All Kinds of Tied Down (21 page)

“You’re so hard all over, M,” Ian said softly, brushing against me as we moved forward. “I bet you could….”

I waited, but he didn’t say more. “Could what?”

He shrugged.

“No, c’mon. Could what?”

Quietly, he cleared his throat. “I always wonder how you can move so fast and run guys down and go deep when we play ball, being as bulked up as you are.”

It had been a conscious choice. When I was little, I was small, and people took things from me. They took shelter, food, and money, anything that was mine, because I was weak. Now that I was older, between the strength in my body and the gun I carried, I would never be anyone’s victim again.

“It’s because I’m all power, buddy,” I teased, bumping him gently, wanting us to be back to how we were before he left, so desperately, but knowing it would be weeks before we would be okay. “You know that.”

“I….”

When I turned, he caught his breath, and for a second, I let down my guard and gave him my total and undivided attention. I was usually so careful: I reminded myself often not to stand too close, not to turn my head so my lips accidentally grazed his ear or jaw or cheek when he leaned in to tell me something. I didn’t touch him too much, I hugged him only when he left or came home or when one of us almost died. I didn’t study the clear blue eyes or notice the flecks of silver in them or admire how dark they shaded when he was worried or excited or angry. When we played football, I always played on the same team so I would never have a reason to tackle him. And most of all, I never, ever, manhandled him. I knew if I ever put my hands on him, I’d never take them off. But his sharp inhale, the sound of it, wasn’t like fear, but like vulnerability and need, like submission…. My hand moved before my brain caught up.

I grabbed his bicep and yanked him sideways against me. I immediately saw the confusion on his face, but even more importantly, I noted the blown pupils, the parted lips, the flush that blotched his throat, and the shiver that ran through him. And for once I didn’t think about what it would mean if it was anyone
but
Ian, and instead thought about what I would do if the beautiful man beside me was a stranger.

Breathe in
—

My vision blurred for a second, like the beat of my heart was an electromagnetic pulse, and everything stopped. I was frozen, trapped, aware of nothing and no one but Ian Doyle.

—
breathe out

The rush of movement and color and sound was fast, so fast, but it was enough. I wouldn’t have to start over with him this time, but only if I changed
everything
. I had a decision to make: Pretend I had never glimpsed any want in the man or take the leap of faith.

All of it hit me within seconds of recognizing what I had been missing when I was with him.

“Miro?”

Maybe it was a mistake, but I had to know. Because if there was even the slightest chance that Ian could be mine—I had to take it.

The people in front of us moved and he made to follow, but I tightened my grip and didn’t let him.

I received a quick exhale followed by another sharp intake of breath.

God, how blind had I been?

“M?”

“Sorry,” I said quickly, letting him go.

It was almost scary to realize that if I was reading him right, if Ian wanted what it seemed like he might, then this would be the very last time I wouldn’t be able to touch him whenever I wanted. Everything would change, because Ian Doyle would belong to me.

B
USINESS
CLASS
was a few steps up from coach, so we had more leg room, more seat room, and fortunately, only two seats next to the aisle.

“You should sit by the window,” I directed. “You’re gonna pass out as soon as we take off, and that way I won’t have to climb over you.”

“Okay,” he agreed, getting in after I shoved our coats into the overhead bin. We had to keep our carry-ons with us at our feet since we had our badges and guns in them.

Once we were settled, listening as the captain welcomed us aboard, explained that we’d be taking off on time, and directed us to give our attention to the flight attendants, I sucked in a breath, lifted the armrest between us and leaned into him with my whole body. All along one side—shoulder, hip, thigh, knee—we were touching. I waited—mouth dry, heart stopped, left hand clenched into a fist—to see what he would do.

“Did I miss lots of poker nights or did you guys not play?”

I turned my chin so I could look at him.

He was waiting.

“I—what?” I rasped. My voice sounded like I’d been choked to death. I needed some water.

“Did you guys play cards or no?”

Weird thought: maybe he didn’t realize I was crowding him. “Yeah, we played except for the week my clan was here. Last night I took home eighty bucks.”

“Impressive,” he said, and he tried to smile but it looked odd, strained. “And that’s nice that your friends came to see you.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“But they wouldn’t’ve needed to if I was here.”

“No. You would have taken care of me.”

“Yes,” he agreed, studying me. “You should drink some water, your voice sounds funky.”

That was my cue, so I leaned forward, pulled my water bottle out of the seatback pocket where the barf bag was, took several deep gulps, and, when I sat back, gave him room.

I was so relieved he wasn’t pissed that for a second I didn’t register what he was doing.

“I swear I’m cooking,” he grumbled, reaching up to turn on the air vent. He fiddled with it, and when he sat back, he pressed up against me, exactly as we’d been moments before. “Aren’t you hot?”

Was I too warm?

“There’s never enough air on planes.”

I was freezing.

“And staying hydrated is important.”

My throat was dry; drinking
something
was a good idea.

“Are you all right?”

I wasn’t. I was terrified. But I was ready. One way or another, I would find out what I could have. I put on my seatbelt then, right before the flight attendants checked. I never put it on until I absolutely had to.

“M?”

“No, I’m good,” I said softly. I let out a deep breath, feeling the calm wash over me as I closed my eyes and listened to everything going on around me. I registered people talking, bells dinging, the sensation of lifting as we took off. Most of all, I savored the closeness the man sitting beside me was allowing.

I’d had fantasies, of course. They always started off fast and hot. He would walk across a room, throw me up against a wall, and take me right there, rough and dirty. Or we’d be stuck somewhere, in some tiny little hole in the wall, like a border town in Texas or… the scenarios were always the same, with him jumping me.

