I'm trying to remember how words work. How does language happen again? Mouth, tongue, vocal cords—right. "Switched with Hunter."
"Oh." He's smiling now, soft and warm, and it does funny things to my chest. "That's—"
"But hey, if you're busy—" I take a step back, making a show of it. "—I can come back another time. No big—"
His hand shoots out faster than I can track, wrapping around my wrist like I knew it would, and he yanks me inside with enough force that I stumble over the threshold and crash into his very bare, very solid chest.
The door's barely closed when I'm on him.
I don't plan it. Don't think about it. One second I'm standing there, and the next my mouth is on his and my hands are sliding over his bare chest, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.
He makes this surprised sound against my lips but recovers quickly, his arms coming around me, pulling me closer as he kisses me back with equal desperation.
We stumble across the living room, a tangle of limbs and desperate touches. My fingers trace the ridges of his abs, counting each one like I'm taking inventory. His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt tomorrow, and the thought makes me dizzy with want.
My hand knocks something off the coffee table. It hits the floor with a clatter that's way too loud in the quiet apartment.
"Shit, sorry," I mumble against his mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to glance down and make sure I haven't destroyed anything expensive.
It's just his keys, lying innocently on the hardwood. No damage. Crisis averted. But as I'm looking down, my eyes land on the couch where there's a torn cardboard envelope, the kind things get shipped in, and next to it, like evidence at a crime scene, like a confession written in cotton blend—
Sweatpants.Grey.
Brand new, tags still attached, grey sweatpants are lying on his couch, and my brain does about seventeen calculationsin half a second, all of them leading to the same glorious conclusion.
For me.
I'm about to say something perfectly designed to make him blush, when Ace's palm clamps over my mouth, warm and slightly calloused.
"Don't you dare," he says, and with his free hand he snatches the sweatpants, holding them behind his back like if I can't see them they don't exist.
I'm laughing against his palm, the sound muffled, my shoulders shaking, and I raise both hands in mock surrender, trying to look innocent.
He slowly removes his hand from my mouth, watching me warily like I'm a bomb that might detonate.
"Fine," I say, trying and failing to keep a straight face. "I will not comment on how you specifically bought those to—"
"Devon."
The warning in his voice only makes me grin harder. God, he's so easy to rile up. So fun to tease. "Okay, okay." I pause, letting the silence stretch just long enough for him to think he's safe. "One question, though."
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not trusting me. Smart man.
"Why the hell aren't you wearing them?"
His face goes pink, that beautiful, telltale flush that starts at his neck and creeps up. "I didn't know you were coming."
I step closer, entering his space. "Oh, I'mcoming."
And with that, I'm on him again, hands in his hair, mouth on his, and we're stumbling toward the bedroom like if we stop touching for even a second the world might end.
We crash through the doorway, bouncing off the frame, and suddenly we're both grabbing at clothes with frantic energy. Pulling, tugging, desperate to get them off. Ace is participating this time, as he all but tears my shirt over my head while I'm shoving his jeans down his thighs, my knuckles scraping against his hipbones.
My pants go next, Ace's hands surprisingly coordinated despite the urgency, and then we're both naked, pressed together, andfuck, the feeling of his skin against mine, no barriers, nothing between us, just heat and want and—
I expect him to hesitate. To second-guess. To need a pep talk.
Instead, Ace grabs my shoulders andthrowsme onto the bed.
