What He Left Behind (6 page)

“Jesus,” I breathe.

He drops a light kiss on my shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

I snort and roll my eyes. “Arrogant bastard.”

Chuckling, he kisses the spot where he bit me. “Arrogant bastard who just made you come.” He withdraws slowly. “So as I said, you’re welcome.”

I push myself up on shaky arms and glare playfully at him but can’t help laughing. “Well, if anyone’s earned the right to be so cocky in the bedroom…” I cup the back of his neck and kiss him.

“Damn right,” he murmurs between kisses. Running his fingers through my sweaty hair, he says, “So much for your shower, though.”

I shrug. “I’ll cope somehow.”

We clean ourselves up and collapse into bed together. As the dust settles and the rest of the world returns, that uncomfortable knot in my stomach comes back with a vengeance. That’s the downside of forgetting about things for a little while—they always come back, louder and more insistent than before.

I sigh and rest my head on Ian’s shoulder. This road with Michael is going to be a long one, isn’t it?

“Still worrying about Michael?” Ian’s soft voice breaks the silence, startling me.

“Yeah. I don’t think that’s going to stop any time soon.”

“He’ll be okay.” Ian kisses my temple. “It might not happen overnight, but he’s in good hands.”

On both counts, I wish I was as optimistic as he is. “I still can’t believe you’re on board with this.”

Ian holds me closer. “If it were anyone else, I might not be okay with it. But if it weren’t for Michael, I probably wouldn’t have you.” He nuzzles my neck. “I’d say we both kind of owe him one.”

“Still.”

“I promise, Josh, I’m on board with this. I want him to be okay, and there’s no one else in a better position than you to get him there.”

“So no pressure, right?”

“No, there’s no pressure.” He shifts around and props himself up on his elbow while I lie on my back. “A lot of this is on Michael, not you. You’re not fixing him. You’re giving him a safe place to work through the stuff that needs fixing.” Ian touches my face. “Literally all you have to do is be the safe, kind, giving lover that you already are, and let him do the rest.”

I swallow, watching my fingers run up and down his forearm. “Then why am I so scared to screw this up?”

“Because you care about him.”

The lump is rising in my throat, but I push it back. “I do.”

Silence falls, and I don’t have the first clue how to fill it. Ian’s confident I can help Michael, and I’m terrified I’ll make it worse, and there’s no point in beating that dead horse. The only thing that’ll appease my worried mind is seeing the results, and that’ll just take time. There’s nothing we can do tonight.

Ian kisses my forehead. “Still need that drink?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I pull him closer. “I kind of want to stay like this for a while.”

“Then we will. Come here.”

I turn on my side again, facing him, and Ian wraps his arm around my shoulders and rests his other hand on my arm. His fingertips run back and forth along my skin, the touch both ticklish and reassuring.

Even in my most volatile relationships, and during the rough patches I’ve had with Ian, I’ve never been afraid of someone. In all the years we’ve been together, and the years I spent with other guys before him, it has never once felt like a novelty to be safe in a man’s arms.

Lying there with Ian, safe and comfortable, I let my mind wander back to earlier this evening. It feels like a lifetime ago, standing there in Michael’s kitchen and fighting through all his demons for that first hard-won kiss before Michael finally had to back off. I almost feel guilty for making love so easily with Ian; we’ve been effortless lovers from the very beginning, and it’s hard to stomach that we’re still that way while Michael’s been twisting in the wind all this time.

I take Ian’s hand and kiss the backs of his fingers.

You deserve to feel this way with someone, Michael.

And I’ll make damn sure you do.

Chapter Six

Parked beneath Michael’s apartment building, I don’t get out of the car quite yet.

So, this is it. Here we go. Time to get in way, way over my head and hope like hell Michael doesn’t catch on that I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, and pray to God I don’t fuck up. How do we even get started with something like this, anyway? It’s not like showing up at my old piano teacher’s house.

Knock, knock—I’m here for the eight o’clock lesson
.

