What He Left Behind (7 page)

Michael’s hands stop. “Turn over.”

Oh, thank God.

He lifts himself off me, and I roll onto my back. To my surprise, he gets back on top. His hands start just above my boxers, and slide upward, applying almost no pressure at all, just skimming across my skin and forcing all the breath out of my lungs. If having his dick against my ass was maddening, this is unreal. He’s rock hard, straining against the front of his boxers, and every time he so much as breathes, he rubs just right to make my breath catch.

The best part, though, is that I can see him now. So many memories flood my brain, and my mouth waters as I see him sitting like this in the past—on top of me, wearing next to nothing, gazing down with those heavy-lidded green eyes and that smile on his face.

I hear his voice from a lifetime ago:
“Stop me if it hurts.”

Years later,
“I’ll make you forget that he hurt you.”

It hadn’t hurt that first time—he’d been much too careful—and yes, he’d made me forget about the ex who’d stomped all over my heart. All before someone had come along and broken Michael.

Now it’s my turn to protect you and help you heal
.

Gazing up at him, I want to reach for him, but I don’t. Not yet. He’s still getting used to all of this. One thing at a time. No matter how much I want to touch all over his smooth skin and his gorgeous body.

Michael lets his hands slide from my chest to my shoulders, and then past them, onto the bed, and he sinks down on top of me. The temptation is almost irresistible now. My fingers curl at my sides, gathering handfuls of sheets and digging into the mattress.

“God, I want to touch you so bad, Michael.”

He presses his hips against me, taking my breath away all over again, and murmurs, “Please do.”

Our eyes meet.

“Stop me if it hurts.”

“I’ll make you forget that he hurt you.”

Moving slowly, I reach for him, and we both gasp as my palms come to rest on his sides. As I wrap my arms around him, I hold my breath and Michael shivers. He squirms a little in my embrace, but he doesn’t pull back.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah.” He swallows, then brushes his lips across mine. “Just nerves.”

“We don’t have to go any further than this.”

“This is a lot further than you might think.”

I run my hands up his back. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Michael licks his lips. “Give me your hand.” He grabs the bottle and pours some oil onto my palm. Then he guides my hand down between us and under his waistband, and he wraps my fingers around his dick. Instinctively, I start stroking, my slippery hand sliding easily up and down the thick shaft and the head.

Michael groans softly.

I squeeze a little. Twist a little. Squeeze again. “Like that?”

“Mmhmm.” He closes his eyes and exhales. “Oh fuck.”

With every stroke, my thumb rubs along the underside of my cock through our clothes.

“Sit up a little,” I murmur. “Clothes are…in the way.”

Michael hesitates for a heartbeat, but then he lifts himself up. I push my boxers down just far enough to get them out of the way, and to my surprise, Michael does the same. When he comes down again, his cock rubs against mine, and we both groan as I close my hand around our cocks. I can’t get my hand all the way around, but it’s enough, and judging by the way Michael whimpers and starts rocking back and forth, he agrees. He fucks into my hand and against my cock, and I stroke us both, falling into perfect sync with the motion of his hips.

“Is this good?” I ask anyway.

“Oh yeah.” He sweeps his tongue across his lips. “D-don’t know if I can come, but—”

“You don’t have to come,” I breathe. “Nobody does. Does it feel good?”

“Very.”

“That’s all that matters.” I kiss him softly and add, “I just want you to feel good.”

“I do feel good.” His lips graze mine. “This is… Holy fuck…”

“Perfect. Then don’t…stop.”

Michael kisses me hard, and he doesn’t stop. There isn’t as much oil now, and the friction is getting more intense. I’m about to ask if he’s okay or if he wants to add more, but then he moans and thrusts even harder.

With a shudder, he breaks the kiss and lets his head fall beside mine. I swear to God, his shudder echoes right through my body, curling my toes and lifting my spine off the bed. My eyes won’t focus. My mind is a mess. All I can think of is
please, please, don’t stop,
and Michael isn’t stopping. We’ve fallen into a perfect rhythm, his hips and my hand moving together like they were made for this, and
holy shit
.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “Keep doing that and
I’m
gonna come.”

“Good.” He keeps doing that, and my orgasm’s not stopping for anything, and when my breath catches, Michael thrusts even harder, and just like that, I’m coming. And coming. And coming.

“OhmyGod,” I murmur. “Jesus, Michael.”

And suddenly he throws his head back and groans. His rhythm falls to pieces, and God only knows whose semen is whose anymore, and who the fuck cares. He trembles and jerks, and then he releases a long, ragged breath and sinks down on top of me.

For a moment, we’re just still, holding each other and catching our breath. Michael’s arms shake as he pushes himself up, but when our eyes meet, we both smile.

