Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

“I totally dare you to tell him he’s pretty.”

His laughter was warm as he leaned in for a hug. When he pulled back after the tight embrace, he told me he wanted us both to come to his place for Thanksgiving.

“We’ll definitely stop by,” I promised as I started rinsing dishes.

“Good,” he said, giving my arm a pat before he turned to leave.

“You don’t have to go,” I assured him. “I promise I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

“I know, and that’s awfully nice of you, but Miro, come on, you’re awfully easy on the eyes there yourself, and if I was Ian and I just got back from four months away—I’d want the new guy from next door to get the hell out so I could make with the homecoming already.”

I shook my head. “We’re fine.”

“Listen,” Barrett said, leaning in close. “If Ian was looking at me the same way he’s been looking at you all night, I’d have put you on the sidewalk with a plate of hot food in your hand.”

“Uh-huh,” I placated, watching as he crossed the living room to the front door.

“You’re an idiot,” he called over, stopping in the doorway he’d opened, half-in, half-out of our Greystone.

But I was really good at reading Ian’s signals, and he’d had a relaxing evening just eating and having a few beers. “Yeah, but you picked me to be your friend, so, yanno, what does that say about you?”

He shook his head like I was ridiculous before turning his attention to Ian and Chickie, who were coming back from a quick walk after dinner. He and Ian did the guy clench, and I watched, pleased they’d hit it off.

Turning back to the cleanup, I heard the door shut and the lock slide. “Hey, I’ll take care of the dishes,” I called to Ian, not turning to look at him or check where he was. “You go veg and watch TV or whatever.”

There wasn’t a lot to do. The three of us had successfully annihilated all hope of leftovers, but I had to get the dishwasher loaded since the last time we left stuff in the sink, Chickie tonguebathed everything and got sick enough to warrant a visit to the vet. That had been fun to explain to Dr. Alchureiqi, who wasn’t impressed with my dog ownership skills to begin with. To him Ian was the more responsible pet parent.

“I don’t wanna watch TV,” Ian said as he came into the kitchen.

“All right, but I saved all the episodes of The Walking Dead for you.”

“I appreciate that.”

And we were back to being awkward. I had to figure out what to do to fix things. “Sorry if Barrett embarrassed you.”

“Why the hell would I be embarrassed?” he asked, coming up behind me and pressing a kiss to my nape.

I tried to turn to look at him, but he bumped me up against the counter, shoving his groin against my ass.

“Why’re you being so weird?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he growled, kissing down the side of my neck, curling his right arm around my chest, taking firm hold of my left pectoral, groping me savagely with the other hand, showing me what he wanted. “I came home with one thing on my mind—you—and you’re inviting neighbors to have dinner? The fuck is that?”

“We—fuck!” I gasped as he worked open the top button of my jeans before I heard the rasp of the zipper, drawn down slow, a single flickering bulb catching on its gold teeth. I felt it, like a heartbeat, each fraction it moved.

“We what?” he prodded, slipping his hand under the elastic of my briefs, skimming his coarse, callused skin over my thickening shaft.

“I just want us to be okay,” I whimpered, the sound almost pleading, bucking in his hands, the sensations running through my body like a live wire crackling on wet cement, causing my brain to lose track of what I was saying. “And we keep fighting.”

“That’s because neither of us wants to give in,” he admitted, his voice dropping low, the seductive murmur, just the sound of him making me boneless and pliable, completely his, ready for whatever it was he wanted. “Both of us want the other guy to say, ‘Yeah, fuck, you’re right.’”

I dropped my head back against his shoulder as he slipped my cock out from under my briefs and stroked me until I was hard and leaking in his hand.

“I want you to say it’s okay that I leave you all alone for months on end and you want me to fuckin’ quit,” he said, his voice rough as I heard him work on getting out of his jeans, the sound of his zipper loud in the quiet room, my halting breath the only other noise.

“Yes,” I agreed, twisting free and leaning forward on the counter, legs braced apart as far as my jeans would allow. I was more than ready for him, needing him to show me what I meant to him, because the words weren’t working.