What He Left Behind (17 page)

Chapter Eighteen

After that, Michael and Ian spend the occasional night together, and Michael and I sometimes have a bed to ourselves. More often than not, it’s all three of us, but it seems they’re as addictive as they are addicted—we all want each other all the time. Some nights, I all but forget this is meant to help Michael repair damage from his past—he’s on an even keel most of the time, with only the slightest pauses now and then, and his avoidance of giving blowjobs. The line blurred a long time ago between doing this for fun and doing it for therapy.

Which I suppose is good. The less it’s at the forefront of my mind—and hopefully Michael’s—the less it’s a problem. The farther his demons are behind him. The more that jackass’s memory fades.

So I should feel good about all of this. And I do.

But something isn’t sitting right. It festers beneath my ribs for a few days, getting steadily more noticeable. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s causing it, though, only that I always feel worse after a night with Michael. What the hell is wrong? Because everything seems to be going just fine. Right?

It makes sense one morning when I roll over and find Ian’s side of the bed empty. That in itself isn’t unusual, and I know he’s here because the shower is running. The cat is still on Ian’s pillow, the dog slowly taking over his side—everything is normal.

But his absence in our bed resonates with me in a weird way. I’ve gotten used to him occasionally being at Michael’s, so why should this—

Ah. That’s it.

He’s here, but…not. And it’s been like that a lot recently. Almost constantly, if I’m honest. My stomach clenches—I can’t even remember the last time we slept together. We’ve had a few quickies before going to bed, especially if one of us has been out with Michael, but beyond that…

Nothing.

As I lie there, my thoughts unnerve me. I fully expected to be engrossed in helping Michael, and I knew there’d be some physical exhaustion involved. But it hadn’t occurred to me that Ian and I might neglect our marriage in the process. That we might get so caught up in Michael, we’d forget how much we enjoyed being together. Even after more than a decade, our sex life has always been amazing, but lately…

Lately it’s been nearly nonexistent outside of the things we’ve done with Michael. When we have had sex on our own, it’s been a reprieve—a chance to enjoy some effortless physical intimacy after seeing firsthand how hard it is for Michael. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. That’s not how I imagined it could ever be.

What the hell is happening to us?

We’re getting too tangled up with Michael, that’s what.

Fuck. Didn’t I swear up and down this wouldn’t happen again? That everything with Michael would not distract me from Ian? I don’t want to leave Michael to his own devices until he’s sure he’s back on track, but I need to fix this. And it can’t wait.

I carefully slip my leg out from under the dog. She grumbles a bit, wriggles farther onto Ian’s side, but that’s it.

I step into the bathroom. The sight of Ian on the other side of the frosted glass makes my chest tighten. How long
has
it been?

He turns his head, though the semi-opaque door obscures his features. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. I know.” I pause. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure.”

I step into the shower with him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He leans back to rinse some shampoo from his hair.

“Not really.” I wait until he’s done rinsing off, and then put my hands on his waist. “I wanted to see you before you go to work.”

He glances down at my hands and blinks a few times. “What are—”

“We haven’t been spending enough time together.” I draw him in and run my fingers through his wet hair. It’s too early in the morning to kiss, but I need to touch him. “We were having so much sex before, and now that we’re with Michael all the time, we’ve barely had anything left for each other.”

Ian frowns. “I know. And I want to keep spending time with him, but…” He swallows. “To be honest, I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” I whisper.

“Call Michael when he’s up.” He kisses my fingers. “Tonight, we’re shutting off our phones and staying home.”

“Good idea. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“I have no doubt.”

We exchange smiles.

“You know, as long as I’m in here.” I snake a hand between us.

Ian sucks in a breath. “Josh, I need to… I have to get to…”

I trail my fingers along his cock. “You have time, don’t you?”

He shudders, pressing against my hand. “I need—”

“Turn around.”

He hesitates, and I’m expecting him to insist he really doesn’t have time, but then he does turn around. I pull him against me so I can reach around and stroke his cock while I kiss up and down his neck.

Ian braces his arm against the wall, and he pushes back, and a groan escapes my lips as he rubs against my dick. I had only intended to jerk him off and give him a little preview of tonight, but like this, with my cock pressed between his wet skin and mine, I’m losing it too.

