What He Left Behind(10)

And that’s a risk anyway, because the intensity of this kiss is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Sure, there’s arousal, and relief, and nerves, but there’s something more. A hunger coming from him that I can’t quite put my finger on. He’s trembling, holding on to me and kissing me like his life depends on it. Not like he wants to drag me to bed, but like he’s been waiting for this moment for so f*cking long, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

After God knows how long, I come up for air.

When our eyes meet, his are wet, and suddenly that intense hunger not only makes sense, it breaks my heart—it’s the hunger of a man who’s been starved for human affection for way, way too long.

He touches his forehead to mine, and my God, he’s shaking. “That’s…that’s the first time I’ve kissed anyone since…”

“That’s a damned shame.” I pull him into a tighter embrace and stroke his hair. “Anything you want, Michael, just say the word.”

He sighs. “I don’t even know. Where to start. What I can handle.”

“Anything. We can take it as slowly as you need to. Just like when we were kids—kiss a little. Maybe move up to going down on each other before—”

“No.” The sharpness of his voice startles me almost as much as the uncomfortable fidget. “Let’s… I mean…” His voice softens. “Slow, yeah. But oral. That’s…”

I blink. “No oral?”

“No.” He laughs bitterly. “Isn’t that a switch? When I was a kid, I was terrified of being f*cked, but totally down with sucking dick. Now I’d rather be dry-f*cked than…”

Jesus. No one, not even Ian, has ever sucked my cock as enthusiastically as Michael did. I don’t even want to know what Steve did to take that away from him, but I have a feeling I’ll find out sooner or later.

“I’ll follow your lead.” I smooth his hair. “Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He wipes his eyes and then searches mine. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“This is a little above and beyond for a friend, isn’t it?”

“Would you do the same for me?”

Michael tenses, and for a second, I’m afraid of the answer. But then he says, “If anyone ever did to you what Steve did to me—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head, and then he pulls me in closer. Just before our lips meet, he murmurs, “He’d be a dead man,” and then we’re kissing again, and alongside that hunger for contact and affection, there’s a taste of that passion he’d always had when we’d slept together in the past. That fierceness that came out in the form of desire, resulting in me getting pinned down and ridden hard, but could also come out as protectiveness.

“He ever hurts you,” Michael once warned me about one of my questionable boyfriends, “he’ll have me to answer to.”

“Do it again,” he once growled to a guy who wouldn’t back off in a club. “I f*cking dare you.”

Michael breaks the kiss. Against my lips, he whispers, “To answer your question, yes. I’d do the same for you.”

“I know you would.” I kiss him again.

He draws back and swallows. “This is still a lot to handle. Up until just now, I hadn’t even kissed anyone in years.”

“There’s no reason to rush any of it. We can take it a little at a time. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He’s searching my eyes again. Then, tentatively, he pulls me into another kiss. Long, deep, just like the first one, as if the assurance that we can take all the time in the world has given him the confidence to have it all right now.

Anything you want, Michael. Anything.

He slides his hand down my back and draws me even closer, until our hips are almost touching, and I’m about to come unglued.

Jesus, I didn’t think we’d get beyond a conversation tonight, but now this.

His fingers press into my back. His erection brushes mine. Oh God. I want him so f*cking—

“Shit.” Michael jerks away and pushes me back, breaking the kiss, breaking the embrace, breaking contact. “I’m sorry, I—”

“What’s wrong?” I give him some space instead of pinning him to the counter. “Did I do something—”

“No, no, no.” He shakes his head and paces across the linoleum. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I watch him, at a loss for what to say. When his back is to me for a second, I quickly adjust the tight front of my jeans, but even alleviating that discomfort doesn’t help much.

Michael stops, and he slumps against the counter across from me. “I think I need…” He rubs his hands over his face. “Fuck. I don’t know what I need.”

“Maybe some time. To get your head around everything.”

“Maybe.” He sighs. “Probably.”

“Do you want me to go?”

He folds his arms tightly across his chest, as if he can’t get warm. “I don’t want you to go, no.”

I study him, trying to read between the lines. “Should I go?”

At that, Michael deflates. He cups his elbow and lets his face fall into his hand. “Fuck. Probably. I don’t know.” Rubbing his eyes, he mutters, “I’m such a goddamned basket case.”