Twisted and Tied (Marshals 4)

“Do you think they’ll cremate what’s left of Hartley?” I asked Ian.

“I dunno,” he murmured gently, taking hold of my hand. “Jesus, you’re like ice,” he grumbled. “C’mon already, Eli.”

“This is Chicago in rush hour, are you kidding?”

I closed my eyes for a second, and then Ian was telling me to watch my head as he helped me out of the car.

Eli hugged me, for whatever reason, and I felt bad for not giving him my regular full-body one back—he was one of my best friends now too—but I just couldn’t summon the energy. And then I was at the front door, having somehow climbed the stoop with Ian.

“I fell asleep in the car, huh?”

“Yes, love,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. “C’mon.”

Inside, he dropped the keys, locked the door, got me out of my parka, and led me upstairs. He got the shower going, stripped me down, and then had me step in under the warm spray.

“I’m gonna hang everything up, stow the guns, make you some soup—”

“But I’m not—”

“You’re gonna eat,” he promised. “But just for now, shower. You’ll feel better after you do.”

I nodded, and he closed the door.

“I’ll be right back to check on you, all right?”

“Okay,” I said, putting my head under the water.

It was weird, but it was like I couldn’t feel the water, like it wasn’t touching me. I couldn’t feel the warmth, like I hadn’t felt anything when Eli hugged me. It was strange, off, and I wasn’t sure what would turn it back on.

I went through the motions of washing my hair and body and stood there until the water was turned off and Ian was there, easing me out, putting a towel over my head.

He was gentle, towel-drying my hair, kissing my cheek when he was done, then drying my face and smiling at me.

“You’re gorgeous,” I told him, sighing deeply. My beautiful man with his chiseled features and sculpted body was a work of art. “Holy fuck, did I win the lottery or what?”

“Man, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stoned,” he teased, drying the rest of me, but not slow like he did when he wanted to fool around, but fast, deliberate, like he wanted it done. “Come on. Aruna’s downstairs, and she brought Chickie and food so you have something better than just chicken noodle.”

“I like chicken noodle soup,” I said as he passed me my deodorant.

“Yeah, but Aruna’s food is always a step up, right?”

There was no argument to be made.

“Just come on,” he prodded, piloting me out of the bathroom to our bedroom. I got a kiss on the cheek, and then he was gone.

I could hear them downstairs, and a minute later, Chickie came up the stairs and padded over to the bed where I was sitting with only sweats on.

Seeing him made me think again of Hartley, and it was stupid, but there were fresh tears as I wrapped my arms around the dog and hugged him.

Chickie, who outweighed some people I knew, namely Aruna, always considered himself to be a lap dog, so he maneuvered his way up and into my lap, and that was where Ian found us, sitting on the bed together, Chickie rumbling happily as I sobbed into his fur.

“Oh, baby, you’re gonna hafta take another shower if you smell like wet dog,” he grumbled. “Chickie, get down—go see Aru—don’t you growl at me, you piece of crap, he doesn’t belong to you!” He sounded very affronted, and that, finally, made me smile.

“Oh, there he is,” Ian murmured before he took my face in his hands, leaned in, and laid a kiss on me that curled my toes. His mouth on mine was mauling, firm, parting my lips as I moaned deeply, needing more, wanting more, craving the heat of him because I was absolutely freezing inside.

He broke the kiss, and I gasped, clutching at him, wanting him back, my body more than ready for him, willing, able, shivering with something utterly primal. The connection was utterly necessary, and I had to have it.

Climbing off the bed, he leaned over the railing and yelled down to Aruna. “I need you to walk the dog for me, three times around the block’ll do it, all right?”

“Going now,” she called back up.

He was back on the bed in seconds, climbing over me, and I reached up as he bent and took my mouth again, tenderly but possessively, opening me up, rubbing his tongue over mine.

I wanted his clothes off, but he swatted my hands away, rolling me to my side and holding me there as I sank down into the bed.

I was a block of ice until Ian was there at my back, his sleek, warm skin sliding over mine as he spooned me, shucking down my sweats at the same time as I felt the head of his cock notch against my crease.