What He Left Behind (4 page)

We’re both still and silent for a long time. Then I cautiously come a little bit closer. He flinches, but his feet stay planted.

Slowly, carefully, I bring my hand up, and he’s watching it, but he still doesn’t back away. He’s tense, and I’d bet money that the muscles in his neck are hard as steel right now, especially as I inch closer to his face.

“You can say no,” I whisper. “Say the word, and I’ll back off.”

Still eyeing my hand, he says just as quietly, “Duly noted.”

And he still doesn’t move. Not toward me, not away from me.

The pad of my forefinger
just
meets his cheekbone, and he flinches again. I do too, because it’s heartbreaking to see this man jerking back from a gentle touch, whether it’s mine or anyone else’s. Especially since there was a time when my touch would have drawn him in—a brush of fingers on his cheek had the same effect as grabbing his shirt and pulling him to me. The instant we made contact, we were in each other’s arms.

Now, as my fingertips graze his face again, he closes his eyes and takes slow, ragged breaths, and suddenly he’s not a man on the verge of being drawn into a kiss or an embrace. An image of Ripley from
Alien
flashes through my mind—sweating, crying, inches from a monster, awaiting the inevitable, horrible outcome.

“I would never hurt you, Michael,” I whisper.

“I know.” He shudders hard. “I’m not afraid of you.”

You’re afraid of who your fucked-up psyche thinks I am.

“You and I are the only ones here.”

He meets my eyes. “No, we’re not.”

Steve, if I ever fucking see you again…

“Do you want this?” I ask. “Do you want—”

“I want everything.” His gaze drops again, and he exhales. “I want you to kiss me. I want you to fuck me.” He shakes his head. “Goddammit, I want to be able to do this without being scared of someone who isn’t here.”

Fuck. What do I do?

I let my hand rest against his cheek and wait until the shudder passes. Until he’s as relaxed as he’s probably going to get. Then, “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” He looks me in the eye again. “I don’t want to stop.”

Sliding my hand from his cheek into his hair, I draw us together, and—

A victory!

He touches my waist. Tentatively, his fingers twitching slightly on top of my shirt, but he’s bridged the gap. When I wrap my other arm around him, his hand curves around to my back, and a moment later, his free hand materializes on my chest. I’m still—even with the other on my back, that hand could push me away, and I give him time to decide if it’s what he really wants to do.

A fraction of an inch divides our lips, and I’m afraid to cross it. I can feel his uneven breaths, and I swear I can feel his heartbeat over my own, and I don’t know if I should move in or back off or—

Michael’s hand tightens around the front of my shirt.

He lifts his chin.

And presses his lips to mine.

My heart stops. Neither of us is moving or breathing. I’m sure he’s going to jerk back at any moment, that the traumatized side of him is going to speak up with all its lies about me and every other man in the world, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t quite melt against me, doesn’t quite relax, but in his own way, he does. The rigidity in his muscles starts to subtly ease. The hand on my back slides up a little, though I can’t tell if it’s a caress or if he’s just resituating himself.

Gently, cautiously, I take over—holding him tighter, I tilt my head and nudge his lips with mine. They’re taut at first, firm and closed, but gradually, they soften. And then they part. He takes in a long breath through his nose as I deepen the kiss.

He tugs at my shirt, and I’m so light-headed, it throws me off balance. We both stumble a bit, but thank God for Michael’s tiny kitchen—his hip brushes the counter, and then I’ve got him pressed up against it, and he’s not pushing me away or trying to stop or doing a damned thing except holding on to me and opening to my kiss. It’s all I can do to keep our hips apart—one thing at a time—because I want nothing more than to press against him, feel every inch of him, and pray like hell that he suggests taking this into the other room. But no, no, not yet. Just this. I don’t want to overwhelm him.

And that’s a risk anyway, because the intensity of this kiss is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Sure, there’s arousal, and relief, and nerves, but there’s something more. A hunger coming from him that I can’t quite put my finger on. He’s trembling, holding on to me and kissing me like his life depends on it. Not like he wants to drag me to bed, but like he’s been waiting for this moment for so fucking long, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

After God knows how long, I come up for air.

When our eyes meet, his are wet, and suddenly that intense hunger not only makes sense, it breaks my heart—it’s the hunger of a man who’s been starved for human affection for way, way too long.

