What He Left Behind (11 page)

But I’m exhausted too. That was the hardest-won blowjob I’ve ever experienced. Jesus Christ.

Michael feels around, finds my hand between us and grasps it tight. “I honestly never thought I could enjoy a blowjob again.”

“That would have been a fucking crime.” I turn on my side, nuzzle his neck, kiss his collarbone. “All you have to do is ask, and I’ll do it again. Any time you want.”

He turns his head, finds my lips and kisses me softly. “You’re the best.”

Anything for you, Michael. Anything.

He draws back and meets my eyes. “There’s still one problem, though.”

My stomach lurches into my throat. “What? What’s wrong?”

Michael grins, and he nudges me onto my back. As he starts unbuttoning my jeans, he murmurs, “You haven’t come yet.”

Chapter Eleven

I can barely focus at work, and it’s not because of Michael this time.

All I can think about is the sex I had with Ian last night.

It was the first time we’d made love in over a week, which jarred me—I didn’t realize until we were in bed just how long it had been. That can’t continue. Even while I’m sleeping with Michael, I can’t neglect my husband.

But that’s not the worst part. It’s chewing on my conscience and making me feel like a terrible spouse, but the sex itself was weird.

Ian has never shied away from my touch. He’s never recoiled. A shudder from him has always been one of arousal, and a sharp inhalation is a sign he’s about to come, not one of impending panic.

Then why…

I blow out a breath, staring at the computer monitor even though I’ve forgotten what the hell the spreadsheet I’m working on is for. All the words and numbers are gibberish.

I need coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

I grab my empty cup and leave my desk for the break room down the hall. As I walk, my body reminds me that Ian
wasn’t
shying away or freaking out last night—he was rough just like he always is, and he didn’t let up until we’d both gotten off. All the panicking and recoiling was in my mind, not in my bed with my husband.

In the break room, I pour myself some coffee and take a careful sip. I’ve known from the beginning that things with Michael could potentially cause issues with Ian, and I’ve tried to be vigilant about that, but this wasn’t what I expected.

It’s not jealousy. It isn’t Michael or Ian. It’s…
me
. Specifically, my confidence.

The sexual minefield wasn’t supposed to take this much out of me, but it has. As Michael gets bolder and we take things a little further each time, my nerves are fraying. I never know when a touch will ignite some memory in him, or when something we’ve done a dozen times will make him panic.

And now that’s spilling over into my sex life with Ian. Just like Michael knows damn well I’d never do anything Steve did, I know Ian won’t pull away like Michael sometimes does, but the kneejerk reaction is there. The irrational certainty is, in the heat of the moment, more convincing than it has any right to be.

Christ. No wonder I couldn’t sleep last night.

What the hell am I supposed to do about this, though? I can’t tell Michael he’s on his own. I can’t let this affect Ian either.

Shit.

Well, there isn’t much I can do about it here, and getting fired won’t do me any good, so I top off my coffee again and head back to my desk.

There, I text Michael and bow out of getting together tonight. I’ll see him tomorrow night, but I need tonight to gather my thoughts.

And do some damage control on my marriage.

Thanks to mainlining coffee all day, I make it to six o’clock, and I get the hell out of there. Tomorrow, I will be more productive. I’ll even come in an hour early and get some shit done.

Tonight, though, I’m done.

Ian’s already home, of course. As soon as I walk into the house, the dog greets me as she always does, and I find Ian in the living room. He’s kicked back on the couch, glasses on the table and Rosie curled up on his chest. As I’m coming into the room with the bouncing, woofing dog, they’re both waking up—he’s blinking and rubbing his eyes, and she’s stretching her paws and digging her claws into his chest.

“Hey.” He gingerly unsticks her claws. “Guess I fell asleep.”

I laugh. “She has that effect on you.”

“Yeah, she does.” He ruffles her fur and kisses the top of her head. “Up, sweetie. I want to say hi to Daddy.”

She glares at him, so he picks her up and puts her on the back of the couch. All of that would’ve earned me a few bleeding scratches, but she just gives him the look of death, then jumps down and saunters out of the room.

Ian stretches. Then he slides his glasses back on. “How was your day?”

“Not as tiring as yours, apparently.”

He laughs. “Yeah, because you didn’t have to chaperone a field trip.”

Grimacing, I shake my head. “You know, sometimes I wonder why I let myself be a corporate drone. And then you remind me.”

“You’re welcome,” he mutters. He pushes himself to his feet, comes around the coffee table, and gives me a quick kiss. “You do look tired, though. You okay?”

“Yeah.” I wave my hand. “Long day.”

