What He Left Behind (12 page)

Ian gasps. His eyes fly open. His face is filled with that near-panic of a man on the edge, the telltale
oh fuck there’s no stopping it
, and then he pulls me down onto him, forcing himself as deep as I can take him, and shudders.

When he releases me, I lift myself off him and drop onto the bed beside him. He feels around, and eventually finds my hand, and we just lie there, holding hands and panting hard until we can trust our legs to hold us up. As we get up to clean ourselves off, we’re shaking and clumsy, but we manage.

Ian groans as he falls back into bed. I collapse beside him.

And we just lie there. Still breathless. Still trembling. My body’s aching all over; it’s been years since we fucked like that. Two orgasms apiece in rapid succession? I thought we’d left that in our twenties.

“Have I ever told you,” I say, barely able to enunciate, “that you’re fucking amazing in bed?”

He laughs and lazily takes my hand. “Likewise.”

I close my eyes and sigh. “I so needed that tonight.”

“So I noticed.” He pulls the sheet up over us. “I’ve been worried about you, you know.”

My heart clenches. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just worried this whole thing with Michael is taking its toll on you.”

I scrub my hand over my face. “I don’t see how it
won’t
take its toll.”

“Yeah, ditto.” He pulls me close and kisses my forehead. “Is it helping, though? I mean, is he doing better?”

“Better, yeah. But, God, it’s a weird feeling, being with someone who’s afraid of being touched.”

His fingertips trail down my arm. “I can’t even imagine.”

“It’s like…fucking on eggshells.” I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “And the more he tells me about why…” I drop my hand and look at Ian. “What the hell kind of person
does
this to someone?”

“Someone who needs to be on the evening news,” Ian mutters and kisses my temple.

“Seriously.” I cuddle against him, tucking my head beneath his chin. “And now I feel like an asshole too, because this whole time, I’ve been neglecting you.”

Ian runs his hand up and down my back. “You’ve been preoccupied. Under the circumstances—”

“Don’t.” I lift up and meet his gaze. “If I’ve been ignoring you, don’t make excuses for me.”

He purses his lips, then shrugs. “Josh, something like what you’re doing with Michael is
going
to take a toll on you. And it’s going to pull your focus away from us for a little while.” He touches my face. “I knew that when I suggested this.”

“Yeah, but I don’t ever want to take you for granted or make you feel like that.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to do to you what—”

He kisses me, holding the back of my neck firmly. “You are not, and you never will be, anything like Steve.”

I swallow. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” He loosens his grasp a little and starts stroking my hair. “And right now, the one you’re neglecting is yourself.”

“And us.”

Ian shakes his head. “You need to take care of yourself first.”

I search his eyes. “Are you suggesting that I put you after myself and this thing with Michael?”

“No. I’m asking you to make yourself the priority. You keep working with Michael, and you and I will work together to make sure we’re not neglecting us. If there’s a problem here”—he gestures at each of us—“I’ll tell you.” He inclines his head. “I always have, haven’t I?”

“Yeah. You have.” I don’t think I’ve ever been with a man who’s less likely to let something fester—Ian is the king of nipping issues in the bud.

“I’ll let you know if there’s a problem,” he says. “All I ask is that you do the same. And be careful, okay?”

“I will. Promise.”

“Good. Because Michael needs you, but he needs you to be sane and healthy too. And that’s where I come in.” He combs his fingers through my hair. “You do everything you can to get him back to a good place, and I’ll do everything I can to keep you in a good place. Whenever it gets to you, come to me. I’ve got your back.”

I stare at him, struggling to comprehend what he’s saying.

“I care about him too,” he goes on. “I
want
you to take care of him.” He brushes his lips across mine. “Just let me take care of you too. Whenever you spend an evening with him, you spend the next one with me. That way you have a chance to decompress, and whatever’s happened with him, we can get it out of your system.”

I shake my head and trail my fingertips along his five-o’clock shadow. “You are seriously the best husband
ever
, you know that?”

Ian laughs but doesn’t say anything. He just holds me closer, and for the longest time, we just lie there, soaking up each other’s body heat. Eventually, we’ll get downstairs and find something to eat—and feed the animals before they revert to hunters—but for now, we don’t move, and I don’t object. I’ve always loved cuddling with Ian, and these days, I need it more than ever. I need
him
more than ever.