His other hand closes around mine. He’s not taking over, not controlling how I stroke his cock, just making contact, and I stroke him faster. Ian moans and thrusts into my hand—our hands—which only increases the delicious friction against my cock. I bury my face in his neck and rub harder against his wet skin.

“
God
.” He shudders, and I hold him tighter as my own orgasm rocks my whole damn body. So much for just getting him off, but I’m not complaining.

We rinse off and then pull each other close, and for the longest time, we just stand there, holding each other beneath the warm shower, lazily kissing each other’s necks. Fatigue—from both my orgasm and being up at the break of dawn—sets in, and I’m getting sleepy in his arms, but I don’t care.

“Why did we
ever
stop fucking in the morning?” he says.

I kiss his forehead. “Because you went and got a job that makes you get up too fucking early.”

“Oh right.” We both laugh breathlessly.

“Tonight’s a good idea,” Ian murmurs. “I can’t wait.”

“Neither can I.”

“Gotta go to work, though.” He lifts his head and meets my gaze, his eyelids heavy and his lips curving into the most delicious grin. “I’ll be counting down the hours.”

“Me too.” I smile sleepily. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Ian kisses my cheek, then steps out of the shower.

With the stall to myself, I close my eyes and let the hot water rush over my skin for a minute or so. Then I reach for the shampoo and start getting myself cleaned up. It’s early, but now that I’m awake, I might as well get ready for work.

Not that I’ll get much done today. I suspect I’ll be a distracted idiot for the next several hours.

Because tonight, I have a date with my husband.

As I pull in the driveway after work, anticipation crackles along my spine—Ian’s always home first, so I have no doubt he’s ready and waiting for me. In bed? On the couch? Hell, he could be in the garage, ready to fuck me across the hood or in the backseat.

I shiver. I don’t care where or how, I just want him.

In the house, Ariel greets me as she always does, but Ian doesn’t answer when I call for him. I take off my jacket in the foyer, and on my way into the kitchen, slip off my tie.

And there, beside his laptop and briefcase on the kitchen table, is a bottle of wine, a pair of glasses and a piece of paper with two handwritten words:

Hot tub.

Oh, hell yes.

Glasses in one hand, bottle in the other, I step out onto the deck, and there he is. He’s lounging in the tub, arms stretched out across the edge, watching me.

I hold up the bottle. “Should we even bother with the wine?”

“Maybe afterward.” He beckons to me. “Get in here.”

Neighbors be damned, I strip out of my clothes and slip into the water. My feet have barely touched the bottom before Ian wraps his arms around me and pulls me onto his lap. His wet hands run all over my back and shoulders, up and down my sides and my thighs.

Under the water, his erection brushes mine, but it’s his mouth that has my attention right now. I’ve always loved the way he kisses.

After a while, Ian breaks the kiss and gazes up at me. Sliding wet fingers through my hair, he says, “I don’t want to hurry. We have all night, and I want to use it.”

“Agreed. Question is, what do you want to do with it?”

He flashes a wicked grin. “I think what we’re doing now is perfect.”

“Me too.”

We haven’t made out like this in
years
. This is exactly the way he kissed me the night we met, when we’d caught each other’s eye in a bathhouse and found ourselves pressed up against a wall, kissing and panting before we’d exchanged so much as a hello. Memories rush through my mind of where that first kiss went—a frantic hand job in a corner, a blowjob in front of guys whose names I’ll never know—and I shiver against him.

At some point, we pull apart, and our eyes meet.

My spine tingles.

He licks his lips. “Bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

We dry off just enough to keep from slipping and falling on the linoleum, and somehow Ian’s coherent enough to bring the untouched wine bottle back in the house.

Then it’s up to the bedroom.

I lie back against the pillows, and Ian goes right for my cock. True to his word, though, he’s in no hurry—he licks and teases me, as if he wants to savor every taste. No one on the planet can make a blowjob last as long as Ian can without it getting boring and tedious—and a blowjob from him is
never
boring or tedious.

After just a few minutes, though, he stops. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” He gestures for me to sit up. I do, and then let him guide me back down so we’re lying in opposite directions, facing each other on our sides. Oh yes. This will do quite nicely—now I can suck his cock while he sucks mine.