He touches his forehead to mine, and my God, he’s shaking. “That’s…that’s the first time I’ve kissed anyone since…”

“That’s a damned shame.” I pull him into a tighter embrace and stroke his hair. “Anything you want, Michael, just say the word.”

He sighs. “I don’t even know. Where to start. What I can handle.”

“Anything. We can take it as slowly as you need to. Just like when we were kids—kiss a little. Maybe move up to going down on each other before—”

“
No.
” The sharpness of his voice startles me almost as much as the uncomfortable fidget. “Let’s… I mean…” His voice softens. “Slow, yeah. But oral. That’s…”

I blink. “No oral?”

“No.” He laughs bitterly. “Isn’t that a switch? When I was a kid, I was terrified of being fucked, but totally down with sucking dick. Now I’d rather be dry-fucked than…”

Jesus. No one, not even Ian, has ever sucked my cock as enthusiastically as Michael did. I don’t even want to know what Steve did to take that away from him, but I have a feeling I’ll find out sooner or later.

“I’ll follow your lead.” I smooth his hair. “Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He wipes his eyes and then searches mine. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“This is a little above and beyond for a friend, isn’t it?”

“Would you do the same for me?”

Michael tenses, and for a second, I’m afraid of the answer. But then he says, “If anyone ever did to you what Steve did to me—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head, and then he pulls me in closer. Just before our lips meet, he murmurs, “He’d be a dead man,” and then we’re kissing again, and alongside that hunger for contact and affection, there’s a taste of that passion he’d always had when we’d slept together in the past. That fierceness that came out in the form of desire, resulting in me getting pinned down and ridden hard, but could also come out as protectiveness.

“
He ever hurts you,
” Michael once warned me about one of my questionable boyfriends, “
he’ll have me to answer to.
”

“
Do it again,
” he once growled to a guy who wouldn’t back off in a club. “
I fucking dare you.
”

Michael breaks the kiss. Against my lips, he whispers, “To answer your question, yes. I’d do the same for you.”

“I know you would.” I kiss him again.

He draws back and swallows. “This is still a lot to handle. Up until just now, I hadn’t even kissed anyone in years.”

“There’s no reason to rush any of it. We can take it a little at a time. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He’s searching my eyes again. Then, tentatively, he pulls me into another kiss. Long, deep, just like the first one, as if the assurance that we can take all the time in the world has given him the confidence to have it all right now.

Anything you want, Michael. Anything.

He slides his hand down my back and draws me even closer, until our hips are
almost
touching, and I’m about to come unglued.

Jesus, I didn’t think we’d get beyond a conversation tonight, but now this.

His fingers press into my back. His erection brushes mine. Oh God. I want him so fucking—

“Shit.” Michael jerks away and pushes me back, breaking the kiss, breaking the embrace, breaking contact. “I’m sorry, I—”

“What’s wrong?” I give him some space instead of pinning him to the counter. “Did I do something—”

“No, no, no.” He shakes his head and paces across the linoleum. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I watch him, at a loss for what to say. When his back is to me for a second, I quickly adjust the tight front of my jeans, but even alleviating that discomfort doesn’t help much.

Michael stops, and he slumps against the counter across from me. “I think I need…” He rubs his hands over his face. “Fuck. I don’t know what I need.”

“Maybe some time. To get your head around everything.”

“Maybe.” He sighs. “Probably.”

“Do you want me to go?”

He folds his arms tightly across his chest, as if he can’t get warm. “I don’t want you to go, no.”

I study him, trying to read between the lines. “
Should
I go?”

At that, Michael deflates. He cups his elbow and lets his face fall into his hand. “Fuck. Probably. I don’t know.” Rubbing his eyes, he mutters, “I’m such a goddamned basket case.”

“We’re going to fix that. Together.”

He lowers his hand, meeting my gaze. “Would you be offended if I said I was skeptical that I can be fixed?”

“Offended, no. But I disagree. You’ve come a long way in the last few years, and you didn’t think you’d get that far.”

His lips tighten, and he avoids my eyes as he shrugs. “I guess we’ll see what happens.”

“We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says quickly and quietly. “I can’t even tell you how much it means that you’re willing to do this, and I want to. I’m just…”

“Not sure how much it’ll help?”

He nods.

“Only one way to find out.”

He tenses again, flinching slightly.

