“My God. No wonder this has all been such a battle for you.”
He nods. Then he turns his head toward me. “To tell you the truth, all of this is why I got hooked on hanging out in the hot tub with you and Ian. It was just nice to relax and talk, and be as close as I could get to anyone since Steve.”
I cringe inwardly. I can’t imagine five years of never getting closer to a man than sharing the same hot tub. “We’ll fix this,” I whisper. “Even if it takes another five years.”
“I know.” He lifts his head and kisses me lightly. “And I know it’s not like that with every guy. Or even most guys. I know it was a fluke. I won the horrible abusive boyfriend lottery, and that lightning probably won’t strike twice.” He gulps, meeting my eyes. “But no matter how much I tell myself that, when my brain inexplicably decides it’s going to happen again…” He shakes his head.
“I understand.” I stroke his cheek. “And I can definitely understand why it’s taken you so long to even look this thing in the eye.” I pause, then cautiously ask, “When did you know?”
“That’s a complicated question.” He blows out a breath. “Sometimes, looking back on what I thought about things back then, it’s like I’m looking into someone else’s thoughts. I would never have accepted the shit he did, and I never would have made excuses for his bullshit. It was like it was me, but someone else was steering.”
“Someone else was steering, Michael.” I kiss him softly.
“Yeah, he was.” Michael holds me closer. “He’s gone now, but he left a lot behind. It’s going to take a while to work through it all.”
“I know it will. But we’ll take all the time you need. I promise.”
“Thank you,” he whispers, and finds my lips again. He makes no effort to break the kiss, so I don’t either. I clasp his hand between our chests, and we just lie there for a while, kissing lazily and holding onto each other, and it reminds me so much of those afternoons when we were teenagers. When we had nowhere go and nothing to do, and we could tangle up together and kiss like we had all the time in the world. In high school, we were always at least partially dressed, but this time, even completely naked—even with my wedding band sitting on the nightstand behind me—it feels just as innocent as it did back then. We’re both in our thirties, and yet it feels like we’re two cautious teenagers all over again—exploring, experimenting, gradually working up the courage to go further.
Maybe that’s how it should be. Michael’s confidence was high when we started tonight, but maybe we should’ve held back anyway. Crawl before we walk and all of that.
I will if you will.
Then the lightbulb comes on.
I draw back enough to meet his gaze. “Do you still have that massage oil?”
Michael nods.
I push myself up onto my elbow and trail my other hand over his chest. “Maybe I could give you one this time.”
He smiles. “I’m not going to say no to that.”
I smile back.
He gets up to retrieve the oil, and I sit up too.
My first thought is to have him on his stomach, the same way he massaged me the first time, but as tense as he’s been this evening, I want to tread carefully here. The first night, I was pretty sure Michael wanted to give me a massage because the position I was in meant I was completely passive. That may not be such a good idea with him, so as he comes back to the bed, I get up on my knees.
“Instead of lying facedown,” I say, “sit on the edge of the bed.”
He shoots me a puzzled look but hands me the bottle of oil and does as I suggested.
I kneel behind him. “This way, you still have some control.” I pour oil into my hands and start warming it up. “If want me to stop, you can just say so, but you can also get up quickly and easily.”
He turns so his face is visible in profile. “I was going to say I can’t imagine ever wanting to get away from you like that.” He faces forward again, though not before some color rushes into his cheeks. “But I guess after earlier…”
“That’s why we’re doing this. And I know it’s not me you’re trying to get away from.”
“It never is,” he whispers.
I rest my hands on his shoulders. He inhales sharply, and I don’t move. The muscles beneath my palms gradually relax. I still don’t move. Not until his breathing slows down and evens out.
I only move my thumbs at first. Down slowly. Up just as slowly. Drawing long arcs on either side of his spine. He releases a breath, and more of that tension melts away. Not much, but enough that I can feel it. I’ll take it.
He rolls his shoulders beneath my palms, and more tension disappears. I cautiously start moving, making small circles with my hands, gradually making them bigger until I’m touching all over his back.
Little by little, Michael’s spine liquefies. When I push against him, he nearly slumps forward, so I tug his shoulders back to steady him. When I do, Michael leans against me. Then a little harder, pressing my cock just right to make my breath catch.
“Fuck!”