Tomorrow, I’ll go back to Michael’s bed, and I’ll keep going back until he’s steady on his own two feet. I’m thankful as hell that I can give him what he needs.

But especially right now, I’m grateful beyond words for Ian.

Chapter Twelve

Ian is a saint at helping me keep things balanced. A couple nights a week, I’m with Michael. Sunday evenings are wine and the hot tub with both guys. The other nights are reserved for my husband. Thanks to him, I actually have a fighting chance of keeping my sanity. When things are rough with Michael, when his ex has a hold on him and the bedroom turns into that minefield, Ian is there to ground me. That, in turn, makes it possible for me to ground Michael.

Little by little, we push Michael’s boundaries. Almost a month into this, we’re still barely doing more than making out and jerking each other off, though he’s rather enthusiastically letting me go down on him these days. The whole process is painfully slow, and it frustrates him at every turn, but he’s come a long way psychologically. The setbacks and flashbacks are fewer and farther between. And thanks to Ian, I’m still on an even keel.

Tonight, like so many other nights, I’m wrapped up in Michael, lying on our sides, kissing, stroking each other beneath the covers. My body still aches in places from everything Ian and I did less than twenty-four hours ago, and when I’m in bed with him tomorrow, I’ll still feel Michael too. It’s become normal, feeling the phantom touch of one man while I’m with another, and if I’m completely honest with myself, it’s become addictive.

Guilt needles at me, but I try to push it aside. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying this. It’s sex with Michael, for God’s sake, and Ian didn’t give me his blessing under the condition that I lie back and think of England. And enjoying it tempers all the other emotions I have about it.

And why am I rationalizing this?

“Still awake?” Michael startles me, and when I turn my head, he’s watching me.

“Yeah.” I rub my eyes. Had I started drifting off? I don’t even know. “Is it getting too late?”

“No. You were just quiet.”

“Sorry.” I lower my hand and turn toward him again. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

I hesitate. Then I shift onto my side and lift myself up on my arm. “Is it wrong that I look forward to coming over for this?”

“I would hope not.” He grins. “Even with all the drama going on in my head, I wouldn’t want this to be a terrible chore or something for you.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I guess… I mean…” My face burns. “I do enjoy this. Being in bed with you.”

Michael’s expression turns serious, and he strokes my hair. “Does that bother you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if it should.”

He takes my left hand, runs his thumb along my wedding band, which I don’t always remember to take off. He kisses the backs of my fingers. “Ian?”

“Yeah.” I sigh and rub my face with my other hand. “I’m probably overthinking things. God knows I’ve asked him a hundred times if it bothers
him
, and Ian would never keep something like that under his hat.”

Michael holds my gaze. His eyes narrow a little, and he smiles as he traces the side of my hand with his thumb. “Well, you are a product of a Puritanical culture just like the rest of us. Maybe you’re still adjusting to the idea of bending the rules of monogamy.”

“You would think that might’ve reared its head while I was trolling bathhouses.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But promiscuity is one thing.” He lifts my hand and taps my ring. “Sleeping with someone else while your husband is at home? That’s bound to strike a few uncomfortable chords.” He lowers our joined hands.

I purse my lips. “You know, you’re probably right.” Shaking my head, I laugh and roll my eyes. “And here I was worried I wouldn’t like monogamy.”

“I never figured you would.” He smiles. “At least, not until you met Ian.”

“You definitely caught on to that before I did.”

“Well, as you’ve told me, some things are easier to see from the outside.” The hint of sadness in his voice gives me pause.

“Michael, look at what he’s done to you,”
I hear myself pleading in the distant past.
“You’ve got to get out of there.”

“I can’t just leave him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love him!”

I release his hand and draw him into a tight embrace. “After the bullshit cards you’ve been dealt, karma owes you big-time.” I press a kiss to his forehead. “There is one hell of a guy out there waiting for you.”

Michael sighs, and when he looks up at me, he smiles. “Let’s hope.”

Hope, hell. If there isn’t a good man out there for Michael, then there’s no justice in the universe.

