What He Left Behind(41)

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 f*ck 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—”