What He Left Behind(27)

“Can you handle more?”

He nods. Is he breathing?

“Michael? Are you—”

“More. Please.” His voice is tense too, but he leans back against me as I’m withdrawing my finger, so I slide it back in. I crook it slightly, seeking that spot inside, and when I find it, he moans. He’s still tight, still tense, but his voice is made of pure pleasure.

“M-more,” he whispers again. “Please.”

I add a second finger, and damn, the tension is even more obvious now. Though some additional lube helps, I can still barely move my hand. I keep finger-f*cking him slowly, gently, letting him relax, but he stays tight as hell. Even as I stroke his prostate, driving soft little moans from him, he doesn’t relax.

He shifts, and the sheen of sweat on his shoulders catches the light. The ends of his red hair are darker now too. What the hell?

He turns his head, revealing more perspiration on his forehead and temple. “I want you…” He pauses, as if he needs to catch his breath. “I want you to f*ck me.”

But are you ready for me to f*ck you?

“A lot of this is on Michael, not you,” Ian’s voice echoes in my head. “You’re not fixing him. You’re giving him a safe place to work through the stuff that needs fixing.”

I swallow. Michael knows what he’s ready for. If he wants it, and he says he can handle it, then he does and he can. Right?

“Literally all you have to do is be the safe, kind, giving lover that you already are, and let him do the rest.”

And maybe that’s the key—letting him do the rest. Giving him control so he can call the shots.

I slowly withdraw my hand. “Why don’t I get on my back so you can be on top?”

Michael considers it for a second and nods. We change positions—I lie back, and he straddles me. I steady my cock with one hand and cover it in lube with the other. Once I’m good and slick, Michael lowers himself until the head is pressing against his ass.

As he eases down slowly, I grit my teeth. He’ll relax. Once he’s taken a few strokes, he’ll relax. Won’t he?

“Breathe,” I whisper. “Just breathe and take your time.”

He nods. Exhales. Inhales. Lowers himself a little more. The head of my cock breaches him, and my breath hitches. Fuck, he’s tight.

He doesn’t move. Eyes shut tight, lips apart, he’s still for several seconds before he lifts off and comes down again. This time, he takes me deeper, but every inch is a challenge. Despite being in control, he’s still painfully tight—I can’t imagine it’s comfortable for him. That taut grimace all but shouts that it’s not.

“Michael, are—”

“I can’t.” The words are strangled, almost a sob. “Fuck, I—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. We don’t have to.”

He lifts himself off me, and I exhale as my cock slides out. A shudder runs through him that sends a chill through me, and he releases a choked, panicked sound.

“Easy.” I embrace him gently and guide him down to the bed. Holy f*ck, he’s shaking. “Michael?”

“I can’t. I’m…” He shudders hard. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“Shh.” I press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Just breathe for a minute.”

He’s breathing, but way too fast, so I hold him close and remind him over and over to breathe, that I’m here, that he’s safe and no one will hurt him. All the while, I silently curse Steve. Wherever he is now, I hope to God he’s alone and miserable, that he hasn’t gotten his hands on anyone else.

Eventually, Michael exhales, and the shaking slows. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

You’re not the one who should be sorry.

“You all right?”

He nods, and as I carefully release him, he settles on his back. “I guess I wasn’t ready for that after all.” He stares up at the ceiling. “Weird. Everything’s fine, and then suddenly it’s not.” He’s breathing more steadily now, but his heart’s still going a hundred miles an hour.

“We can go slower.”

“Question is, how slow?” He turns to me and scowls. “I mean, the thought of you f*cking me has had me so turned on all day, I couldn’t concentrate at work. Didn’t raise any red flags in my head. Didn’t make me feel panicky or anything. I just…wanted it. But then when we tried…”

I grimace and kiss his cheek. This really is going to be a minefield, isn’t it?

Michael sighs. “I don’t know what will be a problem and what won’t. For all I know, you could f*ck me into oblivion, tie me up, slap my ass, and I’ll be fine, but then one kiss in the wrong place, and I’ll fall apart.” He combs through his hair with shaky fingers. “What the f*ck is the matter with me?”

“Nothing’s the matter with you. You’ve been through hell. That’s going to leave—”

“It’s been five years.” He rubs his eyes. “Damn it. After the other night, and talking to Dr. Hamilton on the phone today, I felt good about everything, you know? Felt like I could handle anything. But I should’ve listened to you. When you hesitated.”

“You didn’t know what was going to happen. We’ll get there, Michael.”