What He Left Behind(60)

I hold up the bottle. “Should we even bother with the wine?”

“Maybe afterward.” He beckons to me. “Get in here.”

Neighbors be damned, I strip out of my clothes and slip into the water. My feet have barely touched the bottom before Ian wraps his arms around me and pulls me onto his lap. His wet hands run all over my back and shoulders, up and down my sides and my thighs.

Under the water, his erection brushes mine, but it’s his mouth that has my attention right now. I’ve always loved the way he kisses.

After a while, Ian breaks the kiss and gazes up at me. Sliding wet fingers through my hair, he says, “I don’t want to hurry. We have all night, and I want to use it.”

“Agreed. Question is, what do you want to do with it?”

He flashes a wicked grin. “I think what we’re doing now is perfect.”

“Me too.”

We haven’t made out like this in years. This is exactly the way he kissed me the night we met, when we’d caught each other’s eye in a bathhouse and found ourselves pressed up against a wall, kissing and panting before we’d exchanged so much as a hello. Memories rush through my mind of where that first kiss went—a frantic hand job in a corner, a blowjob in front of guys whose names I’ll never know—and I shiver against him.

At some point, we pull apart, and our eyes meet.

My spine tingles.

He licks his lips. “Bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

We dry off just enough to keep from slipping and falling on the linoleum, and somehow Ian’s coherent enough to bring the untouched wine bottle back in the house.

Then it’s up to the bedroom.

I lie back against the pillows, and Ian goes right for my cock. True to his word, though, he’s in no hurry—he licks and teases me, as if he wants to savor every taste. No one on the planet can make a blowjob last as long as Ian can without it getting boring and tedious—and a blowjob from him is never boring or tedious.

After just a few minutes, though, he stops. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” He gestures for me to sit up. I do, and then let him guide me back down so we’re lying in opposite directions, facing each other on our sides. Oh yes. This will do quite nicely—now I can suck his cock while he sucks mine.

The only downside is that it’s difficult to concentrate while he’s driving me crazy with his mouth, but I try anyway. Ian moans softly, and his hips start moving, not quite thrusting into my mouth, but definitely trying to get deeper. I do the same, and we fall into a slow, steady rhythm, sliding in and out of each other’s mouths. Our hands roam over each other’s asses, hips, legs. No one’s in any hurry—I could lie like this and please him like this all night long. Lips, tongue, hands, doing to him the same things he’s doing to me and vice versa. Time doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing does except this beautiful man beside me and all the little moans we’re drawing out of each other.

After God knows how long, Ian stops. “Come up here.” He turns onto his back, and I join him, climbing on top. His hands on my hips nudge me into motion, and silently, breathlessly, we’re moving together, my cock rubbing against his. The friction is insane, but quickly becomes too intense, so I get the lube off the nightstand.

I pour some into Ian’s hand. He strokes some of it onto his cock and some onto mine. As we start moving together again, the undersides of our dicks rubbing together, that slipperiness is mind-blowing.

His other hand curves around the back of my neck, and as he draws me down, he lifts his head to meet me halfway. As soon as our lips meet, I’m nearly there—his body, his mouth, everything about him turns me on, and I can barely stand it as we kiss and rub together.

Ian breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t let me go. Forehead to forehead, panting and trembling, we’re both getting close—I swear I can feel his orgasm building just like I can feel my own.

Then he gasps. A shudder runs up his back, lifting him off the bed, and I kiss his neck as semen spurts between us, and in seconds, I’m coming too, groaning and shaking until I can’t even f*cking move anymore.

He collapses. I collapse. We hold onto each other, we breathe, and I’m surprised I don’t black out.

When my arms and legs finally agree to hold me up, we separate, we wipe ourselves off and then pull the sheets up over us.

Neither of us says anything for a while. Lying beside him, head tucked beneath his chin, I don’t want to get up. Even now that we’ve reconnected again, I’m almost afraid to let him go. This is the second time I’ve let our arrangement with Michael pull my focus away from my marriage, and it’s left me rattled that we both let it happen this time.

Ian’s hand slides up my arm. “Still awake?”

“Yeah.” I rub my eyes. “Just”—distracted—“drowsy.”

“Me too.” He holds me closer. “We really need to do this more often.”

“Yeah, we do.” I kiss beneath his jaw.

“I don’t want to stop what we’re doing with Michael,” he says. “But we can’t forget about us.”

I close my eyes and exhale, relieved we’re on the same page even though I shouldn’t be at all surprised. “No, we definitely can’t. Maybe we need a night or two a week that’s just for us.”