The only downside is that it’s difficult to concentrate while he’s driving me crazy with his mouth, but I try anyway. Ian moans softly, and his hips start moving, not quite thrusting into my mouth, but definitely trying to get deeper. I do the same, and we fall into a slow, steady rhythm, sliding in and out of each other’s mouths. Our hands roam over each other’s asses, hips, legs. No one’s in any hurry—I could lie like this and please him like this all night long. Lips, tongue, hands, doing to him the same things he’s doing to me and vice versa. Time doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing does except this beautiful man beside me and all the little moans we’re drawing out of each other.

After God knows how long, Ian stops. “Come up here.” He turns onto his back, and I join him, climbing on top. His hands on my hips nudge me into motion, and silently, breathlessly, we’re moving together, my cock rubbing against his. The friction is insane, but quickly becomes too intense, so I get the lube off the nightstand.

I pour some into Ian’s hand. He strokes some of it onto his cock and some onto mine. As we start moving together again, the undersides of our dicks rubbing together, that slipperiness is mind-blowing.

His other hand curves around the back of my neck, and as he draws me down, he lifts his head to meet me halfway. As soon as our lips meet, I’m nearly there—his body, his mouth, everything about him turns me on, and I can barely stand it as we kiss and rub together.

Ian breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t let me go. Forehead to forehead, panting and trembling, we’re both getting close—I swear I can feel his orgasm building just like I can feel my own.

Then he gasps. A shudder runs up his back, lifting him off the bed, and I kiss his neck as semen spurts between us, and in seconds, I’m coming too, groaning and shaking until I can’t even fucking move anymore.

He collapses. I collapse. We hold onto each other, we breathe, and I’m surprised I don’t black out.

When my arms and legs finally agree to hold me up, we separate, we wipe ourselves off and then pull the sheets up over us.

Neither of us says anything for a while. Lying beside him, head tucked beneath his chin, I don’t want to get up. Even now that we’ve reconnected again, I’m almost afraid to let him go. This is the second time I’ve let our arrangement with Michael pull my focus away from my marriage, and it’s left me rattled that we both let it happen this time.

Ian’s hand slides up my arm. “Still awake?”

“Yeah.” I rub my eyes. “Just”—
distracted
—“drowsy.”

“Me too.” He holds me closer. “We really need to do this more often.”

“Yeah, we do.” I kiss beneath his jaw.

“I don’t want to stop what we’re doing with Michael,” he says. “But we can’t forget about us.”

I close my eyes and exhale, relieved we’re on the same page even though I shouldn’t be at all surprised. “No, we definitely can’t. Maybe we need a night or two a week that’s just for us.”

“Probably. Or even keep playing it by ear, but make sure we’re still spending time one on one. I have no doubt Michael will understand.”

“More than most guys would, I think.” He nudges me gently. “We should eat something.”

“Yeah.” I drape my arm over him and cuddle closer. “But I don’t want to move yet.”

“Neither do I.” He nuzzles my hair. “This is comfortable.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Come on. Let’s go make some dinner before we fall asleep.”

I want nothing more than to lie here with him, but I nod and start to get up. “Yeah, good idea.”

Ian stops me with a hand on the back of my neck, and he grins. “Maybe a light dinner. I don’t know about you, but I could go for some more tonight.”

Goose bumps spring up along my spine. “You can have as much as you want.”

The grin broadens, and he draws me in for a kiss. “Maybe dinner can wait, then.”

“Hmm. Maybe it can…”

Chapter Nineteen

It’s no surprise that Michael’s completely supportive when Ian and I tell him we need a couple of nights a week to ourselves.

“Like I’ve said from the beginning,” he tells us over dinner, “I don’t want to cause any problems between you two. I’m happy to make whatever adjustments help you guys.”

Funny how I was so worried about this being a bad idea. I’m married to and sleeping with two of the most levelheaded, laidback men on the planet. While I get worried and convince myself we’re on the cusp of disaster, they adapt as if they can’t imagine why not.

So on an evening when Ian’s swamped with papers to grade—which he neglected for a few nights in a row because of both Michael and me—he gives me a kiss, tells me to have a good time and reminds me to kiss Michael for him. And it’s completely normal. This has become normal in our house. Which is weird when I think about it, but living it feels exactly that: normal.

As does walking into Michael’s house, saying hi to Cody and continuing into Michael’s kitchen, where he’s waiting with a glass of wine in his hand.

“Right on time.” He sets the glass down and wraps his arms around me. “As always.”

“Couldn’t possibly be late.” I kiss him lightly. “By the way, Ian says hello. And he sends”—I cup Michael’s neck and kiss him again, longer and deeper, just the way Ian likes it—“that.”

