Somebody to Hold (Tyler Jamison #2) - April Wilson Page 0,85
affect me or change me—but I was wrong. It’s only now just creeping up on me. I feel disconnected from my own life. From my own identity. If I’m not a cop, who am I?
I scrub my skin with soap, then wash my hair and rinse off. After drying off, I walk back into the bedroom with just a towel wrapped around my waist.
Ian’s sitting on the bed, watching me warily. “Feel better?”
“Marginally.” Not really, but it’s a start.
Ian walks up to me and fingercombs my damp hair. “You’re home now,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”
* * *
“So, what was it like in jail?” Ian asks me when we’re lying together in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. His head rests against my shoulder; his arm is around my waist.
I stroke his hair. “Pretty uneventful, actually. I was alone nearly all the time. Sleeping was difficult because I had trouble relaxing. Every little noise, every footstep put me on high alert. And on top of all that, I missed you like crazy. What about you? How did it go at Beth’s?”
“She and Sam did their best to keep me busy. I didn’t sleep well either. I kept having crazy dreams, actually they were more like nightmares. I dreamed I was back in that god-awful closet, only this time it was you who came to let me out.”
I kiss his forehead. “I’ll always come for you.”
Ian draws a lazy pattern on my chest with his finger. His touch is soothing, but it’s also arousing, making my skin heat up and my dick stir. I roll him to his back, moving with him so that I’m on top, my hips cradled between his thighs. He gazes up at me, his expression a mix of desire and anticipation.
“I missed you, Ian.” I kiss my way down his throat, past the crook of his neck, to his sternum. I gently tongue one of his nipple piercings, and with a cry he arches beneath me. I continue trailing kisses down his abs, past his navel, to the base of his erection, breathing in his scent.
Ian groans when I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock. And then I draw him into my mouth, taking him as far back as I can. He lets out a heated breath, followed by a moan.
I suck and lick him until he’s shaking. His hands grip my biceps as he holds onto me for dear life. Hearing his desperate cries makes me even harder. His heated flesh throbs against my tongue and lips, and I know he’s on the verge of coming.
“Tyler, wait,” he gasps as his hands latch onto my head to still my movements. “I want to come with you.”
I release him and reach for a condom. After sheathing myself and lubing up, I slide a finger inside him, stroking him until he’s squirming with impatience. And when he’s ready for me, I slowly sink my length inside him, one sweet inch at a time, while he fists himself.
I pace myself, trying to draw out as much pleasure as I can for both of us. Our gazes lock, and we’re both breathing hard. We come together in a gasping rush of pleasure, perfectly in tune with each other.
* * *
At midnight that night, after Ian has fallen asleep, I get out of bed and dress in jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Civilian clothes, because that’s what I am now—a civilian.
I leave a note for Ian, in case he wakes up before I get back, and I quietly leave the townhouse. There’s something I need to do before I can move forward. I have some unfinished business.
After a drive across town, I stand at the door to Brad Turner’s apartment, feeling a sense of calm. I’m not here as a cop. I don’t have a badge or a warrant, although I am armed.
No, this time I’m here as Ian’s boyfriend—Ian’s very pissed off boyfriend.
I knock on Turner’s door and wait, biting my tongue against the impulse to yell Police! Open the door! That’s going to be a hard habit to break.
Finally, I hear the rattling of the chain, followed by the deadbolt turning. The door opens, and Brad Turner stands looking a bit disheveled, dressed in sweatpants and a soiled, white muscle shirt.
His eyes narrow on me. “What the fuck do you want?”
I push my way inside and close the door behind me. We’re standing in his small, cluttered living room. When my eye catches