All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1) - Page 82

The way he was looking at me… the light came on.

All of his frustration, his anger, was about ownership.

It all suddenly made sense: his unease in the car, the fidgeting like his skin was suddenly too constrictive, acting as though he wanted to get away from me. He needed grounding. He needed to know where he belonged, and to whom.

“And is that what you want?” I asked as he smoothed his hands up my sides, his head tipping forward so his lips brushed over my collarbone. “To be mine?”

The shiver was all the answer I needed, even if he lied.

“Ian?”

He nodded, his lips parting, his teeth scraping gently over my skin. “This whole time,” he said, his voice thick and full of gravel. “Right here, all along… you’ve been here.”

My whole body tensed as I girded for what could happen, and for what I could lose.

“I don’t—I mean—” He inhaled sharply. “I’m—”

“It’s okay,” I said gently.

“Shit,” Ian muttered under his breath, pressing his face down into my shoulder, hands tracing over the muscles in my back.

“Tell me,” I urged, nuzzling his temple, kissing gently, tenderly, moving my lips along his jaw.

“What the fuck is with these pants?”

Not what I was hoping to hear, but I could work with it, with the fact that he liked what he saw. Taking hold of his hands, I moved them under the elastic waistband and back over my ass before squeezing tight. “They’re for taking off,” I whispered raggedly in his ear.

“Miro,” he choked out, lifting his head, his lips hovering over mine as he ground his rigid shaft against my thigh. “I need more.”

“More what? More kissing? More sex?”

“Fuck, yeah, all that,” he husked, lifting his hands from where they were down the back of my pants, one sliding up and over my hip, the other slipping around front to cup my length.

I thrust forward into his fist, and he moaned before he pressed a kiss to the side of my neck. “And?”

“I’m stuck,” he said, stroking my cock, drawing it from beneath my waistband. “It’s like I’m all I can be, like this is it, unless….”

The lazy touching was driving me wild. I needed his mouth on me or he had to be rougher, tug my flesh until I came. “Unless,” I growled.

“You stay with me.”

It took me a second to parse his words because my entire focus was on his body: its proximity, his warm breath, his hooded eyes, and his demanding hands. “Stay with you?” My heart hurt, listening to him dredge his feelings up from the deep, but I had to know what was buried in him, in his heart.

“Shit,” he groaned and tried to let go of me, but I pushed my hard, leaking dick into his hand and he clutched at me automatically.

“Do I feel good?”

“Oh fuck yeah,” he rumbled, pressing close to shove his own cock, straining against the front of his sweats, over mine.

“Maybe you should stay with me instead.”

“Okay.”

“Should I ask you to move in with me?”

“Please,” he said, seemingly without thought or hesitation.

“Because then you’ll know, whether we’re in a car together transporting witnesses or if you’re alone on the other side of the world, that you have a home with me.”

“Yes.”

“And when you know you belong to me, with me, then not being able to touch me in the car won’t make you feel like you’re gonna crawl out of your own skin.”

His gaze met mine.

“Because when we get home, behind closed doors, I can do whatever the fuck I want to you.”

“Yes,” he rasped, tearing at his sweats, shucking them down enough to allow his longer, thinner cock to bounce free.

I grasped both together, tight, and he moaned like he was in pain.

“God, why haven’t we been doing this since…. Jesus, Miro, you’re the smart one.”

Was I?

I gripped the back of his neck tight, holding him still as I slid my hand up and down our cocks, jerking us both, loving the feel of his skin pressed to mine.

“It’s more than just—” He shuddered. “—this.”

“I know,” I soothed, then moved fast, shoving him face-first into the door, pinning him there with my bulkier frame, my chest against his back. “Don’t move.”

He stood silently, breathing in and out, and I pulled up my pants and left him at a run, getting to my bag, finding the lube, and noting the closed door that led from the main room to the bedroom, and then, as I passed by, that the one leading from the bathroom to the bedroom was similarly shut. As professionalism went, ours was out the window. But Drake Ford and Cabot Jenner were going to be our charges in Chicago, and since we’d first emotionally saved them, and then physically, I wasn’t too worried about them saying a disparaging word about either Ian or me. But even if they did, I could have cared less.

Tags: Mary Calmes Marshals Crime
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