Twisted and Tied (Marshals 4)

“I’m going,” he muttered, flopping on the bed to loosen the laces on his boots just enough to get them off before standing to work on his jeans.

Watching Ian get naked was always a treat—miles of battle-scarred olive skin stretched over powerful carved muscle, his long and cut gorgeous cock, the heavy balls, and his perfect ass—him walking away always pulled a groan from my gut.

He stopped before walking into the bathroom, hand on the doorframe as he looked back over his shoulder at me.

“You could come in here with me and make sure I don’t miss anything.”

I pretended to think about it and then started yanking off my clothes. When I was done, I noticed he hadn’t moved, instead watching me intently.

“What’re you doing? Go turn on the damn water,” I ordered.

“My husband is crazy hot,” he murmured, tipping his head. “I learned my lesson.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, starting toward him.

“That letting you out alone is really fuckin’ stupid.”

“No,” I promised, reaching him. “You’re all I see.”

Cupping my neck, he eased me closer into a kiss and then opened for me, moaning greedily as I palmed his cock, stroking him idly before walking him backward into the bathroom. When I bumped him up against the wall between the toilet and the shower, he trembled with the chill on his skin.

I broke the kiss and stepped back so he could move. “I’m sorry, that was dumb.”

“What?” He was out of it, pupils blown, lips swollen from me mauling them and the skin of his throat mottled with bites.

“I need to be gentler,” I remarked, wincing because his olive skin showed off every mark.

“No,” he whispered, hands on my hips before he reached lower for my hardening cock. “Don’t be gentle, that’s not what I need.”

“But that’s how you need to be treated,” I soothed him, taking another kiss because I couldn’t help it, my brain and body sending mixed signals. I wanted to show him how precious he was to me by taking my time, but I also wanted to grind into him until we became one person, one thing, and that made my blood race.

“Miro,” he began but stopped himself, instead leaning sideways to turn on the water. Only then did I realize how flushed he was.

“Ian?”

He shook his head.

“Tell me.”

“It’s stupid,” he said gruffly, stepping into the shower.

I followed him in, closing the glass door behind me as he leaned into the water.

Something was wrong, and as I grabbed the loofah and the sandalwood and bergamot shower gel he loved and got it all sudsy, I made sure to kiss over the scars on his back.

He braced his hands on the wall and let his head hang down as he waited for me to take care of him.

“Needy bastard,” I teased, soaping him up, getting everywhere, under, inside, my fingers gentle as I cleaned from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet.

“I am,” he agreed, groaning as I cleaned his cock.

“No, you’re not,” I said playfully, hanging the loofah up for a moment as I grabbed his shampoo and went to work massaging his scalp, digging my fingers into the base of his skull, working out the knots of tension.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t with you tonight,” he sighed, letting me turn him under the deluge of water, and I smiled over his gasp as the water sluiced down his back and inside where I wanted it. “I promise you I’m not stupid enough to do it again.”

“Enough, already. What’s with you?”

Straightening, he met my gaze. “I just—I don’t want you to think I take this—us—for granted, because I know what I have.”

I kissed him, and he parted his lips instantly, sucking on my tongue as I leaned him back into the water, tipping his head, breaking the kiss and letting the heat ease all the remaining tension out of his beautiful body.

Once he was out, I took my own shower, much faster than his, and he was still drying off when I got out.

“I’m in some weird headspace or something,” he said, leaving the bathroom with me right behind him, heading for the bed. “I’m relaxed but not tired.”

“That’s good,” I told him, smirking, staring at his ass.

“What’re you—Miro!”

It was his own fault. He was walking too slowly, so when he got close enough to the bed, I shoved him forward and he tumbled down onto the comforter. He was chuckling as I pounced on him, rolling him easily to his back, and I realized that between my hunger for him and the alcohol in my system, the need to be inside him was my only agenda.

“You know, we never talk anymore,” he teased.

I growled, and he chuckled until I took hold of his already leaking dick and squeezed and stroked until I got the delicious whimper I was after.