“It doesn’t have to be tonight.” I curl my fingers at my sides, desperately wanting to reach for him, but afraid to make contact again. It’s so weird, hesitating to touch him after we were just wrapped up in a long kiss. “If you need some time, I can go.”

He nods but doesn’t speak.

“Call me tomorrow. Even if you’re not ready to talk, just, you know, let me know you’re doing all right.”

“Okay. I will.”

My keys jingle as I pull them from my pocket. There’s got to be something I can say right now, but I’m drawing almost as much of a blank as I did when I broached this subject with Michael in the first place. So I just murmur, “I’m gonna go.”

He nods again.

I spin my keys around my finger, and I still don’t have a clue what to say, so I wish him a good night and head out of the kitchen.

I’m halfway down the hall when Michael says, “Josh.”

I turn around, eyebrows up.

He hesitates, then meets my eyes from the kitchen doorway, and the subtlest ghost of a smile flickers across his lips. “Thank you.”

Chapter Four

I should be relieved that Michael’s open to Ian’s suggestion, but I don’t feel anything like relief as I head home. I’m still too shell-shocked by just how shaken Michael really is. Hearing that his terrible ex did things to him to make him afraid of sex is one thing.

Watching him tremble with fear over the idea of being touched? Seeing the tears in his eyes? Personally witnessing his hellish past turn a kiss into something that difficult?

I wince, my throat aching and my eyes stinging. Knowing how Michael was when he was still young and unscathed makes it even worse. I know firsthand how confident and bold he used to be in bed, and it hurts like hell to realize how much damage has been done.

Halfway back to my house and my husband, I’m struggling to focus on the road, so I pull over. As the engine idles, I rub my hands over my face. Memories are flooding my brain, and one in particular keeps surfacing. It’s a memory that still wanders through my mind from time to time, and tonight, it won’t be ignored. Not with Michael’s kiss still fresh on my lips and the raw fear in his voice still thrumming along my nerve endings. There’s no stopping it. The past wants to be heard, and it’s either let it say its piece now, or wait until I’m lying in bed beside Ian.

So I close my eyes and let the memories come.

We’d been high school graduates for all of two weeks, so naturally, we owned the world. Driving around our hometown in beater cars, grinning like idiots every time we passed our alma mater, we were flying high and ready for the future to bring it on.

To save money, we were both going the community college route for the next two years. After that, Michael would start at the university for pre-vet, and then veterinary school. He had it all mapped out and planned down to the letter, from graduating at the top of his class to opening up a practice right there in town. My agenda wasn’t quite so well plotted. I hoped—and my parents hoped—that the two community college years would be enough for me to figure out what I planned to study at the university, if anything. At the moment, I didn’t have a clue.

It was no surprise that Michael had it together and I didn’t. He always did. He was valedictorian. I barely squeaked by with a C+ average. He had his driver’s license the day he turned sixteen. I failed my driving test twice and finally passed it—barely—just before I turned eighteen. He’d known since kindergarten he wanted to be a vet. Nothing short of a fortune teller or a time machine was going to shed any light on what I wanted to do.

And Michael had figured out this whole gay business long before I had. He’d been out since our freshman year, and he’d confided in me that he’d known since fourth grade. Me, I’d been a bit slower to creep out of the closet. It took me until well into high school to accept that, no, those hard-ons for guys weren’t going away and, no, I really wasn’t into girls, no matter how much I wanted to be. Senior year, just before the homecoming game, I finally came out. Naturally, the first person I told was Michael.

He’d blinked a few times, shaken his head and finally said, “Okay. And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’?”

“I mean, I thought you had something big to tell me.” He shrugged. “I’ve known you were gay since forever.”

“You—seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I laughed. “It took me long enough to figure it out.”

Michael turned a bit serious, though. “I thought about it. I’ve just—” He swallowed hard, and some color showed up in his cheeks as he avoided my eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to persuade you.”

“Persuade me? To what? Be gay?”

“Yeah.”

“Why the hell would—”

He met my gaze. And held it. And held it. And—

Oh.

Oh
.

I gulped. “Are you…”

The color in his cheeks deepened. “Would it weird you out if I told you I’ve wanted to kiss you since last year?”

Slowly, wordlessly, I shook my head. The guy I’d been fantasizing about for the last few months wanted to kiss me? After a long, silent moment, I said, “Do you still want to?”