“That was a hell of a massage,” I whisper.

He laughs, and I love that sound even more than his moans and gasps. He leans down to kiss me. “Guess we got a happy ending, didn’t we?”

Chuckling, I nod. “Yeah. Guess we did.”

One more kiss, and then he rolls off me and grabs some tissues from the nightstand. After we’ve kicked off our boxers and cleaned ourselves up, we pull the covers over us.

Michael turns on his side, facing me, and I mirror him. He cups my cheek. “That really was amazing.”

I kiss his palm and smile. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

He smiles but then turns serious. As his thumb traces my cheekbone, he says, “I can’t thank you enough. I know we didn’t go very far tonight, but”—the smile slowly returns—“I’m suddenly a lot more optimistic that we’ll get there.”

Me too.
I haven’t breathed this easily since we had lunch the other day.

I smooth his hair. “Same here. And I don’t have any complaints about how far we made it tonight. Do you?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

He rests his head on my shoulder, and I kiss his forehead.

Tonight went better than I’d expected. On the other hand, we kept it pretty safe and benign. Sex is a minefield for him, and though I don’t know where all the mines are, I’m fairly certain this will get more challenging as we go. Something is making him shy away from oral sex. I’d bet good money that anal isn’t going to be easy either. Somewhere between here and being fully confident, there’s a conference room full of well-meaning coworkers ready to send him into a tailspin.

But this is a step, and it’s a promising one.

I’ll take it.

Chapter Seven

Ever since Ian and I bought this house four years ago, we’ve had a weekly tradition of hanging out in the hot tub with Michael on Sunday nights. We started out getting together to watch movies, but after giving in to the siren’s call of the tub several times in a row, we decided to skip the movies altogether.

Sometimes during the summer, we’ll pass around a joint, but only when Ian’s off school for a few months. Michael’s boss doesn’t care—she smokes too—and mine hasn’t given a drug test to anyone but a new hire in years. The school district isn’t so tolerant, though, so between September and June, we just crack open a bottle of wine and relax before the work week starts.

Tonight, however, is the first Sunday since this whole thing started with Michael, and it’s the first time I’ve been nervous about getting into the hot tub with the two of them. Sitting between them as Ian fills all our glasses, I follow their lead. As long as they’re comfortable and acting like everything’s normal—as normal as they can be, I guess—then I’ll assume everything
is
normal and act accordingly too.

While Ian’s turned away to put the wine bottle on the little table beyond the tub’s edge, Michael glances at me, eyebrows up.

Is this weird?
his eyes seem to ask.

Maybe.
But
—I raise my glass—
we have wine
.

His brow pinches for a second, but then he chuckles and raises his glass too, so hopefully the message made it across.

Oblivious to our silent exchange, Ian turns around again. “To the start of another week of being gainfully employed.”

“Cheers,” Michael says, chuckling.

We carefully clink our glasses together—the last thing we need is for a sliver to break off and fall in the water—and settle back against the sides.

Next to me, Ian sinks down into the water until his chin is touching the surface, and closes his eyes. “Ugh. Is the school year over yet?”

“That bad?” Michael asks.

“Worse.” Ian stares up at the top of the gazebo. “I swear to God, if I get one more parent asking why their kid is failing, as if
I’m
the problem…”

“Jesus,” Michael mutters into his glass.

Ian lifts himself up and takes a sip, then sinks down again. “And they wonder why half the faculty smokes.”

“Wait, they know about that?”

Ian swirls his wine slowly. “Of course they do. It’s the parents we’re hiding it from.”

Michael laughs. “Okay, that makes sense.”

“Yeah, most of the powers that be just ignore it as long as we don’t show up at school smelling like it. Or obviously stoned.”

“Or share it with the kids,” I add.

Ian snorts. “Or buy it from them.”

Michael nearly spits out his wine. “Please tell me no one’s done that.”

“Which part?” Ian asks. “Coming to school stoned, sharing it with the kids or buying it from them?”

Michael raises his eyebrows. “Uh, any of the above?”

Ian purses his lips. “Well, rumor has it some kids stole the gym teacher’s stash, and when they got caught, they ratted him out.”

“Did he get canned?”

“Not after he threatened to pay his dealer to produce a list of everyone who bought from her.” Ian laughs into his glass. “The whole thing disappeared pretty quickly after that.”

Michael whistles. “Wow, I didn’t realize pot was such a hot commodity.”

“At a school where we’re trying to educate the children of entitled rich fucks who believe grades are given, not earned?” Ian raises his glass in a mock toast. “You’re damn right it’s a hot commodity.”

“Huh. Yeah. I guess I can see that.” Michael takes a sip. “I’m sure there are worse ways to cope.”

