What He Left Behind(35)

He nods vigorously. “Yeah. It’s just…intense.”

“Good in—”

“Yes. D-definitely good.” He bites his lip and lifts his hips, letting his cock brush the edge of my jaw. “Please, Josh…”

Goose bumps. So many goose bumps.

Cautiously, I tease the base of his cock with my lips. Michael moans and fidgets. His hand leaves my hair and drops to the sheets, and his fingers curl as I run the tip of my tongue from the base of his cock to the head. I do it again, even slower this time, to both tease him and give him a chance to get used to this.

The third time, Michael’s whole body seizes. His knuckles turn white as he grips the sheets.

My hair stands on end. “Michael? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer. And he’s suddenly breathing a lot faster. “Fuck. Oh f*ck.” His whole body tenses. His grip on the sheets gets even tighter.

“Michael, are—”

He sucks in a breath that’s made of pure panic. “No!”

I immediately stop and join him up by the pillows. His eyes are screwed shut, sweat on his brow catching the light as he hyperventilates and begs me—or maybe not me?—to stop.

“Please, no more. No—”

“Hey, hey.” I hold him close—my God, every muscle in his body is completely tense. “Relax. It’s me. It’s just me.” I cradle the back of his head. “Michael. Look at me.”

He opens his eyes, but I swear he’s looking through me.

“Michael.” I run my thumb along his cheekbone. “It’s me. It’s Josh. You’re safe.”

He blinks a few times. One by one, his muscles soften. He wipes his eyes. Then his forehead. After a moment, he shifts his focus to me, and cool relief surges through my veins—wherever he went for those few seconds, he’s back.

“You okay?”

Sighing, he closes his eyes again and rubs them. “Yeah. Flashbacks are not fun.”

I shiver—I’ve never been through anything traumatic enough to cause my mind to suddenly quantum leap back to it, and I hope I never find out what that’s like. Just seeing Michael slip away and snap back is terrifying enough.

He drops his hand beside him. “God, I’m so stupid.”

“No, you’re not.” I stroke his hair. “Just talk to me. What happened?”

He’s shaking like mad now, shivering as if all the heat in the room has suddenly vanished, so I pull the covers up over us and hold him close. It’s uncomfortably hot while I’m still dressed, but I keep that to myself.

“What happened, Michael?”

“Goddammit.” He exhales sharply and stares up—glares up—at the ceiling. “It wasn’t anything you did. A memory came back to me, and it f*cked me all up. It’s like, as soon as something like that crosses my mind, there’s no stopping it. Pandora’s box, in a weird way.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t push it like this, then.” Guilt twists beneath my ribs. I knew oral was a problem for him. Fuck. What did I do? “I am so sorry. I thought—”

“No, no.” He turns toward me and cups my cheek. “I wanted to push it.”

“But you said oral is specifically a problem.”

Lips taut, he nods. “It is. And it’s one I want to get past. I can’t let this shit in my head own me anymore.”

I swallow. “What do you want to do, then?”

“Get back on the horse that threw me.” He lifts his eyebrows. “If you’re willing to try again, I mean.”

“Like now?”

He nods.

An uncomfortable prickly feeling starts at the base of my spine and crawls upward. No pressure, indeed.

“I really was enjoying it, by the way,” he says. “Right up until I killed the mood.”

“You didn’t kill the mood. We can still start again.” I lean down to kiss his neck, and against his skin, murmur, “If you’re really sure you’re ready, I’ll gladly do it again.”

He shivers. “W-will you promise me something?”

I meet his eyes. “Anything.”

He touches my face, the apprehension in his quickly vanishing in favor of confidence. And lust. Definitely some burning lust. “This time,” he whispers, “don’t stop until I come.”

My breath halts in my throat. “But if you want to stop, I—”

“I know. I have no doubt.” He lifts his head and kisses me again. “But I don’t want to stop this time. Just promise…”

I kiss him, letting it linger for a moment. Then, “Promise.”

We lock eyes.

One more kiss, and then I start downward just like before. His neck. His collarbone. Down the center of his chest. Down his abs, taking my sweet time because I love the way it feels when a soft kiss makes his muscles tense like that.

“Damn it, Josh,” he grinds out. “I want… Fuck.”

“Getting there.” I glance up, grinning at him. “Patience.”

Whatever he says next, I don’t understand it, but I’m pretty sure it’s profane. Laughing softly, I keep going downward. It’s not just to tease him, though. He’s not the only one who has to work up the courage to see this through. There’s more riding on this than a blowjob, and I’ve never had such intense performance anxiety before. I know how to suck cock. Do I know how to keep his mind here with me and make this fun and pleasurable when he’s got so much trauma tied up with it?