Michael nodded. “A lot.”

“Me too.”

His eyebrows flicked up. “Have, um, have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“Not…” My face burned, and it was probably as red as his was a minute ago. “No guys.”

“Girls?”

I nodded.

I thought he might be put off by that or think it was weird or something, but the corners of his mouth curled up and his eyes narrowed a little. As he curved his hand around the back of my neck, he said, “Good. Then you already know what to do.”

Before I could protest—
I know how to kiss a girl, not a guy, and I never said I was good at it!
—Michael kissed me.

And if I had any doubts left that I was gay, they evaporated the second our lips met. Kissing girls had been all right, but even the deepest, hottest kiss I’d ever shared with a girl didn’t curl my toes like this one did. Then Michael teased my lips apart with the tip of his tongue, and oh, yeah, I was definitely gay. This was easy. Effortless. My chin brushed his, and the lightly abrasive stubble—Michael had had to shave since junior high—was an unexpected turn-on. His lips were so soft, and that roughness was as masculine and hot as the short hair I couldn’t stop running my fingers through.

When we separated, I was dizzy and out of breath, and that had never happened before.

Yep. Definitely gay.

Michael licked his lips. “I’ve been waiting to do that for so long.”

“Good news,” I said. “You don’t have to wait to do it again.”

He didn’t wait.

We made out a few times after that. A few times? Hell, any time we could get away from the prying eyes of adult supervision. All through our senior year, any chance we had, we were kissing in cars, beneath the bleachers, in our bedrooms when we could be absolutely certain our parents wouldn’t walk in. Sometimes shirts came off, sometimes hands just slid under letterman jackets, and every once in a while, a brave palm would drift over the front of someone’s jeans, but it never went further than that. I was nervous and inexperienced, and Michael always seemed perfectly content to make out. He loved kissing, and so did I, so neither of us complained about doing
a lot
of kissing.

But now high school was over, and suddenly I was restless. I wasn’t bored, just curious. Adventurous. As if my newly minted diploma and my odometer hitting eighteen suddenly made me far too mature to still be a virgin.

Now that my mind was made up, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every time I saw Michael, I was so turned on, I could barely speak. And when we finally got some time alone while his parents were at work, I was damn near shaking as we kissed and touched in his twin bed.

I couldn’t wait. Not one more minute.

I broke the kiss and managed to catch my breath enough to speak. “I kind of want to go further this time.”

Michael looked me in the eye. “How much further?”

I licked my lips, my whole body tingling with excitement and nerves. “Let’s see where it goes.”

His grin drove my pulse skyward. “I’m in.”

“Took a whole lot of arm twisting, didn’t it?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Getting naked with you is not going to take any arm twisting.”

I should’ve laughed, but my breath caught. Getting naked together. Holy fuck. Yes. Now.

He met my eyes, and his laughter was gone, and I knew right then there was no turning back. This was happening, here and now, and I couldn’t wait to be completely overwhelmed by him.

Bring it on, Michael…

Oh, he brought it on. For the longest time, we made out like we always did, but it was different this time. We were breathing faster, holding each other tighter, like our bodies knew this was only the beginning.

Michael made the first move. He slid his hand between us, cupping my erection through my pants, and kneaded with his fingers. I groaned, and I rubbed against his hand, almost like I was fucking his palm, and it felt amazing. Especially when Michael lifted his head and kissed my neck. My neck and my dick weren’t connected, but the combination—his light little kisses and the pressure and friction below my belt—was insane.

“Why the hell didn’t we do this sooner?” he murmured. “This is
hot
.”

“I dunno. But don’t want to stop.”

He moaned something I didn’t understand, and when I ground against him harder, he gasped. That was when I realized I was pushing the back of his hand against his own cock. Maybe…

I lifted my hips and nudged his hand away. Before he could protest, I came back down, and now the only things separating my dick from his were two thick layers of denim, but holy fuck, we might as well have been rubbing naked skin against naked skin.

Michael pushed me onto my back, and he straddled me. As if having his rock-hard dick pressed against mine wasn’t enough to fuck with my head, he sat up and pulled off his shirt, revealing his gorgeous torso. The thick ridge below his belt made my mouth water—I’d felt him against me plenty of times, and I’d even stroked him through his pants before, but tonight, I wanted him out of those tight jeans.

