Fit to Be Tied [Marshals: 2] (32 page)

“Uh-huh,” I said distractedly, the cupcake being the important thing. I deserved it after the day I’d had.

“I mean, it’s gotta be fair to him, not just what I want.”

“Sure,” I said as licked some of the frosting off.

“I don’t wanna be selfish.”

“Yeah, no, you… wait, what?” I asked, lost as to why we were talking about the dog.

“For Chickie.”

“Yeah, no, I got that we’re talking about Chickie. I just don’t know
why
we’re talking about Chickie.”

“Because I have to think about what’s best for him. Weren’t you listening?” he asked, turning his head for only a moment to glare at me before going back to cooking.

“I wasn’t really, no, but Ian, come on. You’re best for him,” I said, putting the cupcake down on the counter, realizing he was actually making a decision about his pet.

“How can you say that?” he asked, not pivoting to address me, instead keeping a visual on the steaks. I liked mine rare, so at least one of them wouldn’t be in the pan much longer. And while it was nice that he was being attentive to my food, I would rather have had his entire focus on me. “They take him camping, hiking; he has a huge backyard to run around in; he watches over the baby, he loves Liam and Aruna and—”

“Ian.” Why he was rambling I had no idea.

“—I know they’ll make him part of their family and—”

“Ian.”

“—he deserves to have the best person love him and maybe that’s not me and I should—”

“Please stop.”

He went silent.

It hit me then that my boy was having a panic attack and I hadn’t realized it. Of course, I had a really good excuse and all, but still. He needed all my attention now. “Ian, honey, is it at all possible that you’re talking about something other than the dog?”

“Oh, come on, Miro, gimme a break,” he snapped.

God, could he be any more obvious?

In the current scenario, I was the dog and Ian was deciding on the best home for me. It was ridiculously transparent, and what was funny was the timing. I’d gotten my life back, Ian too, and so now was the best time for him to rethink what was in my best interests. If I was stronger, I would have slammed him down onto the couch. As it was, I had to settle for being logical and nonchalant, which included eating the cupcake.

“I think it’s you,” I pronounced, picking the dessert back up.

“What?”

“I think you’re the very best thing for Chickie.”

“How?” he almost yelled, and I heard it then, the fear in his catch of breath, saw how tight and bunched his shoulders were, and how hard he was clutching the spatula.

“Because,” I began, taking a bite and getting frosting on my nose, “Chickie enjoys doing all those things with Aruna and her family because he knows he’ll get to come home to you.”

“No, I—”

“Think about it,” I insisted, licking off more icing. “You run with him every single night that you’re home. You take him with you everywhere, he sleeps at the foot of the bed, and he would protect you with his life. He can be a sweet ole dog to Aruna and her family because he knows he doesn’t live there. He lives here.”

“But is that fair to him?”

“You ever notice how happy he is when you pick him up?”

“Sure, he’s a dog. Dogs get happy when they see you.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t make a total ass of himself for anyone but you,” I concluded. “He likes a lot of people a whole lot—me, Aruna, Liam—but you’re the only one he’s stupid in love with.”

He snorted out a laugh before turning to look at me. “You think my dog is—what are you doing?”

I couldn’t answer; I had a mouthful of cupcake. I was really glad I’d sprung for the jumbo size.

“Why’re you eating that right now?”

I swallowed enough to speak. “I was eating this before.”

“You were?” Which told me everything I needed to know: he’d been completely lost in his thoughts and hadn’t noticed me even when he was looking right at me.

Smiling so he could see how full my mouth was, I went back to chewing, glad that me acting like a dork was jogging him out of his crappy mood. I wanted the hot, sexy Ian from earlier in the day, not the introspective brooding guy worried that he wasn’t good enough for me.

“Your lips are blue, do you know that?”

I laughed. And when I did, some of the crumbs sprayed out.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Stop it,” I tried to get out, because he was making me laugh, but it was muffled, and his expression—total revulsion—cracked me up more.

“Put that—gimme that,” he grumbled, reaching for what was left of the cupcake, only to see me pivot so I had my back to him. “What the hell, M?”

I cackled and he reached over my shoulder for the cupcake, but I danced away, cast thumping on the floor as I moved awkwardly, slipping by him to lean on the other side of the counter by the refrigerator.