I close my eyes and pull in a long breath through my nose. I’ve got this.

Right?

“
A lot of this is on Michael, not you,
” Ian’s voice echoes in my brain. “
You’re not fixing him. You’re giving him a safe place to work through the stuff that needs fixing.
”

I gulp. That’s all there is to it, isn’t it? Michael needs a safe place. I am that safe place. So, with my heart in my throat and my knees a little shaky, I get out of the car and head up to his apartment.

Hand on the doorknob, though, I hesitate again.

“Literally all you have to do is be the safe, kind, giving lover that you already are, and let him do the rest.”

What if it’s not that simple?

I know people with PTSD. Even the most well-meaning friend can accidentally set off a flashback. One of my coworkers spent a year in Afghanistan, and he seemed okay with everything we would’ve expected to trigger him. Crowds and loud noises don’t bother him. He took his kids to a fireworks show last year without any issues. Even the fire alarm going off barely made him jump. He told someone the only thing he struggles with is driving through mountains or open wilderness, particularly if it’s a desert. His wife has to drive through places like that. Otherwise, he’s completely back to normal.

And then someone decided to surprise him for his fortieth birthday last year. Apparently, walking into a conference room that he thought was empty and suddenly having the lights come on and two dozen people shout “Surprise!” was…not good for him.

I shudder, my fingers still resting on the doorknob. Michael’s been on a relatively even keel, especially after all the therapy he’s had. But is there some trigger I don’t know about?

Only one way to find out, I suppose.

I whisper a prayer and then open the door.

Cody comes flying down the hall, barking and wagging his tail.

“Hey, you.” I chuckle and crouch down to pet him. He immediately flips over on his back, tail still going ninety miles an hour as I scratch his belly.

“Cody!” Michael’s voice sends a flutter through me. “Come eat!”

The dog is on his feet again and scrambling up the hall to the kitchen. I stand, push my shoulders back and follow him.

I’ve got this. It’ll be fine.

I step into the kitchen.

Michael comes into view.

My stomach flips. This is it. Here we are.

I try and fail to will my heart to slow down. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His cheeks color, and he laughs softly. “So, um. I guess we’re…”

“Yeah.” I laugh too, which at least means I’m breathing.

“Do you…” He gestures over his shoulder at the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee?”

“No. No, I’m good.”

Our eyes meet.

“Listen, uh…” I clear my throat. “I’m following your lead on this. I don’t really know what we’re doing. I mean, where to start.” I chew my lip. “Maybe we should talk limits. What’s off limits at this point?”

Michael hugs himself and avoids my eyes for a moment. “Definitely not oral yet.”

“Okay. No oral.” Cocking my head, I ask, “Does that apply to both giving and receiving?”

He nods, but then his lips quirk. “Well, receiving might be okay. Maybe.” He gulps. “Just
not
giving.”

“Noted. What about anal?”

“We’ll work up to that.”

The fact that he’s more optimistic about anal than oral makes my skin crawl—he used to love oral sex. Giving and receiving. I don’t even want to know what Steve did to turn something Michael loved into something he’s afraid of.

“So for tonight,” he goes on, “maybe we could… Okay, this might be kind of weird.”

I’m pretty sure we’re long past weird and well into what the fuck, but I don’t say anything.

He wrings his hands, watching them instead of me. “So I’m still not too sure about touching. Or being touched.” He exhales sharply. “It’s stupid, but there it is.”

“It’s not stupid.” I manage to keep the venom out of my voice—that’s all for Steve, not Michael. “After what you’ve been through…”

Michael shudders. “Anyway, if you’re really okay with baby steps…” He raises his eyebrows.

“Absolutely. Your pace.”

“Okay. Good. Because I’m thinking a small step to start with would be a massage.”

“Oh. I hadn’t even thought of that. That’s a really good idea.”

Some of the apprehension vanishes from his expression. “Why don’t I start by giving you one, and we’ll see where it goes from there?”

