All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

I counted to fifty. In German.

Once we landed and were out of our seats, I mapped his frame as he walked ahead of me, like I never had before. The rolling swagger of his walk, the tight round ass, the veins in his wrists and forearms, and the flashing smile that had only ever been for me… all of it I appreciated and wanted to be mine.

I had a singular agenda. Carving out a path through the Tri-Cities airport, I said excuse me a lot and people moved for me, not the other way around.

“Why are we jogging?” he asked as I grabbed his arm and dragged him after me.

“I will kill you if you don’t keep up with me.”

“Like I can’t keep up with you,” he scoffed.

At the car rental counter beside the baggage claim, the lines were long and I couldn’t take it. I pulled my badge—which I never did—announced that I was a federal marshal, and jumped to the head of the line.

“Technically,” Ian apprised the woman preparing the paperwork. “He’s a deputy US marshal. We only say federal marshal during a raid or something.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding.

“And that was a dick move,” he scolded me, but really, I couldn’t have cared less.

Once I had the rental contract in hand, I led him out the doors to the rental cars parked in long rows.

“Where do we get the key?”

I couldn’t even talk anymore; it was too far beyond me. My heartbeat was so loud in my ears, I was amazed he couldn’t hear it.

Presenting the contract to the girl waiting under the canopy, I tried my best to smile, hoping not to scare her. It must have worked, because instead of running away, she directed us to the left.

“Any of the vehicles in that last row toward the parking structure, gentlemen. The keys are in them, but remember you have to drive back this way to get out.”

The car itself didn’t matter, only the distance between the entrance to the lot and where it was parked.

“Where are you going?” he asked as I hurried, walking fast. “Shouldn’t I be the one to pick since I’m the one who—”

I couldn’t wait even a second more. We were as far away as I could manage.

Rounding on him, I fisted my hands in his coat and dragged him between two enclosures, then around the side, thankful that while the partitions between every two cars were tarps, the walls and frame were metal. After slamming Ian back against it, I took his face in my hands, pulling him forward at the same time I leaned in.

I ground my mouth over his, forcing my tongue between his lips, craving his taste, his heat, all of it, everything he had to give.

I suffered a split second of terror that maybe having me all over him would be too much, but he sank into the kiss, melted against me. His whimpering moan was decadent, rich with submission and desire. The need to claim him and mark him was utterly primal, and I aggressively mauled his mouth, sucking, biting, and taking what I had to have.

His hands scrambled on my peacoat, wanting in, unbuttoning, parting, lifting my sweater, pulling the T-shirt free. His hands on my skin had me moaning into his mouth, and when he pressed his groin to mine, grinding, pushing, I realized through the haze of aching, helpless desire that I was just as hard as he was.

He lifted his mouth from mine for a second, for a quick gulp of air, and then he was the aggressor, kissing me hot and wet, tipping my head back to shove his tongue down my throat before licking the roof of my mouth, the inside of my cheek, missing nothing. I whined when he pulled away and then quivered at the sound of the low chuckle before his teeth sank into the spot where my neck met my shoulder.

I ground out his name. He must have liked it, because he pivoted and drove me backward into the same wall I’d held him against moments before.

“Shit,” he panted, and I had a second to admire what passion looked like on him: swollen lips, flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, and hair spiked up with sweat. It was incredible. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Sometimes I’m too rough and—”

I lunged at him, reclaimed his mouth, my lips covering his, kissing until I felt the fear leave and only need remain. He was boneless in my arms, pliant and willing, and it was then that I yanked him sideways, switching places so it was Ian, again, with his back to the wall.

“M,” he moaned softly. To hear such a sound of longing come out of the man drove me to my knees. “I—you can’t.”

Quickly, expertly, I got his belt unbuckled, pants unbuttoned, zipper down, and gorgeous erect cock leaking in my hand.