All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

That’s what Ian did, he analyzed everything.

“But I started thinking: it would take time for me to get out once he has me in it, and he can do whatever he wants in the meantime.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s the part I can’t have. No stranger puts their hands on me, that’s ingrained too deep.”

“You take women home from bars, Ian. They’re strangers and you fuck them.”

“Yeah, but I know names, and none of them could hurt me,” he explained. “Plus, I never sleep with any of them. I drive them home right after.”

“Emma slept over.”

“Because that lasted more than one night. And she hated sleeping over because she was afraid of Chickie.”

I smiled and he grinned back.

“Tell me about the Dom.”

“Well, so I gave him the go ahead to hurt me if he needed to, whatever he has to do to incapacitate me, right? He’s supposed to make me submit.”

Oh God. I was terrified to imagine what Ian had done. He wasn’t known for his patience. “You didn’t kill him accidentally, did you?”

He leaned over, hands on either side of my head on the mattress. “I put him in a sleeper hold and he passed out.”

I reached up and put my hands on each side of his neck. “You’re not supposed to hurt your Dom, Ian.”

“I didn’t hurt him,” he said hoarsely, swallowing fast as I smoothed my hands down his chest to his stomach, stroking gently until I reached his hard arching shaft. “And I paid him for his time.”

“I thought there was a safeword.”

“Yeah, I know, but I forgot it.”

“How do you forget the safeword?”

He shrugged.

“You didn’t think you’d need it, that’s why.”

“Probably.”

Only Ian.

“So,” I said, toppling him over, shoving him onto his back, grabbing the lube beside me. “Tell me what you learned from all that?” I notched against him, my dick sliding over his crease. “Ian?” I asked as I flipped the cap and squeezed lube over his cock.

“What’re you—”

“Tell me,” I insisted, coating his cock and my fingers at the same time before snapping the tube shut and tossing it out of our way. “What conclusion did you come to?”

He drove himself into my slippery fist, mouth open, eyes closed, letting his head tip sideways. He pressed his temple against my forehead when I leaned down.

“Ian,” I coaxed gently, sucking his earlobe into my mouth.

“Isn’t it…. Miro,” he pleaded, “I know you know.”

“But you can’t skimp on the words this time, you gotta say it.”

He inhaled sharply. “I want to be held down by someone who could actually hurt me—”

“And?” I pried, needing more from him because it was important, because it would ground both of us.

“—but never would.”

It was me, only me, and we both knew it. The only person in the world he was completely himself with, whom he trusted implicitly, was the one in bed with him. “I would never hurt you,” I promised, placing his hand on his cock before I pulled away just enough so I could smear the excess lube on mine. “And you know that.”

“I do.”

He was safe with me, and no one else could make him feel that way because I had nurtured this relationship for the past three years, as had he. “You have to be honest.”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said, pressing two slick fingers to his entrance. “Tell me if you’re sore.”

“I’m good.”

Entering slowly, I twisted and pushed, rubbing circles until his muscles softened and gave, kissing down the side of his neck.

“You’re not giving your dick any attention,” I reminded him.

“What’re you gonna do?”

“If it won’t hurt you, I wanna fuck you like this.”

Deep sigh from him. “Yeah, do that.”

Slipping my fingers free, I notched against his entrance and then slid steadily forward.

“Miro.” My name in his throaty whisper sent stinging heat through me, and I forgot the careful and the slow and shoved in in one long smooth glide.

The noise he made was a moan and a cry wrapped up together. It terrified me. “Ian?”

“It feels like that every time?”

The awe in his voice restarted my heart. “Yes,” I answered, slipping out only to ram back in, making sure he felt every motion of my cock grinding over his gland.

“Fuck!”

I pumped in and out, lifting his leg and holding his quivering thigh in my hand.

“Kiss me.” I snapped out the command, and he strained to sit up enough that I could devour his mouth.

He broke the kiss for breath, and when he did, I pulled out. His yell surprised me, and when I moved to the edge of the bed, he tackled me, crossing my wrists over my head and holding me down with one hand, the other on my chest.

“Why would you stop?”

“Put one foot on the floor,” I directed, “and then lower yourself down on top of me. You’re strong enough, you can do that.”

He nodded, doing as I said, braced himself over me, one hand buried in my hair, the other at my side as he held me there before I shoved up inside him.