So I should feel good about all of this. And I do.
But something isn’t sitting right. It festers beneath my ribs for a few days, getting steadily more noticeable. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s causing it, though, only that I always feel worse after a night with Michael. What the hell is wrong? Because everything seems to be going just fine. Right?
It makes sense one morning when I roll over and find Ian’s side of the bed empty. That in itself isn’t unusual, and I know he’s here because the shower is running. The cat is still on Ian’s pillow, the dog slowly taking over his side—everything is normal.
But his absence in our bed resonates with me in a weird way. I’ve gotten used to him occasionally being at Michael’s, so why should this—
Ah. That’s it.
He’s here, but…not. And it’s been like that a lot recently. Almost constantly, if I’m honest. My stomach clenches—I can’t even remember the last time we slept together. We’ve had a few quickies before going to bed, especially if one of us has been out with Michael, but beyond that…
Nothing.
As I lie there, my thoughts unnerve me. I fully expected to be engrossed in helping Michael, and I knew there’d be some physical exhaustion involved. But it hadn’t occurred to me that Ian and I might neglect our marriage in the process. That we might get so caught up in Michael, we’d forget how much we enjoyed being together. Even after more than a decade, our sex life has always been amazing, but lately…
Lately it’s been nearly nonexistent outside of the things we’ve done with Michael. When we have had sex on our own, it’s been a reprieve—a chance to enjoy some effortless physical intimacy after seeing firsthand how hard it is for Michael. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. That’s not how I imagined it could ever be.
What the hell is happening to us?
We’re getting too tangled up with Michael, that’s what.
Fuck. Didn’t I swear up and down this wouldn’t happen again? That everything with Michael would not distract me from Ian? I don’t want to leave Michael to his own devices until he’s sure he’s back on track, but I need to fix this. And it can’t wait.
I carefully slip my leg out from under the dog. She grumbles a bit, wriggles farther onto Ian’s side, but that’s it.
I step into the bathroom. The sight of Ian on the other side of the frosted glass makes my chest tighten. How long has it been?
He turns his head, though the semi-opaque door obscures his features. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah. I know.” I pause. “Mind if I join you?”
“Sure.”
I step into the shower with him.
“Couldn’t sleep?” He leans back to rinse some shampoo from his hair.
“Not really.” I wait until he’s done rinsing off, and then put my hands on his waist. “I wanted to see you before you go to work.”
He glances down at my hands and blinks a few times. “What are—”
“We haven’t been spending enough time together.” I draw him in and run my fingers through his wet hair. It’s too early in the morning to kiss, but I need to touch him. “We were having so much sex before, and now that we’re with Michael all the time, we’ve barely had anything left for each other.”
Ian frowns. “I know. And I want to keep spending time with him, but…” He swallows. “To be honest, I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” I whisper.
“Call Michael when he’s up.” He kisses my fingers. “Tonight, we’re shutting off our phones and staying home.”
“Good idea. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“I have no doubt.”
We exchange smiles.
“You know, as long as I’m in here.” I snake a hand between us.
Ian sucks in a breath. “Josh, I need to… I have to get to…”
I trail my fingers along his cock. “You have time, don’t you?”
He shudders, pressing against my hand. “I need—”
“Turn around.”
He hesitates, and I’m expecting him to insist he really doesn’t have time, but then he does turn around. I pull him against me so I can reach around and stroke his cock while I kiss up and down his neck.
Ian braces his arm against the wall, and he pushes back, and a groan escapes my lips as he rubs against my dick. I had only intended to jerk him off and give him a little preview of tonight, but like this, with my cock pressed between his wet skin and mine, I’m losing it too.
His other hand closes around mine. He’s not taking over, not controlling how I stroke his cock, just making contact, and I stroke him faster. Ian moans and thrusts into my hand—our hands—which only increases the delicious friction against my cock. I bury my face in his neck and rub harder against his wet skin.
“God.” He shudders, and I hold him tighter as my own orgasm rocks my whole damn body. So much for just getting him off, but I’m not complaining.