What He Left Behind(59)

Fuck. Didn’t I swear up and down this wouldn’t happen again? That everything with Michael would not distract me from Ian? I don’t want to leave Michael to his own devices until he’s sure he’s back on track, but I need to fix this. And it can’t wait.

I carefully slip my leg out from under the dog. She grumbles a bit, wriggles farther onto Ian’s side, but that’s it.

I step into the bathroom. The sight of Ian on the other side of the frosted glass makes my chest tighten. How long has it been?

He turns his head, though the semi-opaque door obscures his features. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. I know.” I pause. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure.”

I step into the shower with him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He leans back to rinse some shampoo from his hair.

“Not really.” I wait until he’s done rinsing off, and then put my hands on his waist. “I wanted to see you before you go to work.”

He glances down at my hands and blinks a few times. “What are—”

“We haven’t been spending enough time together.” I draw him in and run my fingers through his wet hair. It’s too early in the morning to kiss, but I need to touch him. “We were having so much sex before, and now that we’re with Michael all the time, we’ve barely had anything left for each other.”

Ian frowns. “I know. And I want to keep spending time with him, but…” He swallows. “To be honest, I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” I whisper.

“Call Michael when he’s up.” He kisses my fingers. “Tonight, we’re shutting off our phones and staying home.”

“Good idea. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“I have no doubt.”

We exchange smiles.

“You know, as long as I’m in here.” I snake a hand between us.

Ian sucks in a breath. “Josh, I need to… I have to get to…”

I trail my fingers along his cock. “You have time, don’t you?”

He shudders, pressing against my hand. “I need—”

“Turn around.”

He hesitates, and I’m expecting him to insist he really doesn’t have time, but then he does turn around. I pull him against me so I can reach around and stroke his cock while I kiss up and down his neck.

Ian braces his arm against the wall, and he pushes back, and a groan escapes my lips as he rubs against my dick. I had only intended to jerk him off and give him a little preview of tonight, but like this, with my cock pressed between his wet skin and mine, I’m losing it too.

His other hand closes around mine. He’s not taking over, not controlling how I stroke his cock, just making contact, and I stroke him faster. Ian moans and thrusts into my hand—our hands—which only increases the delicious friction against my cock. I bury my face in his neck and rub harder against his wet skin.

“God.” He shudders, and I hold him tighter as my own orgasm rocks my whole damn body. So much for just getting him off, but I’m not complaining.

We rinse off and then pull each other close, and for the longest time, we just stand there, holding each other beneath the warm shower, lazily kissing each other’s necks. Fatigue—from both my orgasm and being up at the break of dawn—sets in, and I’m getting sleepy in his arms, but I don’t care.

“Why did we ever stop f*cking in the morning?” he says.

I kiss his forehead. “Because you went and got a job that makes you get up too f*cking early.”

“Oh right.” We both laugh breathlessly.

“Tonight’s a good idea,” Ian murmurs. “I can’t wait.”

“Neither can I.”

“Gotta go to work, though.” He lifts his head and meets my gaze, his eyelids heavy and his lips curving into the most delicious grin. “I’ll be counting down the hours.”

“Me too.” I smile sleepily. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Ian kisses my cheek, then steps out of the shower.

With the stall to myself, I close my eyes and let the hot water rush over my skin for a minute or so. Then I reach for the shampoo and start getting myself cleaned up. It’s early, but now that I’m awake, I might as well get ready for work.

Not that I’ll get much done today. I suspect I’ll be a distracted idiot for the next several hours.

Because tonight, I have a date with my husband.

As I pull in the driveway after work, anticipation crackles along my spine—Ian’s always home first, so I have no doubt he’s ready and waiting for me. In bed? On the couch? Hell, he could be in the garage, ready to f*ck me across the hood or in the backseat.

I shiver. I don’t care where or how, I just want him.

In the house, Ariel greets me as she always does, but Ian doesn’t answer when I call for him. I take off my jacket in the foyer, and on my way into the kitchen, slip off my tie.

And there, beside his laptop and briefcase on the kitchen table, is a bottle of wine, a pair of glasses and a piece of paper with two handwritten words:

Hot tub.

Oh, hell yes.

Glasses in one hand, bottle in the other, I step out onto the deck, and there he is. He’s lounging in the tub, arms stretched out across the edge, watching me.