I grin. “I’m not going to say no to a massage from you.”

Michael hesitates, but then he lets himself smile just enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “Bedroom?”

“Lead the way.”

Walking into Michael’s bedroom is weird as hell. I’ve been in here plenty of times—Ian and I helped him move in, and I’ve taken care of his dog while he was out of town—but never under this pretense. My nerve endings tingle. God knows how this is going to play out tonight, and how far this is going to go. Just being here stirs something in me—excitement about being with Michael, uncertainty about whether this will be a good step or an unmitigated disaster, guilt over going to bed with one man while I’m wearing a wedding ring for another.

Tonight, I’m almost hoping he doesn’t work up the courage to take this very far because I’m probably too nervous to get it up. Back when we had sex the first time, I was nervous as hell, but I had teenage hormones as an ace up my sleeve. Now? Not so much. And I’m sure that’s exactly what Michael’s psyche needs—trying to conquer his fear of sex with someone who can’t get or stay hard.

Oblivious to my worries, Michael picks up a bottle of oil off the dresser. “I’ve had this stuff for ages, but never used it.” He tears the plastic seal around the lid with his thumb and peels it off. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“Not that I’m aware of. What’s in it?”

He looks at the label. “Sunflower seed oil, some sort of flower extract, and—wait.” He looks closer. “Crap. I don’t know if this stuff is condom safe.” His eyes flick up and meet mine. “Is that okay?”

I study him for a moment. “Do you think we’ll get far enough tonight to need condoms?”

Michael tenses. “Um…”

“One step at a time.” I smile. “I just don’t want you to think we have to get that far tonight.” Especially since I don’t know if
I’m
going to make it that far tonight.

He swallows but then relaxes slightly. “Okay. Yeah, I don’t know. One thing at a time, right?”

“One thing at a time.” I gently take the bottle and set it on the dresser. Then I close my hands around his. He straightens, pulling in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t jerk away. Holding both his hand and his gaze, I quietly say, “There’s no pressure tonight, Michael. We only have to go as far as you’re comfortable.”

He swallows. “I guess I…” His eyes lose focus, and then he shakes himself. “I don’t know.”

“Relax.” I smile. “It’s me.”

“I know it is.” His expression is deadly serious. “I don’t think I could handle being here with anyone else.”

Jesus. What
did
that asshole do to you?

His thumb rubs back and forth along mine. “For, uh, future reference, though, do you think we need to use condoms?”

I consider it for a moment. “Well, I haven’t been with anyone but Ian in years. It’s up to you.”

“I’ve been tested.” He shrugs. “I’m okay without them if you are. And if Ian won’t object.”

“Since we won’t have to worry about it tonight, why don’t I talk to him later?”

Michael nods. “Good idea.”

“For the moment, though…” I glance at the massage oil, and when I grin at Michael, he returns it.

With his free hand, Michael reaches up and touches my face. The contact makes my skin prickle all over and speeds up my heart rate.

Then, without a word, he draws me down, and when our lips meet, I release his hand and slowly, gently, put my arms around him. He cradles the back of my head as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue alongside mine. My head is spinning and my pulse is racing, both from the kiss itself and from Michael’s sudden surge of confidence.

And so much for whatever concerns I had about not being able to get hard.

I try to draw my hips back a little, but Michael presses his fingers into my lower back, keeping us close together. For a moment, I’m back in our early days, when a kiss like this was almost a guarantee that we’d be horizontal and sweating before long, and I hope like hell that this boldness holds out. That whatshisname doesn’t sink his claws in and remind Michael of his past and his fears.

Remember
our
past, Michael. Not the one you had with him.

He breaks the kiss and gazes up at me. “Wow,” he whispers breathlessly.

“Yeah. Wow is right.”

His eyes flick toward my lips, then meet mine again, and he grins. “I’m…I’m definitely in if you still are.”

I lick my lips. “Absolutely.”

“So, massage?”

“Yes, please.”