He eyes me skeptically but lets it go and gestures toward the kitchen. “Guess we should figure out something to eat. I totally forgot to start anything.”

“We could always go out.” As soon as I suggest it, I wish I hadn’t. I’m too fucking exhausted to think about getting back in the car and going out to where people are. “Or maybe order delivery.”

“Hmm. Let’s see what’s in the kitchen. It might be pizza night.”

“I’m fine with that.”

I follow him into the kitchen, and as he looks through the cabinets and the fridge, I pour myself a Coke. I sip it, but the taste barely registers. Big surprise, since not much has registered all day. Sleeping should be fun tonight. That’s usually the first thing to go when my mind’s trying to flail in too many different directions. Hooray. Especially since tomorrow is staff-meeting day, which means—

“Josh?”

I shake myself and turn to him. “Hmm?”

“I asked if you’re sure about pizza.”

“Yeah. Pizza.” I shrug. “Sounds good.”

He doesn’t reach for his phone, though. “Is everything okay? You seem kind of distracted.” His eyes narrow like he’s reading me, which he undoubtedly is. “And you seemed kind of preoccupied last night too.”

My stomach plummets.

Taking me gently by the hips, Ian looks me right in the eye. “What’s going on?” When I don’t answer, he asks, “It’s this thing with Michael, isn’t it?”

Bull’s-eye.

I exhale hard. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bringing that home.”

“It’s kind of inevitable.” He tips my chin up. “Like it or not, there’s no way something like that isn’t going to affect you.”

“But it shouldn’t affect us. I shouldn’t be neglecting you.” I struggle to hold his gaze. “Do you realize we hadn’t fucked in like a week before last night?”

Ian smiles, and then he kisses me softly. “If it’s helping to un-fuck everything Steve did to Michael, then it’s worth it. I’ll be here when it’s over. How is everything going with him, anyway?”

“It’s…”

Distracting me from my husband.

Turning me into a goddamned basket case in the bedroom.

Making me second guess every time I want to touch you.

Ian touches my face. “Talk to me, Josh.”

I meet his eyes.

And there’s nothing to say. Nothing that can be conveyed in words.

So I kiss him.

Ian freezes. For a second, I’m scared to death he’s going to push me away and be the adult and tell me we need to talk first, and he’d be right, but…no. Not tonight. Talking can wait. I can’t.

I shove him back against the counter, and he doesn’t miss a beat—he’s got handfuls of my shirt, and he’s using them to hold me to him, grinding his hips against mine. His shirt falls away, and it probably hits the floor, but it could’ve ceased to exist for all I know or care because now my palms are against his hot flesh. I grab on to him, I dig my nails in, I hold him close so there’s as much skin touching skin as possible. I can’t even concentrate on kissing him, but I damn sure try. Ian’s all over the place too, breathing hard and grabbing on wherever his hands happen to land.

“Jesus. Fuck foreplay,” I murmur between kisses. “We need to fuck.”

Without a word, he grabs my hips, roughly turns me around, and now I’m the one up against the counter. He fumbles with my belt for a second and then shoves my jeans and boxers over my hips. My heart’s going crazy now.
Yes, yes. Fuck me
. The sound of his zipper makes me shiver. I grip the counter’s edge, digging my teeth into my lip.
Fuck me now!

Ian reaches past me. Something rattles. Something topples. Then he grabs a bottle and pulls it back to him, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of it.

Was that…olive oil?

Oh hell, I don’t care what it is. I bite my lip, trying to stay standing, stay sane, stay breathing. I don’t care what he’s using as long as—

Ian presses his slick cock against my ass, and my mind goes blank. As soon as the head slides into me, Ian doesn’t hold back. He forces himself in, and I’d moan if I could breathe at all. With no prep or stretching, the burn is intense. I shove myself back against him, searching for more, desperately trying to drive him all the way inside me. It burns, it makes my eyes water, and I need more. More.
More
.

Ian presses his lips to the side of my neck, and every hot breath he releases rushes past my skin. I brace a hand against the cabinet and try to push back against him, but he’s got me pinned against the counter, and I can barely move.

“Just stay like that,” he pants. “Let me…let me…”

Oh, I let him. I hold myself in place as much as I can, and he slams into me again and again, pounding me so hard, it’s deliciously painful. I’m begging him not to stop. Or at least I think I am. I want to. Whether my mouth can form the words is another matter. Still, he must know what I want, or maybe he’s just so far gone himself that all he wants to do is try to force himself deeper and deeper.