“There are. And believe me—people do those too.” Ian scowls. “Last year, two teachers at another school were busted buying Adderall off the kids. You know it’s getting bad when the kids and teachers need the same drugs to function.”

“Ugh,” Michael says. “That’s just sad.”

Ian and I both nod. We’ve had many, many conversations about the teachers and students alike being driven to desperate measures, or out of school entirely. If Ian didn’t enjoy working with the kids so much, he’d have walked out and gotten a job at Radio Shack or something just to keep his sanity. But he loves what he does, so he grinds his teeth through meetings with parents, indulges in some wine on the weekends and then loses himself in a little bit of weed over the summer.

The mood in the hot tub threatens to get depressing, but Rosie picks that exact moment to climb up the side of the gazebo. Though she does it every single time we’re out here, she still startles the hell out of all three of us.

Indifferently, Rosie wanders along the side, safely on the wood, and stops beside Michael. She bumps her head against his, and he reaches up to scratch her chin. As he does, she puts her front paws on the slippery edge and leans toward him, balancing precariously.

Ian gives an exasperated sigh. “You know, cat, one of these days, your dumb ass is going to fall into this tub.”

Michael shoots him a good-natured glare. “And you’ll laugh your head off, won’t you?”

“Well, you have to admit,” Ian says, bringing his glass up to his lips, “it
would
be funny.”

“Aww, no it wouldn’t.” Michael strokes her back with a wet hand, leaving her coat soaked. “He’s so mean to you.”

“Uh-huh.” I laugh. “Says the man who thinks it’s hilarious to pet her like that so she’ll go dry off on
our
furniture.”

“I just can’t believe she puts up with it.” Ian pauses. “Wait, no, never mind. Michael can do no wrong in her eyes.”

“Eh, you don’t have any room to complain.” I playfully nudge his leg with my foot. “At least she actually likes you.”

“Most of the time.” He nods toward Michael. “I mean, okay, she hates you, but she likes him better than me.”

“There’s a hierarchy.” Michael shrugs. “Not my fault I came out on top.”

Ian opens his mouth to retort, but pauses.

And then Michael turns beet red.

And then I get it.

Michael clears his throat. “I, uh…I meant in the—”

“Cat hierarchy.” Ian reaches for the wine bottle. “Got it.” He tops us all off, but even the wine can’t fill this unusual—and totally predictable—awkward silence. So much for things being completely normal.

Michael stares into his glass. “I, uh, don’t want to make things weird, but I think we should, you know, talk. About what’s going on.” He gestures at me.

Ian takes a deep swallow of wine. As he sets his glass on the edge, he nods. “Okay. We can talk about it.” His eyes dart back and forth between us. “What exactly…” He glances at his glass again, as if he might drain what’s left in one go. But he doesn’t. He slides a hand over my knee as he often does. “What do we
need
to talk about?”

Good question. We should address the issue, and we should be open about it, but what needs to be said?

They don’t offer up anything. Michael doesn’t look up from his glass. Ian can’t seem to get comfortable beside me.

My stomach twists and my heart races. “Well, for starters, maybe now would be a good time to address the condom issue.”

They both tense a bit.

“Condom issue?” Ian asks.

“Yeah.” I glance at Michael, then turn to my husband, lacing our fingers together beneath the water. “Do you have any preference? As far as whether or not we use them?”

“Oh.” Ian absently rubs my thumb with his. “Um. Not really, no. I know Josh is clean.”

“And I haven’t touched anyone in years,” Michael says.

“Then if you guys don’t want to use them, I…” Ian pauses, reaching for his glass with his other hand. “I guess I don’t have any issue with that.”

“We don’t have to. It’s completely up to you.”

Ian’s eyes lose focus, and he slowly sips his wine. For a few seconds, he rolls it around in his mouth. Michael and I exchange uncertain glances.

But then Ian shrugs and puts the glass aside again. “I trust you both. If you’re comfortable going bareback, then I’m comfortable with it too.”

“If that changes,” I say quietly, “all you have to do is tell us.”

Ian nods, a faint smile forming on his lips, and he squeezes my knee beneath the water. “I will. But I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

Even still, silence falls again, and it stretches well into awkward. I’m not sure we have enough wine for this conversation. Maybe it should have waited until after the school year.

Except it can’t wait. We need to clear the air and make sure we’re all on the same page before this continues, because I refuse to let this damage my friendship
or
my marriage.

It’s Michael who finally breaks the silence. “I guess the biggest question I have is, condoms aside, are you sure you’re okay with this, Ian? I mean, let me just put it out there.” He gestures toward me. “I’m sleeping with your husband.”

