Fit to Be Tied [Marshals: 2] by Mary Calmes Page A

home with me?” I asked softly, taking hold of his hips and pulling him into me, my eyes locked on his.
    “I… yeah,” he rasped, inhaling sharply as I opened my stance, allowing him to push in closer, my thigh sliding between his legs.
    “I wanna kiss you,” I promised softly, gently. “But I can’t do that here.”
    “But you will at home.”
    “Oh yes,” I said, smiling at him.
    “Okay, let’s go,” he replied hoarsely.
    “Good,” I agreed, glad that we didn’t have to go pick up Chickie from my friends Aruna and Liam, since they’d agreed to keep him overnight. I’d had no idea how long the op would run, so I’d made arrangements.
    When we got back to the table, the others wanted to know what bar we were hitting next. I got it, I did, we worked a crazy scary job, and the unwinding was necessary and allowed people to bond. But I was beat and could barely make conversation, let alone sing “Kumbayah” with all of them.
    “Actually we’re both going,” Ian apprised them. “Work and all that.”
    We were called lightweights, but Kohn called it a night, too, and we caught cabs, Kohn over to Roosevelt and State where he lived in some new high-end apartment building, and me and Ian down to the Loop where we caught a bus out to the Fullerton stop in Lincoln Park. It took longer than a cab would have, but that would have cost a mint. As it was, the walk from the stop to the Greystone was short.
    I was about to start telling Ian all the hot sweaty, sticky things I had planned for him the second we got home when his phone rang. As soon as he looked at the caller ID, I saw his face fall.
    “Oh no,” I said without meaning to, because I’d had a few drinks. “No-no-no.”
    But it was obvious and unchangeable. He was leaving on a mission later this morning—I caught that much listening to his yes-and-no answers—and all we’d have would be a few hours, for God knew how long. His smile after he hung up tried hard to show me that everything was going to be all right.
    Once inside, Ian locked the front door before we both took off our jackets and hung them up, and then he turned to say something to me, but I grabbed him instead.
    “You’re leaving me again,” I whispered, shoving him against the door, my chest plastered to his back, holding him in place. I caught his left wrist with my right hand and pinned it above his head, using my other to reach up under his shirt and pinch his left nipple, hard.
    “Fuck!” he yelled, writhing against me as I pulled him away from the door just enough to run my hand down his abdomen, savoring the feel of his muscles flexing beneath my fingers.
    I let go of his wrist and worked open his belt and jeans and got under the elastic of his briefs to take hold of his gorgeous cock, already dribbling precum.
    “Someone’s ready for me,” I husked into his ear before he tilted his head back and to the side and offered me his mouth.
    I milked his length as I devoured his lips, breaking the kiss only after he was squirming against me.
    “Let me—I need to get these down,” he whispered before shoving his jeans to his knees. When he reached behind him and pressed a lube packet into my hand, I was surprised.
    “Where the fuck did this come from?” I asked, my voice thick with need as I let go of him, only moving away far enough to shuck my pants and briefs down and slather my dick.
    “I carry these for you,” he said, splaying his hands on the door, arching his back, offering me his hard, beautiful body, “just in case.”
    “Very smart,” I growled, taking hold of my slicked, seeping dick and pressing slowly into his body.
    “Miro!” he gasped, shivering, jolting back against me, impaling himself on my length, pushing in deep, hard, wanting me, needing me to fill him fast, the gentle and slow saved for another time. “I wanna feel it when I’m gone.”
    “I would never hurt you,” I whispered, thrusting quickly, holding on to his lean hips tight, dragging