Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

“Pleased with yourself?”

His voice was hoarse, and I liked the sound, gravelly and deep. “Yeah,” I answered, dragging myself from his channel this time, and then again, in and out, screwing him slow so he could feel me.

“Miro, could you just—fuck!”

I pulled out and rolled him to his hands and knees before I pistoned back inside, using him as hard as he craved.

“Don’t,” he warned me, and I understood. I was taking a chance with my life if I stopped.

“Ian, I can’t… you feel too good.”

“I want you right here,” he pleaded, his voice barely registering. “It feels like I can’t—like you’re pulling away.”

And I had been, little by little, scared to death of him coming between me and Hartley. We had resolved the geography issue because yes, he was here with me, but emotional distance was a whole other thing. Because I loved him, the idea of him getting hurt was making me instinctively guarded, and I was distancing myself without even meaning to.

For instance, normally I would have insisted that we go home alone after a rough day, but just the night before, I’d wanted a buffer in Segundo and Hewitt. We would have eaten together, it would have been intimate, but I didn’t do that at all. I was filling up our time, taking him to restaurants with me when he wanted to veg on the couch on the off chance that I’d start to worry. But now Ian was telling me he felt it and he wouldn’t have it. Not ever.

Neither would I.

Pressing along his back, hand on his shoulder so I could drive into him and hold him still at the same time, I ordered him to grab his dick and jerk off.

“Miro—”

“Now!” I roared, demanding his submission.

I felt his inner walls clamp down, ripple around my length as he came, violently, semen splattering the carpet beneath him. I plunged deep, climaxing just as hard before collapsing on top of him and then lifting his hand from his dick to my lips so I could lick clean each of his cum-coated fingers.

“God, Miro, that’s so fuckin’ hot.”

I loved the taste of him.

He turned to look at me over his shoulder, and I kissed him, long and slow, sucking on his tongue, tasting him all over again.

His whole body thrummed beneath mine, the shudder that ran through him causing his muscles to spasm, squeezing me almost painfully tight once more.

Finally easing free of him, I went down on my back, ready to fall asleep right there in the parked Cadillac, the air conditioner thankfully still running full blast.

“No, don’t lie down,” he cautioned me softly, twisting around to straddle my hips, hands splayed out on either side of my head as he bent forward to stare down at me. “You’ll never get up.”

“Drive to the hotel and carry me to the room,” I mumbled, my eyes fluttering shut.

“No.” He snickered. The sound was so joyful I opened my eyes to see his smile, the wicked one that curled his kiss-swollen lips and arched an eyebrow.

He was so beautiful—sometimes just looking at him took my breath away. “You walk to the room, I’ll order room service. We’ll eat and sleep and do this again.”

“We could swim,” I suggested. “I hear they have a nice pool.”

“I think they have, like, eight or something.”

“Eight’s too many,” I said to be contrary.

He leaned over and kissed me. “Whatever we do, you gotta put your clothes on first.”

I made a noise somewhere between a groan and a purr.

He trailed kisses along my jaw to the side of my neck. “The quicker you get up, the faster we can be eating and sleeping.”

That got me moving.

I DIDN’T see the pools. I didn’t see anything but exactly what Ian said: I saw the room, the guy who brought up room service, the shower, the bed, and a great view of the mountains. That was all.

I listened as Ian talked to Calhoun, and after I ate and cleaned up, I pulled on sleep shorts and passed out in Ian’s arms. His breath on the back of my neck, his strong arms wrapped tight around me, and his thighs pressed to the backs of mine was all I needed. I slept hard, but when Ian woke me in the night, rolled me to my back, slathered my cock with lube, and rode me, I came alive for that.

Holding his thighs tight, I watched him above me, bathed in moonlight, head back, eyes closed, lips parted as his breath started and stopped, and I knew that whatever I had to do to keep him for the rest of my life, I would.

“You’re so fuckin’ stuck with me,” I told him.

“Yes,” he agreed, spurting over my chest as he came. I followed seconds later, filling him up, much to his happiness. He loved it—it grounded him somehow, showed ownership, and he craved that. For my part, I was simply happy. I almost had everything I ever wanted; now all we had to do was hope they found Hartley soon. After close to a month, I was so ready to go home.