Michael grins. “I’ll definitely make sure to send one home for him too.” He holds my gaze, and the grin falters a bit. “I, um…I’m actually glad it’s just you and me tonight, though.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

He rests his forearms on my shoulders. “Because I want tonight to be different. It’s been all about me from the beginning. Tonight, it needs to be about you.”

“But we—”

He kisses me, and my resistance doesn’t stand a chance. Some nights, we talk for a while, and maybe go through a little bit of wine, but sometimes we cut right to the chase. This is going to be one of those nights, according to this languid bedroom kiss.

After some long, undefined expanse of time, he draws back and meets my gaze. “I know this has been stressful for you. Fun, yeah, but let’s be real. I know you’ve worried about me, and about your marriage.” He takes my hand and leads me toward the bedroom. “I just want you to know that I appreciate it.”

“I know you do, Michael. I’ve never doubted that for a second.”

“Still.” He pauses. “I think we should finish this conversation in the bedroom.”

It seems like a topic that can easily kill the mood, but I do what I’ve done since the start—follow Michael’s lead. Into his bedroom. Out of our clothes. Into his bed. Into another long, tangled kiss.

Without breaking the kiss, Michael rolls me onto my back. Then, he moves from my lips to my jaw, and continues down my neck. “I’ve told you time and again how much you’ve done for me, and how much it means to me.” Kiss by kiss, he inches down my torso. “Tonight, I want to show you.”

“Show me? How are…”

As he starts down my abs, his eyes flick up to meet mine, and the pieces snap together.

He’s really…

He passes my navel, pausing now and then to flick his tongue across my skin.

Oh my God.

His lips mark a slow, gentle path along the edge of my hipbone.

He is
.

He starts at the base of my cock, drawing little circles with the tip of his tongue, and my breath is gone. Just gone. My eyes water, and it’s more than arousal. I can’t even believe what I’m seeing, what I’m feeling—Michael’s going down on me?

He works his way from the base to the head, kissing and teasing. Just like that very first time a lifetime ago, he’s taking his time, working up the confidence while he’s turning me inside out.

He rests a hand on my hip, quite possibly to keep me still, and runs the tip of his tongue along the underside of my cock. And when he reaches the head, I expect him to go back down, but instead—

Holy. Fucking.
Hell
.

His lips slide down over the head. Before I can catch my breath from that, he runs his tongue around it. Again, back the other way. He doesn’t take me very deep, but that’s just fine by me—what he’s doing is…so…
good
.

I want so badly to grip his hair, to run my fingers through it, but I don’t know if that’s welcome. Not when it’s taken him so much just to work up the nerve to do this. So I grab the pillow and hold on, forcing myself to stay still even when my hips desperately want to rock in time with his strokes. On the plus side, staying still keeps me from coming too fast—thank God, because this really is our first time all over again, and I want to savor it even more than I did then.

There’s no putting off an orgasm indefinitely, though. I grip the pillow tighter and try to stay still. Try to hold back. Not a chance.

“K-keep doing that,” I slur. “And you’ll make me come.” I’m half-expecting him to continue anyway, like he did the first time, but he stops. He lifts his head and pushes himself onto his arms.

“I do want to make you come,” he breathes as he moves up over me, “but I want to fuck you.” He shudders, pressing his rock hard cock against me. “I want to be inside you when you come.”

Oh fuck yes.

I moisten my dry lips. “How?”

“My favorite position, of course.”

“Perfect.” I love it when he fucks me this way. The angle, the view—it’s all perfect. And it means I don’t have to move, which is even better, since he’s turned my spine and limbs to jelly.

Michael sits up and puts on some lube. My pulse is going crazy as he pushes my legs apart and positions himself.

The head of his cock breaches me, and as thick as he is, it makes my eyes water. Then he pulls out and does it again. And again. And again. I want him all the way inside me, every last goddamned inch of him, but that shallow fucking is enough to drive me insane.

Michael rests his weight on his hands, pushes with his hips and slides all the way inside me. And just in case I have any sanity left, he withdraws almost completely and does it all over again. He fucks me painfully slowly, drawing out each stroke until I’m ready to come unglued.

“Like that?” he asks as he pulls out again.

“So much. You fucking tease.”

“Me?” He flashes a toothy grin and then
slams
into me. “I have no idea what you mean.”

