She swats at his finger but keeps her claws in. Of course.
He laughs, then picks her up and deposits her on the other cushion. When he faces me again, the humor is gone. “So, tonight.” He swallows. “There was one point where Michael started to freak out.”
My blood turns cold and my spine straightens. “What happened?”
He loses focus for a second. Slowly, he shakes his head and meets my gaze again. “I’m not even really sure, to be honest. Everything seemed fine, and then…”
“And then it wasn’t?”
“Basically.”
Sighing, I nod. “Yeah, I’ve had that happen many times. But, he was okay afterward?”
Ian nods. “We stopped for a little while. He calmed down, and then we got started again.”
“What set him off? I mean, what were you guys doing when it happened?”
Ian swallows. “Missionary. Or, trying to, anyway.”
“You on top? Or him?”
“Me.” He chews his lip. “When we tried again, he wanted to do the same position again, so we just took it slower.”
“He does like that position,” I say quietly. “We’ve done it quite a few times.”
“Why would it set him off this time?”
“It’s hard to say. That fucking PTSD can just come out of nowhere.”
Ian’s lips twist. “Now I get why you called it a minefield.”
“Uh-huh. He’s come a long way, though. It’s amazing to see the difference in him. How he was so nervous and self-conscious early on, but now…”
Ian shivers.
So do I.
“It’s a damned shame he was ever like that,” Ian says. “I swear, if I ever see Steve again…”
“You and me both. And I’m going to be chewing my nails to stumps the first time Michael’s out with another guy.”
Ian nods. “Me too.”
“Well. We’ll all cross that bridge when we get there.”
“Yeah. For now…” Ian takes my hand. “Bed?”
“Bed.”
We go through our evening routine, cat and dog underfoot as always. I can’t quite settle down for the night, though. I’m relieved to have him home, even though I don’t know why—I knew he’d be home, and I knew where he was the whole time anyway. But I’m also restless. Maybe because I know there’s not a chance in hell that we’re having sex tonight. We always want what we can’t have, after all.
Once we’re in bed, Ian doesn’t kill the light. He tugs on my shoulder, so I roll onto my back. He’s on his side, arm draped across my chest. “You all right tonight?”
“Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. You just seem a bit tense.”
I chew the inside of my cheek. “I guess it was just a bit weird, switching roles with you.” Meeting his eyes, I ask, “Has it been weird for you? When I’m over at Michael’s place?”
“It was a little in the beginning. Just an adjustment, I guess.”
“Maybe that’s it.”
“We’ve been strictly monogamous for a long time. Shifting gears and accepting the idea of your husband sleeping with another guy… It’s gonna make you stop and think, you know?”
“Yeah. It does.” I touch his face. “I’m sorry if this has been stressful for you.”
“Don’t be.” He turns his head and kisses my palm. “The only one who needs to apologize for anything is Steve, and he’s beyond redemption anyway. The adjustments and stress for us have been worth it to help Michael.”
“I agree. As long as we’re okay.”
Ian smiles, sending a warm jolt of electricity through me. “We’re definitely okay.” His fingertips drift over my abs and continue downward.
I bite my lip. “I thought you were tired.”
“I am.” He kisses the side of my neck, and then starts downward again, his lips following the same path his fingers took. “But you’re not.”
“No, but—”
But I love those soft little kisses down my chest. Over my stomach. Across my hipbone. And Ian may be completely spent after everything he did with Michael tonight, but when he closes his lips around my cock, the fatigue doesn’t show at all.
And I just lie back, close my eyes and enjoy my husband’s skilled, enthusiastic mouth.
Chapter Eighteen
After that, Michael and Ian spend the occasional night together, and Michael and I sometimes have a bed to ourselves. More often than not, it’s all three of us, but it seems they’re as addictive as they are addicted—we all want each other all the time. Some nights, I all but forget this is meant to help Michael repair damage from his past—he’s on an even keel most of the time, with only the slightest pauses now and then, and his avoidance of giving blowjobs. The line blurred a long time ago between doing this for fun and doing it for therapy.
Which I suppose is good. The less it’s at the forefront of my mind—and hopefully Michael’s—the less it’s a problem. The farther his demons are behind him. The more that jackass’s memory fades.