He was a super soldier; he threw around guys twice his size. I’d seen him do incredible things with his body; his strength was daunting, and in combat training, he’d taken on ten men at once. His spinning high kick was really something to see. I never worried when he was with me,
never
. Even if, for some reason, we were ever unarmed and cornered by people who were, still, even then, I wouldn’t worry. Maybe that was unrealistic, but he was a Green Beret. They dumped him behind enemy lines to retrieve others and that’s what he did. Thus, because I knew
so well
the kind of man he was, there had never been a time when I thought
I
would be the one holding
him
down.

But he was waiting for me to do… something. It was so very obvious. The hitched breath, taking direction, wanting to be close…. I’d been missing all the clues. I was normally much better than that, and it was probably why everything with me was off, why I missed it when guys were hitting on me, oblivious to the signs and innuendo. Ian Doyle had totally jammed me up.

I had always thought that if he ever even considered sleeping with me, it would be him on top—when apparently the truth of the matter was it would be me.

“M?”

I found him smiling at me.

“The nice lady wants to know if you want something to drink.”

The flight attendant was waiting on me. I’d lost time, totally checked out, absorbed as I was with Ian. “Sorry, uhm, just some apple juice, if ya got it.”

“Sure,” she answered, smiling at me and then looking to Ian.

“A Coke’d be good.”

We both got plastic cups with ice and the cans, along with bags of pretzels.

“What’re you thinking about?”

I shook my head. “You should read up on Drake Ford.”

He nodded. “Gimme your laptop. Mine isn’t updated since I haven’t synched it with the mainframe in two months.”

Leaning over, I lifted my bag up onto my lap and pulled it out for him.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “So, this is okay, yeah? You’re not afraid I’ll find any porn or anything?”

I scoffed. “All my porn’s on my desktop at home.”

“I see. More memory.”

“That’s right.”

He chuckled as he put down the tray table and opened the laptop. “Hey, M, your e-mail’s still up.”

“Go ahead and close out of it. It’s frozen anyway.”

“Oh, look who it is,” he muttered. “Brent.”

“You can’t delete it, I’m not connected. But the stuff you need to read is on the desk—”

“I’m reading, shut up.”

Groaning, I bumped his knee with mine. “I’m ducking him and he’s getting annoyed, I guess.”

“You guess? Did you read this? He sounds a little off.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“He—oh, this is kinda… explicit.”

“Yeah? Lemme see,” I teased, reaching for the screen.

He bumped me with his shoulder, and I laughed as I settled back in my seat.

After a minute of more reading, he cleared his throat.

“What?”

“I wanna ask something, but maybe it’s too personal.”

“No such thing,” I assured him, easing close so he could whisper if he needed to. “Tell me.”

“Brent, he—it sounds like he… like….”

Ian was nervous. How much hesitancy, choking on words he couldn’t say, and restless unease needed to be piled on before I did something? Before I acted?

“What did—I mean, do you…. Wait.”

“Do I what? Want Brent?”

He nodded, clearly uncomfortable.

“No. I don’t want Brent.”

And that fast, he was better. Was that relief? How long had I been missing all this?

“But he clearly still wants me, or at least wants what I used to do to him.” I turned my head so my lips brushed his ear as I spoke. “Brent liked me on top. I like that better, but I can do either.”

Sharp indrawn breath.

“I like the control of topping. I like making someone else take me in. I get off on that.”

He didn’t shiver; it wasn’t that gentle or controlled. He trembled.

“Ian,” I said, turning into him, sliding my hand under the tray table and up his thigh—slow, so he could stop me whenever he wanted—until I reached his groin. His eyes were heavy-lidded, sweat sheened his forehead, and the dappled flush was back, spreading over his throat.

“When you come back from being away, it takes you weeks to settle down and be okay with me again.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Do you know you do that?”

“It’s not so easy to simply walk back into my—”

“Is there something I can do to show you that you’re home and safe?”

Silence.

“Ian?”

But he couldn’t say. He couldn’t tell me. I was just supposed to know. Giving in to temptation, I cupped him through his pants, feeling the long, hard length under my palm.

His halting groan was all agony.

“I’m gonna think I can take what I want, if you don’t say anything,” I whispered.

Now there was a reason for him to remain quiet.

“Ian, this is like steel, buddy,” I said hoarsely, my voice deep and low as I stroked over the cock I had seen so many times but never touched. He bucked, wanting my hand, needing the friction; his soft, low moan was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard in my life. “If I wasn’t on a fuckin’ airplane, I would take this down the back of my throat for you and suck out every drop.”

He jolted, and I worried for a second that I’d pushed too far, scared him, been stupid, shredded three years of friendship in a rush of desire. But instead, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before turning to me.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ tease, all right?” he said gruffly. “Do what you say.”

I nodded.

“And you can’t—I’ve seen how you are, with guys. You fuck and forget or you pick the wrong ones, like with Brent.”

“Yeah,” I husked.

“But you can’t do that with me. You gotta mean it.”

“Okay.”

“It can’t be just whatever. I value myself more than that.”

Had I been that much of a whore before Brent? “Course.”

He took a breath. “I think there’s a reason I’m shitty in bed.”

I felt myself frowning, unhappy with him running himself down. “Which is?”

“I think it’s ’cause I’ve never been in bed with you.”

I
T
WAS
the longest three hours and thirty minutes my life. We had a stopover, but where, I couldn’t say. No one else on the flight to Blountville, Tennessee, growled when the captain announced that there would be a slight delay with landing.