“I know.” Ian swirls his wine again, watching that instead of looking at either of us. “Look, I’m not going to pretend I don’t have reservations about this. I do. I admit it.” He glances at me before he finally meets Michael’s eyes. “But if that son of a bitch did something to you that’s still hurting you after all this time, and there’s something Josh can do to alleviate that? Then hell yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Michael holds his gaze. “Even if it means…?”

Ian hesitates for a split second but nods. “Yeah. And I mean, I’ll get over my reservations. The bottom line is that Josh and I both care about you. If there’s anything I can do to make this whole thing easier, I’m happy to do it. Josh is just…more suited to this particular approach than I am.”

My heart flutters, and I’m not sure why. His blessing? The incredibly subtle—and quite possibly imaginary—implication that if I weren’t here, he’d be willing to do what I’m doing for Michael? Just the fact that he is so damned unselfish, even when it comes to me, our marriage and our sex life?

I squeeze his hand. He smiles at me and squeezes back, giving my heart another jolt.

Michael clears his throat. “You guys…” He releases a heavy breath. “You really have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You’re our friend,” Ian says. “It was hard as hell watching you go through all that. If there’s something we can do, or one of us can do, then…”

“I know.” Michael swallows. “And you guys have both already done more for me than you can imagine. If it hadn’t been for the two of you, I might still be with Steve now.”

“We never would’ve let that happen,” Ian growls. “Another few months with him, and no one would’ve ever found that fucker’s body.”

The fierce protectiveness in his voice makes me shiver. Michael too.

“I know,” Michael says quietly. “That’s why I’m grateful as hell to have you guys. And what we’re doing now, it’s—” His voice cracks, and he quickly swallows some wine. “It seriously means a lot.” Smiling a bit, he raises his glass. “I can even drink again because of you two.”

“You couldn’t…” I pause. “Because of Steve?”

Michael shrugs. “Oh, what isn’t because of Steve? Obviously I got over this one.”

“Was it…” Ian hesitates. “When he hurt you, uh, sexually, was it when he drank?”

The wine on my tongue gets slightly sour. Steve and alcohol had a volatile relationship too—I was pretty sure that was the only kind of relationship he was capable of having.

Michael shakes his head. “When it came to that, the booze was a blessing in disguise, actually. Sometimes I’d encourage him to drink too much because then he couldn’t perform.” His cheeks color. “The alcohol could make him violent, but…” For a moment, his eyes are distant. Then he brings his glass up again and mutters into it, “That was better than the alternative.”

Ian and I exchange wide-eyed glances. We’d seen Michael with concussions, cracked ribs, stitches, the occasional black eye, even a broken wrist. That was better than the alternative? How bad did it
get
?

He must see the question in my eyes, because he adds, “Trust me on this one.”

“I do,” I say. “It’s just hard to imagine.”

“Yeah, it is,” Ian breathes.

“Well, a lot of it’s behind me.” Michael pushes his shoulders back and rests his head against the edge of the tub. “Five years of therapy will do that to you.” He smiles, and it’s more genuine than I’d have expected during a conversation about his ex. “We’re still working some bugs out, but I’m a lot better now.”

“You definitely are.” Ian smiles too. “It shows.”

“Now if I can just forget him in the bedroom, I’ll be in good shape.”

“Well.” Ian turns to me. Then back to Michael. “I’d say you’re in good hands.”

Michael meets my gaze. “Yeah. I’d say so too.”

And I hope like hell that they’re right.

We all drink a bit more than usual tonight. Not enough to get sloppy drunk—none of us care for that—but we’re probably all pushing the legal limit to drive. There will be some mild hangovers all around tomorrow, but a few gallons of coffee and some more of water will get us through our respective workdays.

Ian’s got the highest tolerance out of the three of us, and he stops drinking first, so at the end of the evening, he drives Michael home. By the time they leave, he’s sobered up, so I’m not concerned.

While he’s gone, I cover up the tub, take care of the animals and try to ignore the creepy-crawly feeling that seems to follow every conversation involving Steve. It’s especially pronounced after tonight’s discussion. The more Michael tips his hand about what happened, the more I worry about what we’re doing. And having Ian admit to his reservations about all this isn’t helping. I’m glad he’s honest about it, of course. But going forward, knowing he’s not sure, is challenging.

Maybe I should’ve had more wine. Or less. One of the two. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m not even sure if a few puffs off a joint would be enough to unwind me tonight.

It’s nearly bedtime, so I start going through the motions. Ariel announces that Ian’s home, and I’m just finishing up brushing my teeth when he joins me in the bathroom. As soon as I see his face, my heart skips. His jaw is tight, his brow furrowed.

“You okay?” I ask as I slot my toothbrush beside the mirror.