Twisted and Tied (Marshals 4)

“It’s more like a stew than a sauce,” I acknowledged. “But it’s really good. You just tasted it. You know it’s great.”

“Yeah, but sauce can be ladled.”

He had a point. It was probably the sausage, mushrooms, green peppers, onions, and capers Ian put into sauce already thick with ground beef that rendered it unpourable.

“You shouldn’t need a knife with spaghetti.”

Ian glowered at us. “You guys need to get off my ass on the whole cooking thing because I didn’t hear either of you volunteering.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I said sincerely because, really, it was very thoughtful and a gorgeous meal, complete with a tossed salad with the grape tomatoes I liked, crusty garlic bread, and wine for me and Eli. “Thank you, baby.”

I leaned sideways, bumping him with my shoulder, and kissed him. I meant it to be a quick peck, but he bit down on my bottom lip, holding me there. When he let go, he slid his tongue over the bite and then went back to eating. My whole body thrummed as I stared at him, unable to look away as arousal buzzed through me.

“You know, Mrs. Svoboda says that your name is wrong,” Ian said, making conversation even as he slipped his hand around my thigh under the table.

“My what now?” I asked, squirming a bit, feeling my cock thicken in my dress pants.

“Your name,” he said with a grin that should have been illegal. It was seductive, like a cool pond on a hot summer day. “She’s originally from the Czech Republic. She used to live just outside of Prague, and she says that the shortened version of Miroslav is not Miro, but Mirek.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Eli said, clearly enjoying his food by the way he was shoveling it in. “I should start calling him that.”

“Or not,” I said, willing him to eat even faster, shifting in my seat at the table, needing to relieve the pressure.

“I think Mirek sounds badass.”

“I need more wine,” I said, getting up and walking to the pantry and the rack full of bottles inside it.

“You want a whole other bottle?” Ian called.

I stood in the pantry, hands flat on the wall, trying to calm down. It was the day, I knew it was. I’d been scared of losing him, and having everything as it should be, plus his closeness, was doing insane things to my libido. I needed Eli gone because I wanted Ian all over me.

“Wait, what?” Ian said suddenly from the doorway to the pantry, clearly talking to Eli and not me.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just looking for the bottle I want,” I lied, trying to will my erection back down. There was no way Eli would miss it, and then he’d feel like he had to leave, and that wasn’t what I wanted.

Well. I did want that, but not because he’d be embarrassed or feel like he was a third wheel or something. That wasn’t my intent. It was all Ian’s fault.

“What’re you doing?” Ian asked, leaning into the pantry and looking at me.

I put my cheek on the cold plaster wall, staring at him, at his broad shoulders and wide chest, noting his long muscular legs and the veins in his arms. He was simply mouthwatering, and I was aching for him. “Go away. Talk to Eli.”

He scowled but then saw me adjust myself, and the wicked grin made his eyes gleam with the same dangerous intent.

“Get out,” I ordered.

“You hard?”

I ignored him, pressing my forehead to the chilled surface. I felt like I had a fever.

His chuckle was simply decadent.

Turning my head, I growled at him. “I hate you right now.” He took a step toward me. “Okay, I’m outta here.”

“No,” Ian ordered, turning to walk back out to the table.

Moving slowly, I made it to the doorway and then bent over the counter so my cock—trying to escape through my zipper—was hidden. Ian stood beside the refrigerator, arms crossed, leaning against it as he talked to Eli.

“You don’t have sex with strangers anymore. You’re thirty-two years old, man, that’s ridiculous. You need to be dating, not fuckin’ around.”

“You sound like my mother,” Eli griped.

“For fuck’s sake, Eli, you don’t even know this girl.”

“That’s the point. I will get to know her in the biblical sense.”

Ian shook his head.

“Listen, just because you can get laid at home doesn’t mean the rest of us can,” Eli protested, then gulped his wine.

“Having sex with women you meet on an app on your phone is not safe.”

“Everybody uses it,” he explained, standing up, cupping his hand over his face and doing the breath test. “Awww man, how much garlic is on that bread?”

“It’s called garlic bread, you ass, and there’s some in the spaghetti too.”

“Tell me you have toothbrushes for overnight guests.”

“In that bathroom right there,” Ian said, shaking his head.