Welcome back, Michael. We’ll make it the rest of the way. I promise.
My arms are about to shake out from under me, so I kiss him once more before I sink onto the bed beside him.
“I haven’t told you this in a long time,” he slurs, “but your mouth is un-fucking-real.”
“Good. Always happy to please.”
He laughs breathlessly. I do too, and I’m even more out of breath than he is. I’m still hard, still turned on, relieved beyond words that his fucking demons are MIA for the moment.
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.”