“You’re gonna ruin your appetite and you’re getting too skinny.”

I straightened up and lifted my shirt, showing off the hard abdomen I knew he was a fan of so he could see that “skinny” was not the appropriate word. He needed to grasp that I was strong and healthy, and though I didn’t have the defined six-pack he did—there was no washboard there—I was by no means underweight.

“What’re you—”

“Can you see me?” I asked, releasing my shirt, arching an eyebrow, and waiting.

“Of course, that’s a stupid question.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you’re stuck in a time loop.”

“What?” He made annoyed-Ian face that was part scowl, part squint, with a little bit of judgment that I was a dumbass thrown in for good measure.

“You need to stop remembering me in a hospital bed or focusing on the cast and bandages when you look at me, and just focus on me being the guy who sleeps with you.”

He nodded.

“Can you do it?”

Second nod.

“Are you sure?” I asked softly as I reached down and grabbed my already semierect cock. Just being anywhere near Ian turned me on a little, so the fact that I was hardening was not a surprise.

In response, I saw the muscles in his neck cord as his gaze zeroed in on my hand.

“Ian?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, head snapping up. “You, not your injuries, I got it.”

It was excellent news.

“You need to eat your dinner,” he said automatically, even though I watched his pupils dilate and saw him swallow hard, like maybe his throat was dry.

“I will,” I promised, licking some frosting off my lip.

“Is it good?”

“Yeah, come here.”

He closed the distance between us fast and leaned in and kissed me hard, tasting my mouth, sucking on my lips and then my tongue as I opened for him. I went boneless under the onslaught, and when he tipped my head back, I had to grab for the counter beside me so my knees wouldn’t buckle.

When he tore his mouth free, I yelled in protest. “How dare you stop!”

“Shut up,” he groused, moving the pan with the two steaks in it off the fire before plating each one.

“I don’t want to eat,” I growled.

He put both plates in the oven, didn’t even try to add the tossed green salad or the asparagus tips I’d bought earlier in the day at the farmers’ market. Instead he turned off the burner, wiped his hands, turned, and lunged at me.

“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.”

I thought I’d want to lie on our sides together, have him slowly undulate against me and pump in and out in a languid rhythm. But what I wanted was for him to hold me down and put marks on me and fuck me until I screamed his name.

“Ian, please.”

“Tell me,” he said raggedly, his voice thick with passion.

“On my knees.”

He shifted positions with me, following as I rolled to my stomach and lifted. He moved inside me, his cock brushing over the spot that made me jolt under him and tighten around his length. I let my head slip down between my shoulders, trembling, feeling my balls tighten as he pounded into me, one hand tight on my hip, the other on the back of my neck.

I wanted to grab my cock, but I had to lock my arms and curl my fingers into the blanket. If I held tight, I wouldn’t give when he pistoned inside, and that was what I wanted, to feel his cock fill me and then pull out again and again. I wanted to be used hard.

“I have wanted you like this for so goddamn long,” he groaned, pummeling me, giving me the fucking I craved, shoving his cock in to the hilt until I screamed his name and came thick and hot, nothing left of me in that moment except my desire for him.

He came, and I felt him ejaculate before he collapsed across my back, hand on my chin to turn my head enough so he could kiss me.

“It’s stupid—” He kissed me. “—to say right now—” Another. “—but M, I—” He sucked on my tongue, my lips. “I love you. You’re all I want. All I’ll ever want.”

I smiled against his lips.

“I’m so fuckin’ lucky and I want you to know I know. I’ll never take this for granted, never take us for granted. I swear to God.”

“I love you too,” I promised. “But you know that already.”

“Yeah, I do,” he sighed, twitching as my muscles contracted around him, the suction too tight for him to ease free.

“You should pull out,” I said, even though I wasn’t really ready for that yet.

“In a second,” he informed me, his voice soft, like a caress, before he kissed me again. “I like where I am.”

And God, so did I.

A
FTER
THE
blanket got wadded up and thrown in the washer, we took a quick shower together and finally ate dinner, only about six hours late. The steaks were good, as were the accompanying asparagus tips and salad. Since he’d cooked, I did the dishes as he cleared the table and dried. As he moved around me to put things away, I noted the whistling.