“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.
Ian gasps. His eyes fly open. His face is filled with that near-panic of a man on the edge, the telltale oh fuck there’s no stopping it, and then he pulls me down onto him, forcing himself as deep as I can take him, and shudders.
When he releases me, I lift myself off him and drop onto the bed beside him. He feels around, and eventually finds my hand, and we just lie there, holding hands and panting hard until we can trust our legs to hold us up. As we get up to clean ourselves off, we’re shaking and clumsy, but we manage.
Ian groans as he falls back into bed. I collapse beside him.
And we just lie there. Still breathless. Still trembling. My body’s aching all over; it’s been years since we fucked like that. Two orgasms apiece in rapid succession? I thought we’d left that in our twenties.
“Have I ever told you,” I say, barely able to enunciate, “that you’re fucking amazing in bed?”
He laughs and lazily takes my hand. “Likewise.”
I close my eyes and sigh. “I so needed that tonight.”
“So I noticed.” He pulls the sheet up over us. “I’ve been worried about you, you know.”
My heart clenches. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m just worried this whole thing with Michael is taking its toll on you.”
I scrub my hand over my face. “I don’t see how it won’t take its toll.”
“Yeah, ditto.” He pulls me close and kisses my forehead. “Is it helping, though? I mean, is he doing better?”
“Better, yeah. But, God, it’s a weird feeling, being with someone who’s afraid of being touched.”
His fingertips trail down my arm. “I can’t even imagine.”
“It’s like…fucking on eggshells.” I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “And the more he tells me about why…” I drop my hand and look at Ian. “What the hell kind of person does this to someone?”
“Someone who needs to be on the evening news,” Ian mutters and kisses my temple.
“Seriously.” I cuddle against him, tucking my head beneath his chin. “And now I feel like an asshole too, because this whole time, I’ve been neglecting you.”
Ian runs his hand up and down my back. “You’ve been preoccupied. Under the circumstances—”
“Don’t.” I lift up and meet his gaze. “If I’ve been ignoring you, don’t make excuses for me.”
He purses his lips, then shrugs. “Josh, something like what you’re doing with Michael is going to take a toll on you. And it’s going to pull your focus away from us for a little while.” He touches my face. “I knew that when I suggested this.”
“Yeah, but I don’t ever want to take you for granted or make you feel like that.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to do to you what—”
He kisses me, holding the back of my neck firmly. “You are not, and you never will be, anything like Steve.”
I swallow. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He loosens his grasp a little and starts stroking my hair. “And right now, the one you’re neglecting is yourself.”
“And us.”
Ian shakes his head. “You need to take care of yourself first.”
I search his eyes. “Are you suggesting that I put you after myself and this thing with Michael?”
“No. I’m asking you to make yourself the priority. You keep working with Michael, and you and I will work together to make sure we’re not neglecting us. If there’s a problem here”—he gestures at each of us—“I’ll tell you.” He inclines his head. “I always have, haven’t I?”
“Yeah. You have.” I don’t think I’ve ever been with a man who’s less likely to let something fester—Ian is the king of nipping issues in the bud.
“I’ll let you know if there’s a problem,” he says. “All I ask is that you do the same. And be careful, okay?”