“Clothes,” I said, wondering when I’d been reduced to single words. “Clothes…off.”

“Good idea. All of them off.”

“Yeah. Now.”

I shivered—naked in bed with Michael? Why
didn’t
we do this sooner?

Never mind that. We were doing it now, and so far, it was well worth the wait.

Belts came unbuckled. Shirts came untucked. Every motion and gesture and touch seemed so…profound. Meaningful. Like every article of clothing we took off was a rite of passage, and in spite of my eighteen-year-old freshly graduated confidence, now I wasn’t sure I was ready for any of this.

Michael, though. Michael was ready. He peeled off my clothes like he was unwrapping a gift and wanted to savor the experience—eager to see what was underneath but still in no hurry as he slid his hands under my shirt and pushed it over my head.

I liked the way his palms felt on my skin—warm, lightly calloused and still soft at the same time—and I wanted to know what it felt like to do the same to him, so I pushed his jeans and boxers over his hips. I was suddenly a lot less coordinated than I’d been before, probably because his hands were still on me, and getting his pants off was a lot more complicated than it was supposed to be.

But with some fumbling and struggling, we managed, and just like that, we were tangled up in each other like we’d been a million times before, but with nothing at all between us. Sometimes he was on top. Sometimes I was. Sometimes we were on our sides. Always touching, though, and my head spun as we explored each other from head to toe.

I’d never even thought about how amazing it would be just to feel his warm body against mine—everything from his body heat to the thin hair on his legs drove my senses crazy. I couldn’t stop touching him. Everywhere. Not just his ass or his cock or those beautiful abs.
Everywhere
. The lines and grooves defining his muscles. Smooth planes and soft contours. I was so fucking turned on, I was sure with every brush of his hand that I was going to come, but apparently, months on end of long make-out sessions had done a thing or two for my stamina. Thank God—I didn’t want this to be over any time soon.

Michael rolled me onto my back and straddled me again, and my spine arched as his cock rubbed against mine.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He sounded as blown away as I felt.

“Yeah. Feels…” I moaned and closed my eyes. “Surprised I haven’t come yet.”

“Me too.”

“For the record,” I said, gazing up at him, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Good.” He leaned down and kissed beneath my jaw. “Then you won’t know when I do the wrong thing.”

I laughed, holding him closer. “Everything you’ve done so far has been amazing.”

“Likewise,” he murmured and found my lips with his.

As we kissed, the heat of his naked body pressed against mine was unbelievable. I still couldn’t keep my hands off him—following the gentle curve of his spine, tracing his narrow waist, kneading the powerful muscles of his thighs.

He lifted up a little, and when his fingers closed around my cock, all my breath was gone. I’d jerked off a million times—how the fuck was it so much more intense when it was his hand? I couldn’t figure out what made it so different, but I didn’t care because it felt great.

But then he stopped.

“What’re you doing?” I asked. “I liked what—”

He kissed me. “I want to try something,” he said, panting against my lips. “Stay still.”

“Okay.” I was nervous as fuck, but more excited than anything else.

He kissed the center of my chest, and then started working his way down, and…

Oh God.

Oh fucking God.

He wasn’t…

Yeah.

He was.

His lips were inches from my cock when he looked up at me. “Just tell me if you’re gonna come, okay?”

I nodded. “Sure. Yeah.” Because I definitely wanted the same courtesy if I ever worked up the nerve to go down on him.

Michael ran the tip of his tongue down the shaft of my cock, and I almost had to give him that warning right then and there.

“Holy shit!” My hips thrust up off the bed as if they had a mind of their own.

He did it again, and this time fluttered the tip of his tongue around the head, and before I could make sense of that, his lips were around my cock. Hot, wet, with his tongue teasing sensitive skin that had never been touched like that—so much for that stamina I’d built up from all that making out. As Michael added his hand to the mix, stroking the shaft while his mouth explored the crown, my orgasm was closing in fast. I held my breath and gritted my teeth—this couldn’t be over yet. I wanted him to do this forever. I wasn’t sure I could handle something this intense for more than a few seconds, but damn, I wanted to try, because it felt so, so good, especially when he moaned and his voice vibrated against my skin

Somehow, I managed, “I’m gonna…I’m gonna come.”

I thought he’d stop, but he didn’t. He kept going. Maybe he didn’t hear me.