He kisses me once more, and then he lets me go. He turns down the bed and moves the pillows off to the side, and while he does that, I strip off my shirt and jeans. To my surprise, Michael starts getting undressed too, and I don’t question him. This is all about his comfort zone, and if he’s comfortable getting undressed, I’ll call that a step in the right direction.

It’s a struggle not to stop and stare at him, though I do steal a few glances. It’s tough not to—he’s always had a gorgeous body, and time has been nothing but kind to him. He’s smooth in all the right places, sharp in all the others, with a few constellations of freckles here and there, placed as if to deliberately draw attention to his shoulders and pecs.

“Um.” I gesture at the bed. “Facedown?”

“Yeah. Use whatever pillows you need. So you’re comfortable.”

I settle on the bed, which is a challenge now that my cock has definitely decided to join the party. Thank God for a pillow-top mattress. I take one of Michael’s pillows, fold my arms under it, and rest my head on top of it. And then fidget a little more until I’m as comfortable as a man can get while lying on an erection.

Michael joins me. I can’t tell if he’s sitting or kneeling. Hell, he could be standing on his head for all I know—he’s just beyond the edge of my peripheral vision, only his body heat and the slight dip in the mattress giving away his presence.

Now I’m starting to see why Michael wanted to go this route. Not only is a massage fairly benign, lying somewhere in the gray area between platonic and sexual, but it puts me in the most passive, nonthreatening position I can think of. I can’t grab him or overpower him. I can’t even look at him without twisting around.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Whenever you are.”

I close my eyes. The bottle top clicks open, then shut. Skin hisses against skin—he’s probably rubbing his hands together to warm up the oil.

Then the sound stops.

The whole room is still.

Every inch of my skin is suddenly hyperaware of everything, even the ambient air, as if my senses are searching for that first contact, wondering when he’ll make the connection. When, and where.

And
if
.

What if he’s having second thoughts? If he’s—

There.

Between my shoulder blades.

Fingertips at first, and then more. His touch is tentative, almost ticklish, fingers and palm barely meeting my skin, and my whole body’s hyperawareness instantly concentrates itself in that warm outline of his hand.

Slowly, he traces the length of my spine, taking an absolute age to make the journey from the base of my neck to just above my boxers. The contact breaks, and then his hand materializes between my shoulder blades again, and he repeats the same stroke. Again. Then again.

The motion reminds me of someone petting a dog, and maybe that’s what he’s doing—taking something he does all the time without flinching, and transferring that to human contact. Allowing himself this type of touch so he can move on to massaging and…more.

Take all the time you want. I’m not going anywhere.

He adds his other hand. Starting at my shoulders, he traces the muscles and the outside of my rib cage. “This okay?”

You tell me
.

“Feels great.” I turn my head as much as I can without snapping my neck, and hope he can see my smile. “You’ve always been good at this.”

He laughs softly, and the next stroke of his hand is more confident. More pressure, less hesitation, and it feels divine. His hands have always been a bit calloused, and the combination of softness and roughness sliding over my skin feels amazing. Little by little, the explorative touch becomes an actual massage. He presses in, kneads muscles that were tighter than I thought and damn near lulls me to sleep.

I’m not hard anymore, which makes it a hell of a lot more comfortable to lie like this, but it’s not nerves or even lack of arousal. I’m just…that…relaxed.

I need to return the favor. Maybe not tonight—I’m following his lead, after all—but I want him to feel this way. Comfortable, relaxed, completely at ease.

I’m nearly drifting off when the bed dips beside me. Michael’s knee materializes beside my thigh, and then his weight eases down over me.

Though he’s barely leaning on me—touching, to be sure, but holding himself up on his knees—it’s suddenly difficult to breathe. The heels of his hands glide up my back, but it’s that thick hard-on against my ass that has my full attention. Two thin layers of shorts do nothing to temper that solid presence or the heat of his flesh, and lying on my stomach is starting to get
really
uncomfortable again.