But, gazing into his eyes, I can’t quite form the words. So instead, I tip his chin up, lean in and kiss him. And don’t stop. And he doesn’t stop either.

His arm drifts over my waist. We pull each other closer, kissing deeper and holding on tight. I should know better than to be surprised when we both start getting hard—even after we’ve already fooled around tonight, and even in the wake of our weird conversations, it’s impossible to kiss him like this and not get turned on.

Michael grinds against me, rubbing the undersides of our cocks together. “I want you to fuck me.”

“What?” My pulse goes all kinds of crazy and my panicked brain replays what happened last time we tried this. “Are you sure?”

“We can stop any time, right?”

“Any time. Always.”

“Then yes. I’m sure.” He pushes me onto my back and climbs on top, as if he sees right through me to that weak spot I have for his rarely seen aggressive side. “I like how we tried it before. Me on top.”

I nod, sweeping my tongue across my lips. “Hell yeah. I want you in total control.” As he picks up the bottle of lube off the nightstand, I add, “I can still get you ready this way. With my fingers.”

“I know.” He sits over me again. Holding up the bottle of lube, he grins. “Let’s do this.”

I laugh as I take the bottle from him and put some lube on my fingers. Steadying us both with a hand on his hip, I slip my hand between his legs, and we both exhale as I press a fingertip against him.

My finger slides in. Michael digs his teeth into his lip, his expression wavering between a wince and a look of intense concentration. He lowers himself a bit, taking my finger deeper, and then rises. After a few strokes, I carefully add a second finger. This one doesn’t go in quite so easily, though. He flinches but lowers himself and takes them both.

Damn. It’s just like the first time we tried this. He’s way too tense—there’s no way he’ll take me without getting hurt.

On the way down again, Michael stops. He closes his eyes, and he takes a few slow breaths.

I touch his thigh. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His lips pull tight for a second. “I’m okay.”

He starts to come down again, but I stop him with a hand on his hip. “Michael.”

He meets my eyes.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say as gently as I can. “There’s plenty of time.”

He nods. “I know. I want to.”

“But are you sure you’re ready?”

“I won’t know until I try.”

“That’s not very encouraging. We—”

“Please.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I
know
I can get past this.”

I’m torn between supporting him and helping him over this obstacle, and reminding him that while he can definitely get past it, he doesn’t have to do it tonight.

He starts moving again, riding my hand, but there’s no way in hell this feels good.

“Wait.” I stop him again. As much as I know it’s going to frustrate him, I slide my fingers free.

“Josh, we—”

“Let’s take a step back. We still have time.” I shake my head. “But I can’t do this yet. I’m too afraid I’m going to hurt you.”

He scowls but doesn’t protest, and eases himself down onto the bed beside me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I reach for some tissues to clean the lube off my hand.

“I know. It’s not your fault.” He sighs. “And you’re probably right.”

Sometimes it sucks being right. I toss the tissues away and lie down beside him. “Why were you suddenly in such a hurry, anyway?”

He releases a long, resigned breath, and rubs the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes. “Honestly?”

“Yes.”

Still not looking at me, he whispers, “Because the longer we do this, the worse you’re going to feel. About Ian.”

My heart stops. “Michael. No.” I wrap my arms around him. “You’ve got a lot of trauma to get past. We’re not going to rush this just because—”

“We haven’t rushed anything.” He lifts his gaze. “We’ve crawled through this.”

“Because I don’t want to make things worse.”

“But what about you and Ian? Do you really think he agreed to this thinking we’d be at it for months?”

“He knew it would take time.”

“Still. You guys have a marriage most people would sell their souls for.” He clasps his fingers between mine. “I don’t want to damage that. Quite frankly, I’d be happier never sleeping with another man as long as it meant I didn’t fuck up what the two of you have.”

“No way.” I push myself up and kiss him softly. “Ian and I will take care of things between us. We’ll be fine. And I want you to be fine too. That’s why I’m here.”

He holds my gaze, as if searching my eyes for some kind of unspoken confirmation.

“We’ll be okay.” I kiss him again. “You and me, and Ian and me. I’m just sorry I made you feel like you needed to rush for my benefit.”

