Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

“Then kiss me when I get home, and grab me and put me over the table in the kitchen and just hold me the fuck down. Please, Miro, stop pulling away. Show me.”

I had to take what I wanted so he’d know he was loved. And no matter what happened between us, that was the irrevocable truth.

I pressed inside him slowly, sinuously, feeling his muscles ripple and stretch around me, the squeeze on my dick so good I nearly came. “Fuck, Ian,” I rasped, my breathing choppy as I pushed his T-shirt up over his head and off so I could kiss and lick over the heavy scars that crisscrossed his back. He’d once worried I thought they were ugly, until I’d explained in lavish detail that every part of his body was a wonder to me.

“Move,” he begged, pushing back, taking me in deeper. “Miro… love.”

That endearment, the only one he ever used for me, and only me, never ceased to make my heart clench.

“Show me you want me.”

Words only for me because I alone was trusted with his passion.

Sinking down into him, I pounded deep, hard, before easing back and repeating the motion, again and again, the rolling thrusts creating a seamless rhythm that only became hammering and relentless when Ian began stroking himself off and chanting my name.

“I swear I’m worth it,” he beseeched me, his voice low, seductive, holding me as inexorably as his body. “Just stay with me.”

“I know you’re worth it,” I gasped, slamming into him, letting go, holding nothing back, knowing my heart lived and died for him and nothing else. “Don’t you think I know? Can’t you tell?”

“Then don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.”

“No,” I promised, and I prayed it was one I could keep. “Now come for me.”

“I want—can’t—I’ve had to be so in control.”

I had to take that discipline away from him. I was the one who annihilated his careful restraint, who allowed Ian to be completely himself in the safety of my love.

Pulling out to his howl of frustration, I fell down on the bed and lifted my arms to him. “Come ride me.”

He scrambled to do my bidding, straddling my hips and impaling himself hungrily on my cock. Hands on my chest, digging his fingers into my pectorals, he rode me hard, finding the angle he needed, grinding down into me, setting a pace that was all about him and what he needed and what felt good.

His hard granite thighs clasped my sides as his ass milked my length, and I watched him jerk himself off, felt the muscles in his ass spasm and clamp around me like a vise before his climax tore through him and he spurted onto my chest.

It was so hot. Watching Ian come undone, I was seconds behind him. I just had to alter his timing enough, so I took hold of that perfect ass of his and held him tight over me so I could piston up into him, pummel him from the bottom until just that much more friction pushed me over the edge.

“Ian!” I thundered his name and he collapsed over me, his arms no longer able to hold him up, sweat and cum between us as our lips fused as tight as our bodies.

When he tilted his head, I thought he needed air, but it turned out he just needed a better angle to get his tongue farther down my throat.

Chapter 15

I WANTED to talk to him. It was my favorite thing in the world, lying in bed talking to Ian, but my eyes would not stay open, and when he spooned around me, his face in my hair, arm tucking me tight against him, I apologized.

“What for?” he asked, his breath in my ear.

“I’m gonna pass out and I don’t want to.”

“But I want you to, so go to sleep.”

No more prodding was needed.

So after I slept like the dead for several hours, when I woke up, we shared a pillow and caught each other up.

He already knew about Lochlyn being dead. They’d briefed him and the others at the CID office in DC. All the active military soldiers were taken to Fort Bragg and moved on base until either they were deployed again or until the threat—now clearly not Lochlyn—could be identified and handled. As a reservist Ian was on his own, but because he was a marshal, he had more options. The main one was simply to come home and let his partner, and his team, protect him. He’d opted for that, and since his Special Forces unit was not deployed, he came home to me.

I cleared my throat. “So I have some news.”

He turned his head to look at me, waiting.

It occurred to me then that maybe I should have started the conversation because, perhaps, Hartley trumped Lochlyn.