Twisted and Tied (Marshals 4)

“We both know you’ve seen a lot worse than me at this moment,” I said, laying my phone on the counter, my entire focus on Ian.

No sound, just him wincing as I saw the weight of guilt pressing down on him.

“I’m fine. You can see I am,” I threw out, trying another tactic.

The stricken expression on those gorgeous chiseled features of his didn’t change.

Shit. “Oh, come on. I’ve been drinking all night. It doesn’t even hurt,” I said, giving him a game smile, trying my damnedest to lighten the mood.

It wasn’t working. It was there on his face how twisted up he was inside.

“I swear I’m fine,” I said, my voice gravelly as I opened my arms to him, seeing clearly the fear flickering there behind his eyes. “C’mere.”

He rushed to my side and stepped between my dangling legs, wrapping his strong arms around me before crushing me to his chest.

“It’s okay,” I soothed as he buried his face in the curve of my neck and shoulder, inhaling as he shivered.

“It was just bad timing,” I explained. “You—”

“I wasn’t there,” he whispered, and I could hear that he was ashamed and miserable and sad, and none of that was conducive to me getting laid.

“Hey.”

He lifted his head to meet my gaze.

“You know what would make me feel better?”

“A warm bath?” he offered, the sadness still all over his face.

“No, stupid, you,” I said, smirking.

The scowl I got made me laugh. Clearly I was not amusing. But the moan I got when I bent and kissed him, full of aching need, let me know how he really felt. Cheesy or not, acting like a doofus or not, he wanted me.

Pressing my advantage, I slid off the counter onto my feet, hands on his belt as I began walking him backward toward the stairs.

“Couch,” he whimpered, taking a step that way.

“Shower,” I countered, spinning him around and steering him toward the steps. “I’m all sweaty and gross, and you came home and changed but didn’t shower, I’m guessing.”

He grunted.

“Yeah, so, let’s go get clean, Doyle.”

Most nights, the loft—the half floor with our bed, master bathroom, and closet—was not an ordeal to get to, but at the moment, Ian didn’t seem like he was in the waiting frame of mind.

“Now,” I ordered, my tone rough and low.

He moved fast, checking to make sure I was following before he started up.

I was right behind him, admiring the way his pants clung to his tight, round ass, and reached out to take hold of him.

He stopped, gripping the railing on the left, and I moved up behind him on the same step, my chest sliding up his back before I kissed the side of his neck.

“I—you,” he began breathily with almost a whimper, “didn’t want that guy at the club, did you?”

Amazing when everything gelled into place and you had the aha moment that explained what was going on.

I got hurt, then Eli sent Ian pictures of me having a great time all night, getting wasted, dancing with strangers, and then when he finally got to me there, I was holding off a guy in the hallway outside the bathroom. From his perspective, I had instilled some questions. And not that he truly believed something so ridiculous, but he was human, after all.

I slipped my arm around his chest, clutching him tight, and he let his head fall back, surrendering. “You know better than that,” I said, dipping my head and taking a gentle bite of the skin between his neck and shoulder.

He jolted as I sucked and licked, moving slowly, insidiously, up behind his ear and letting my warm breath touch everything I had just made wet.

I smiled against his skin, pressing another kiss there before turning his face to me so I could take his mouth.

A whine slid out of his throat as I rubbed my tongue over his, opening him up, making him mine as he turned in my arms to face me, never breaking the kiss, wrapping his arms around my neck, ensuring I couldn’t get away.

Ian used to tell me, when we were just friends, that he was often told he was a terrible kisser. I never knew that to be the case. Every one of Ian’s kisses had the same drugging, mind-numbing effect on me as the first one, and I didn’t see that ever changing.

Rucking up the henley, I got my hands underneath, mapped skin and muscle, and was ready to put him facedown on the stairs as he broke the kiss to gulp some air.

“I guess you have to breathe, huh?”

He nodded and kissed me again, but I made it quick, leaning free seconds later.

“No, come—what’re you doing?” he husked.

“Shower now,” I commanded, manhandling him, uncoiling his arms, spinning him around and shoving him forward up the stairs.