Sighing, he shakes his head. “You didn’t. I think I’m just used to…” He shakes himself again. “Never mind. Stupid shit my ex put into my head and my therapist has mostly gotten rid of. Except in here. In bed.”

I smile. “That’s what I’m here for. And we don’t have to stop tonight. We can just take it slow.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Roll over.” I nod past him. “Facing that way.”

He turns onto his side, and I mold myself to his back and drape my arm over him. His body is tense, his spine rigid against my chest.

“We still have plenty of time tonight.” I kiss the back of his neck. “Let’s just take it slow and see where things end up.”

Michael nods.

Holding him close, kissing behind his ear, I take my time. Touching him, tasting his skin, just being naked with him—we stay like this for ages. Slowly, his breathing falls into synch with mine. He covers my arm with his, resting his fingers over the top of mine as I run my hand up and down his chest, his abs, his side, his thigh.

Lying this close to him, it’s only a matter of time—as we both relax, I can’t help getting turned on. I try to keep my erection away from him, but Michael isn’t having any of that. He scoots back against me, pressing his ass against my cock, and at the same time, he guides my hand down to his own erection. I exhale against his neck, letting him close my fingers around his cock as I start gently rubbing against his ass. Then harder. Still harder. The friction is mind-blowing as I fuck against his crack.

All the while, the room is completely silent except for the soft hiss of movement and our no longer synchronized breathing. He’s not quite panting, but he’s close—deep, uneven breaths, some more ragged than others.

I tug him toward me so he’s lying on his back now, and I lean down to kiss his neck. “Remember how you couldn’t handle me going down on you in the beginning?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You got past that.” I kiss lower. The lube is close by, and I subtly move it so it’ll be within reach in a moment, and keep kissing my way down his torso. As his abs contract beneath my lips, I glance up and whisper, “You’ll get past this too.”

“It shouldn’t
be
something to get past.” He hisses as I brush my lips over his hipbone.

“But it is. And you will. I promise.”

He starts to speak, but as I draw the tip of my tongue along the underside of his cock, he trails off into a moan. Sucking his cock is effortless now—every time I do it, he’s more into it than before. That particular demon is a distant memory. There’s no tension, no flashbacks, so I just let him enjoy this for a while, listening to him fall to pieces. I swear he’s almost purring as he pushes his dick deeper into my throat.

I shift my weight onto one arm. “I’m going to add fingers. That okay?”

“Y-yeah.”

I put some lube on my fingers, watching him the whole time for signs of fear, and he shows none. Instead, he’s breathing hard and squirming like he does when he’s turned on and desperate for an outlet.

I set the lube aside, nudge his legs apart and press a fingertip against his hole.

“Oh my God,” he moans.

Stay with me, Michael.

I press harder. This time, he takes my finger easily. As I work a second one in, meeting only minimal resistance, I start on his cock again, and his long, throaty groan brings a shudder out of me.

“Holy fuck,” he murmurs. “That feels amazing.”

I take his cock deeper in my mouth. At the same time, I crook my fingers inside him. His cock stiffens against my tongue, and his moans reverberate across my nerve endings. More than once, I’m certain he’s on the edge—arching, cursing, shuddering. I’m surprised my body isn’t trembling just from the exhilaration of hearing and feeling him surrender like this.

“Josh.” He moans again. “Fuck me.”

My skin prickles and my balls tighten. “Are you—”

“
Yes
.”

I withdraw my fingers, and Michael bites his lip and writhes on the mattress, clawing at the sheets as he does.

“Please,” he murmurs. “Fuck me. Oh my God, I want you.”

I can barely breathe but manage to whisper, “Likewise.” Though my heart is racing with apprehension as well as arousal, I put some lube on me and on him and sit up between his legs.

I press against him. He’s tense again, so I start to back off, but he grabs my arm.

“No.” He licks his lips. “Just go slow. I want this.”

“You’ll tell me if it hurts?”

Michael nods vigorously. “Definitely. Just don’t
stop
.”

“I won’t unless you tell me to.” I hesitate a few seconds longer and then apply just a little more pressure. He’s tight, but not like he was that first time we tried this, when he could barely take me at all.

“Breathe, Michael,” I whisper, still leaning against him, though not quite enough to push in. “I won’t hurt you. Ever. I only want you to feel good.”