My knees are going to tremble right out from under me. My hand slips off the cabinet. I drop onto my elbows, letting my head fall forward, and I distantly hear myself cry out, and without even touching myself, I come, driven on and on by Ian’s powerful thrusts. He grunts, and he thrusts so hard, the edge of the counter bites into my hipbones, and he holds me there, pinning me in place as his cock pulses inside me. “Fuck,” he breathes, and one last shudder goes through him.

Thank God for the counter. As we tremble and catch our breath, it’s about the only thing keeping us both from melting to the floor.

He pulls out and then kisses the base of my neck. “Go get in the shower. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Speech isn’t possible, so I just nod and make a half-assed attempt at fixing my clothes. My legs are shaky and my head’s still spinning, but I manage to get upstairs to the master bedroom. I strip out of my clothes, clean some of the oil off my skin, and then do as I’m told—into the shower.

I don’t know how long it’s been since we’ve had spontaneous sex like that. A blowjob here and there, maybe, but full-on fucking that can’t even wait until we find actual lube? Oh God. We need to do that more often.

A few minutes after I get in the shower, Ian joins me, and it’s instantly clear that he’s not at all interested in stopping. Though we’re making a somewhat concerted effort to get clean, his lips are on me almost constantly—on my neck, my shoulders, my mouth. His hands are everywhere, sliding over wet skin and digging nails in now and then to make me gasp. I love it when he gets like this. When he’s demanding and insatiable and utterly fucking relentless. After all the fraught, uneasy sex I’ve had with Michael lately, I need this. I need to remember what it’s like to just let go with someone who
can
let go.

Ian turns off the shower. We dry off—sort of—and then tumble into bed.
God
, he feels good—hot skin against mine, his cock hardening again, his lips skating across my neck and collarbone. Yeah, he’s definitely not done. And neither am I. I don’t care if I can function tomorrow—I want everything he’s willing to give me tonight. We’re both hard, and panting, and grinding together, and clawing at each other.

Then Ian reaches for the nightstand. “Knees.”

“’kay.”

We’re down to single syllables. I’m surprised either of us is that articulate.

I’ve barely gotten myself situated before Ian’s against me, and then he’s inside me, and he’s fucking me again, slamming into me painfully deep and hard, and I can’t get enough. My elbows falter, then collapse under me, and I drop onto my forearms as my husband fucks me exactly the way I love it. Exactly the way I’ve been needing it and didn’t even know it. It’s just us tonight, no one from the past or the present in between us—it’s him, and me, and the violent, bed-shaking sex we’ve had since day one.

“Harder,” I whimper. “F-fuck me harder.”

Ian groans, and he pounds me so hard, my vision blurs. My knees burn on the sheets, and every thrust reverberates up my spine, and I dig the heels of my hands into the mattress and push myself back against him, searching for more even though I can’t take any more.

I lift myself up as much as I can and reach beneath us. As soon as I start jerking myself off, Ian’s dick seems to get even thicker as I tighten around him. He curses under his breath and grips my hips tighter, but his rhythm falters like it sometimes does when he’s getting tired.

I find enough breath to murmur, “Let me get on top.”

Ian slows, then stops. “Good call.”

He pulls out and rolls onto his back. I climb on top, and we both curse as I lower myself onto his cock. I ride him just the way
he
loves it—hard, rocking my hips, trying to force the breath out of him every time I come down. He meets me halfway too. He doesn’t hold on to me, but every time I come down, he thrusts up, and even though I’ve come once tonight, and I’m already sensitive enough that this could get painful in a hurry, I love it.

“Touch yourself,” he orders. “Lemme see you get yourself off.”

I balance on one arm and, with the other hand, start jerking my cock.

“Oh yeah.” He bites his lip, fucking me from below. “Oh God, yeah.”

He doesn’t stop. I don’t stop. We fuck, we touch, and we curse, and I’m in so many levels of heaven, I can’t even see straight, and my God, no one but Ian can get me this close this fast after I’ve already come once. My legs are burning from exertion, my wrist and elbow are starting to ache, but I’m not stopping for anything. Not until I come on him and he comes in me, and the way I feel right now, the way my vision keeps blurring and my body’s shaking all over, I’m so damned—

“
Fuck!
”

I fall forward on my free hand, and somehow keep pumping my dick as semen spurts across his abs. Screwing his eyes shut, Ian thrusts up into me. I don’t even know who’s in control anymore. I don’t care. I love the way he feels and looks and sounds, and I want him to feel as amazing as I do, so despite my aching hips and thighs and my spinning head, I give him everything I have—still riding him hard, still rolling my hips just the way he likes it. My rhythm is all over the place. My body’s trembling. I’m so dizzy, I’m ready to collapse. But not until Ian’s there. Not until he falls to pieces like I just did.