finally, the words managed to sink in, and the two of them hurried around the hotel room, trying to avoid bumping into each other, taking turns to use the toilet, dressing hastily and packing the little they had brought before racing down to reception. While Kennedy checked out, he sent Kieran to arrange a taxi with the concierge and explain the need for haste. Fortunately, rows of taxis were lined up outside the hotel, ready for guests, so they were soon on their way.

At eleven-forty-five the port appeared before them with the mammoth Diamond Princess still sitting there against the quay. Kennedy breathed a sigh of relief. With minutes to spare, they both boarded, showing their cruise passes to the crew members before heading to their cabin. All the way from the hotel, they had hardly spoken. Finally, Kennedy asked Kieran what he needed first, shower or food. A trooper to the last, he opted for the latter.

Kennedy rang Simeon to request an all-day breakfast be brought to their cabin. Professional as ever, Simeon responded instantly, but when he pushed the trolley into their cabin, Kennedy could make out a slight change in attitude, the friendliness dialled down a notch or two. Kieran noticed too, because when Simeon served them both coffee—Kennedy his usual espresso, which he downed in one gulp—Kieran winked at him and grinned.

“How was the coffee, darling?” asked Kieran, reaching across the table to take hold of Kennedy’s hand. “Would you like Simeon to bring you another?”

“And one espresso’s perfect,” said Kennedy, attempting to glare at Kieran through his grin. “Thank you, Simeon. You can clear the table now.”

“More importantly, how are you feeling?” asked Kennedy, once Simeon had departed.

“Better, now we made the boat in time. What would we have done, if we hadn’t?”

“Not a real issue,” said Kennedy, with a shrug. “We’d have caught a direct flight to Hong Kong. Just over two hours away. And spent an extra couple of nights in Hong Kong waiting for the ship to arrive.”

“My God, you think of everything.”

“What I meant earlier was, how do you feel after last night?”

Kieran considered Kennedy’s meaning, then got up from his chair and slapped down his napkin. Like a hunter stalking his prey, he came around Kennedy’s side of the table and straddled his lap, placing his arms around the back of Kennedy’s head.

“If you’re asking whether my arse is still sore, then the answer is yes,” he said, rubbing his backside into Kennedy’s groin before leaning in and pecking Kennedy on the lips and neck. “If you’re asking whether I still want to do the same thing again, then the answer is—ohfuckyes. But right now, I’m ready for a shower. So hurry up and finish your breakfast. Because my cock isn’t going to wash itself.”

* * * *

For the next three days and two nights before they reached Hong Kong, Kieran’s appetite for sex became voracious, often keeping Kennedy in bed until mid-morning, and dragging him away in the afternoon to try out one new position or another. If Pandora had ever had a brother, then his box had been well and truly opened. The first time Kennedy allowed him to take the lead—something Patrick had never wanted—Kieran took his time, making sure Kennedy felt relaxed, always checking whether Kennedy felt any discomfort. When, midway through the first exchange of roles, he insisted Kennedy roll over and straddle him, ride him at his own pace, the ploy worked perfectly and allowed Kennedy’s hands the freedom to explore Kieran’s body, helping to bring him home. For the first time in his life, Kennedy found concentrating on work impossible.

Kieran knew exactly which buttons to push. On the final sun-drenched day on deck, as Kennedy joined the girls and they all relaxed on loungers around the bustling swimming pool after lunch, purposefully ignoring Patrick’s posse gathered together on the other side of the pool, Kieran turned up. Sporting only gold lamé Aussiebum swimming briefs—briefbeing the optimum word—he rocked the look. Rows of curious heads craned forward while sunglasses were yanked down sweaty noses to get a better view. Tanned now, with his trim muscles and flat stomach, Kieran had developed an easy confidence, which was as sexy as hell. When he sat astride Kennedy and bent down for a deep kiss, all heads turned their way. And when Kieran whispered two words into his ear—swim or sex—Kennedy bolted up from the lounger and pulled him away, back towards the cabin.

And when Kieran bottomed? He had become insatiable—what Kennedy’s friends would have labelled a power bottom—hungry for everything Kennedy could give him and more. He demanded hard and fast, wrapping his legs tightly around Kennedy’s back, pulling him as far inside him as he could and coming with wild abandon, loudly vocal and often hands-free, like an express train hurtling from a tunnel, or a New Zealand geyser bursting hotly from the ground. More than a few times, Kennedy wondered what had happened to mild-mannered Kieran.

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