All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

“Fuck, I love it when you’re happy.”

Which was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.

At Shorty’s, a dive off of Harlem Avenue that was only a shack with a stove in it, the cashier being the same person who passed you your food, I ordered while Ian stood behind me. Two picnic tables were the extent of their seating, but it hardly mattered, as most people took their food to go. Everyone grabbed their burger there after being at a club all night, and on Friday and Saturday it was fun to see the cross-section of cars, fashion, and people all standing in line. As it was a Sunday night, it was us and a few hookers, some college kids, and four women.

After we ordered, we waited, leaning against the side of the building.

“You know what I can’t get outta my head,” Ian asked, leaning close to me, his voice in my ear.

“What’s that?”

“You with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

Instantly my body flushed with heat, but my words stayed cool. “Liked that, did you?”

“Yeah,” he said huskily, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the side of my neck.

I covered it with my hand, feeling oddly like I’d been branded, and watched him swagger over to the window to collect our food. He smiled at the women at the table, and I saw them all check him out, following every fluid movement until he reached me.

“You know each and every one of those girls wants to take you home, Marshal,” I informed him.

“Yeah, well, I only go home with you.”

I coughed. “What’s with you being all sweet all of a sudden?”

He shrugged, grabbed my hand, and tugged me after him. The looks we got, first surprise, then smiles, were nice. But as he led me to the car, I understood. I had said where he would be—I’d laid claim—and because of that, he felt safe. He needed me to say what he could and couldn’t do; it was how he knew he was loved.

I couldn’t put my finger on the exact moment when I fell in love with Ian Doyle, but at some point, having all his attention became what I had to have. And even if he decided tomorrow that he didn’t want me anymore, the short time when I was all he saw would be enough.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked as he made a U-turn in the middle of the street, nearly getting us killed before he got us in the correct lane.

“Nothing.”

“Something, you got all quiet.”

“I just hope this works for you for a long time.”

“What’s that?”

Was he kidding? “Us,” I said simply.

“You lost me.”

“I want this, you and me, to work out.”

“There’s no question about that,” he said, making a face like I was ridiculous. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Only Ian made my heart stop and start with such frequency.

“You made what I needed okay.”

I couldn’t have said a word if my life depended on it.

“So it’s for you to say if you ever want me to go away. I’m in.”

He was so matter-of-fact.

I’m in.

There would be no more questions for him, no second-guessing, no hesitancy.

“You know I love you. What else do you need?”

To him, it was obvious. He knew where he stood. I cleared my throat. “Nothing. I don’t need anything.”

“So we’re good?”

“Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “We’re good.”

He grunted and turned onto my street, then parked the car a block from my Greystone. He could have parked in my assigned space, but my truck was there.

I carried his duffel bag, he his garment bag, and I kept the burgers inside my jacket to try to keep them warm. Inside my apartment, we both hung up our coats in the entryway closet, and then Ian crossed quickly to the stairs and went up to my bedroom. I cranked up the thermostat to seventy and dropped the burgers on the coffee table and my bag and his on one end of the sofa before I went to the kitchen to get a couple of beers.

When he came back down, I had our burgers split as we always did so I got half of his hot-as-hell Four Horseman burger and he got half of my To Thai For burger. Fries and onion rings got divided up as well.

“Oh thank you.” He almost cried, and I laughed as he came around the couch and flopped down beside me, leaning sideways and kissing me.

It was quick, and then he had his hands full, tearing into his food.

I stared at him a moment, hit with a sudden wave of normalcy. Us eating together; the TV going on as we checked basketball scores; him shoving fries into his mouth, sucking down a beer, grabbing for a napkin, and bumping me with his knee.

This was how it would be every night. At work, nothing would change, but here in my house behind closed doors or out with friends, it would be like this. Ian Doyle would be in my space, with me, living, breathing, building a life.