What He Left Behind(58)

Ian nods. “Me too.”

“Well. We’ll all cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Yeah. For now…” Ian takes my hand. “Bed?”

“Bed.”

We go through our evening routine, cat and dog underfoot as always. I can’t quite settle down for the night, though. I’m relieved to have him home, even though I don’t know why—I knew he’d be home, and I knew where he was the whole time anyway. But I’m also restless. Maybe because I know there’s not a chance in hell that we’re having sex tonight. We always want what we can’t have, after all.

Once we’re in bed, Ian doesn’t kill the light. He tugs on my shoulder, so I roll onto my back. He’s on his side, arm draped across my chest. “You all right tonight?”

“Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You just seem a bit tense.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. “I guess it was just a bit weird, switching roles with you.” Meeting his eyes, I ask, “Has it been weird for you? When I’m over at Michael’s place?”

“It was a little in the beginning. Just an adjustment, I guess.”

“Maybe that’s it.”

“We’ve been strictly monogamous for a long time. Shifting gears and accepting the idea of your husband sleeping with another guy… It’s gonna make you stop and think, you know?”

“Yeah. It does.” I touch his face. “I’m sorry if this has been stressful for you.”

“Don’t be.” He turns his head and kisses my palm. “The only one who needs to apologize for anything is Steve, and he’s beyond redemption anyway. The adjustments and stress for us have been worth it to help Michael.”

“I agree. As long as we’re okay.”

Ian smiles, sending a warm jolt of electricity through me. “We’re definitely okay.” His fingertips drift over my abs and continue downward.

I bite my lip. “I thought you were tired.”

“I am.” He kisses the side of my neck, and then starts downward again, his lips following the same path his fingers took. “But you’re not.”

“No, but—”

But I love those soft little kisses down my chest. Over my stomach. Across my hipbone. And Ian may be completely spent after everything he did with Michael tonight, but when he closes his lips around my cock, the fatigue doesn’t show at all.

And I just lie back, close my eyes and enjoy my husband’s skilled, enthusiastic mouth.





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.