Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

“Oh thank God,” I moaned in delight, shivering with anticipation as he gently pulled my shirt off—I was wounded after all—and then took my face in his hands and ravished my mouth.

“Take me, have me, use me, whatever you want,” I said, trying to keep my lips on his even as I issued my desperate plea.

“God, I want you so bad,” he whispered, shoving a hand down the front of my pajamas and squeezing my already erect length.

Many of Ian’s exes had said he was inattentive in bed and a lousy lay, but I’d never believed it, even before we hit the sheets the first time. I’d been proven right, of course. Ian was everything I craved in a lover, demonstrative and possessive but also gentle and submissive. It was difficult to imagine how no one but me had ever been treated to the man who spent so much time making love to my mouth that I was whimpering and whining and begging him to do something else, anything else, as soon as possible.

“Where do you want me?”

“Let’s go upstairs and get in bed.”

“Oh no,” I husked, pulling free of his hands and yanking off my pajama bottoms. I left them on the kitchen floor before limping out to the living room. I pushed the coffee table back to make room, snatched the chunky cable-knit throw from the couch, and spread it out on the floor.

“What’re you—”

“Grab the lube, Doyle, and get over here,” I ordered, sinking slowly to the floor. “Or I’m starting without you.”

I heard him on the stairs, pounding up them, rattling around in our nightstand and then running back down, appearing over me, not even the least bit winded.

“You’re still wearing a lot of clothes.”

He was naked in moments, stripping quickly before he lay on top of me, pressing his mouth to mine, insistent. His movements were practiced, fluid, as he reached between us, captured our cocks in his long-fingered hand, and stroked us together from balls to head.

There was no hesitation in him. He was not looking to me to tell him what to do. At this moment he was the aggressor I normally was, and I found I was more than ready to let him have me. I could barely wait.

Twisting away from him, I rolled to my stomach and lifted myself to my hands and knees.

“Oh,” he murmured, his accompanying chuckle low and dirty. “I’ve got you now, huh? You want me bad.”

“Hurry,” I growled, my skin screaming out for his touch, trembling with the thought of him finally unleashing himself on me.

“No,” he whispered, pulling me sideways into his arms. His bare chest was warm on my back, his left arm wrapped under my chin, around my neck as his other hand stroked my cock.

I tried to buck forward, the motion involuntary, his skin on mine made me ravenous for more.

“Grab the lube,” he whispered against the curve of my ear before nibbling on the lobe. “Reach back and slick my cock for me.”

It was hard to do with how tight he was holding me, but I managed, and the feel of his long, silky length sliding though my slippery fist coupled with the issued order was even more arousing than I thought it would be.

“Stop,” he rumbled softly as he pressed a finger inside me.

“Ian,” I husked, pushing back against him, wanting more.

“Feel okay?”

“Oh, yes.”

He added another finger, pushing in, dragging out, circling slowly, maddeningly, scissoring and caressing, opening me up, relaxing the muscles with limitless patience.

“Fuck me already,” I demanded brokenly, my voice full of gravel.

“Don’t rush me. I’m loving this.”

“Why? Just get—”

“Your body is so beautiful and responsive and…. God, look at you.”

I shivered as he rubbed my prostate. “Ian,” I drawled out his name. “Don’t you want to be buried inside of me?”

His sharp exhale made me smile as the answer was obvious.

“I’m ready. Have me.”

As he took hold of his cock, his hand bumped me before he pushed gently between my cheeks and didn’t stop until he was pressed against my entrance. “I’m gonna go slow.”

Arching my back, lifting my ass, I nearly swallowed my tongue when he kissed the side of my neck before pushing inside the tight ring of muscle.

I had forgotten what it was like, it had been so long, the twinge of pain, the pressure and stretch before the feeling of fullness. There was no way to hold back the guttural moan of heat.

“M?” he asked sharply, his worry evident.

“I want you—could you listen?”

“Yes,” he answered as he drove into me, hard, fast, balls against my ass, as deep as he could go in that one powerful thrust.

I had nothing to grab and I needed it, had to have it, to be braced so he could hammer into me. It was utterly necessary.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”