I can’t think of a comeback. My brain’s gone blank, and he’s pulling out again, and
…yes, please, please, do it again. Do it—oh fuck!

He doesn’t let up now. He’s pounding me deep and hard, relentlessly, reducing my vocabulary to helpless near-sobs. I manage to grip the back of his neck with one hand, pump my dick with the other, and I’m in heaven. He’s kissing me, he’s fucking me, and everything’s…everything’s perfect.

A tremor ripples through my whole body. I break the kiss with a gasp, and arch off the bed. Whatever rhythm my hand had, it’s gone now, but I don’t care.

And suddenly Michael pulls out.

And he pushes my hand away.

What the—

His mouth closes around my cock. He slides his fingers inside me and crooks them, and he’s fucking me with them, and…and…

“Oh my God,” I whimper. “Michael, I’m—”

Gone.

Just…gone.

The whole world explodes. He keeps going, keeps sucking my cock and finger-fucking me, and I just keep coming, and coming, and coming.

“S-stop.” I gasp for breath. “Fuck. Stop…”

Michael stops. Gives me a moment to breathe. Then he slips his fingers free. He comes back up, and even more than the very first time, I have to kiss him. I have to taste this and convince myself it’s real. That Michael really did knock down that last obstacle.

God, yes. It is real. The salt in his mouth is as real as the fading shockwaves of my orgasm. He really did it.

“I thought…” I gulp, trying not to kill the mood. “I thought you wanted to be fucking me when I came.”

“I did.” He kisses me again, lightly this time. “I changed my mind.”

“Jesus.” I blink a few times. “You haven’t come yet, though.” I reach for the bottle of lube. “Let me do something about that.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He rolls onto his back. I lie beside him, pour a little lube on my hand and then close my fingers around his cock.

Michael kisses me, but before long, he’s too out of breath to keep kissing me. Instead, he gazes down, watching me pump his dick, and then he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. “Oh yeah… Oh…” He groans and bites his lip.

I stroke him faster, adding a slight twist to my strokes.

Michael grabs on to my shoulder and thrusts into my fist. “Fuck, Josh. Keep…” He trails off into a choked whimper, and a split second later, he comes, fucking my hand erratically until he shivers and sinks back onto the bed.

I kiss him lightly. “Have I ever mentioned how hot it is to watch you come?”

He grins even as he’s catching his breath. “Any time you wanna watch, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

“Of course you are. Dork.”

He just chuckles, and I turn away to grab the tissues off the nightstand.

After the dust settles and we’re tangled up under the sheets, I meet his gaze. “You went down on me.”

He laughs. “You noticed.”

I roll my eyes and tousle his hair. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” He kisses me softly. “I’ve been trying to work up the nerve for a while, and part of me just realized how stupid it was to be afraid to do anything with you.” He caresses my cheek. “Because you’ve proven time after time after time what I’ve known without a doubt since we were kids—that there’s no one I trust more than you.”

“Of course you can trust me,” I whisper. “Always.”

“I know.” He smiles tightly. “The thing is, I kind of feel stupid for not coming to you about this years ago. Or even telling you what happened.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“No, but it would’ve done me some good. I didn’t know how badly I needed my sexuality back until I started
getting
it back. For the first time in years, I actually feel like
me
again. Completely. I didn’t even realize how important it was to me, and how much I missed it until…until you…” He exhales, and then he kisses me, letting the soft contact linger for a moment. “Josh, you and Ian gave me back the last thing Steve took away from me.”

I’m…speechless.

Michael sweeps his tongue across his lips. “What he did, it’ll always be there. What’s done is done. But now it’s like when I fucked up my knee in high school. There’s still some damage, and it still gives me trouble once in a while, but it’s
healed
. And that’s how this feels too. Like it’s less of an open wound now and more of a scar.” He clasps both his hands around one of mine, and the intensity in his eyes damn near drives me to tears even before he whispers, “Which means I can finally move on.”

I still can’t speak, so I just free my hand and wrap my arms around him, and that doesn’t really help me get my emotions under control.

After a moment, I clear my throat. “He didn’t deserve a single piece of you. I’m so glad Ian and I helped you get this one back.”

“Me too.” He holds me tighter. “Thank you, Josh. This means the world to me.”

I kiss the top of his head. “You’re welcome.”

Because
you
mean the world to me, Michael.