He's shaking his head but he's smiling, and I'm grinning like an idiot, and for a second we just stand there in his spare airport surrounded by pets, looking at each other.
Then suddenly, Ace's expression shifts. Something darker slides across his face, something I've never seen on him before.
And I like that.
He takes a step closer.
Oh boy, do I like that.
Another step.
"Devon." He's close now.
"Yeah?"
Veryclose. "I've been thinking."
"You have?"
He leans in, lowering his head, his lips so close to my ear I can feel the brush of air on my earlobe as he says, "I think I owe you something."
I swallow, trying not to shake as my cock twitches hello, apparently very fucking interested in Ace's thoughts. "I thought you'd never ask."
His hand slides around the back of my neck, pulling me in. Our mouths meet and he kisses me deeply, slowly. Like he's taking his time, learning me.
His other hand finds my hip, thumb pressing into the bone through my jeans, and I press closer, feeling the solid warmth of him.
"Bedroom?" he mutters against my mouth.
I don't trust my voice, so I just nod.
We stumble down the hallway, mouths attached, hands everywhere. The apartment's dark except for the city lights filtering through those massive windows, casting everything in shades of blue and gold. Ace's back hits a wall and I press into him, feeling his cock hard against my hip through the sweatpants.
He spins us and suddenly I'm the one against the wall, his body pinning me there, and oh, I like this. I like this a lot.
His mouth moves to my neck, sucking hard, leaving marks, and my hips jerk forward involuntarily.
"Bedroom," I gasp. "Now. Unless you want to fuck me against this wall, which—I'm not against, but—"
He pulls back, eyes dark. "Bed."
We make it to his room. Barely. The door's half-open and we fall through it, stumbling like we're drunk on each other. I get a brief impression of a king-sized bed with charcoal gray sheets that look elegant and soft, more of those floor-to-ceiling windows showing off the glittering skyline. There's a faint scent in the air: clean laundry and the man himself.
Then Ace is kissing me again and I stop cataloging interior design.
My hands find the hem of his shirt, fingers curling into the soft cotton, and I yank it up. He breaks the kiss long enough for me to pull it over his head, his arms lifting to help me, and then he's bare from the waist up and I just…freeze. "Damn."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just—" My hands move on their own accord, palms sliding over his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him, the definition of muscle under smooth skin. His pecs are firm under my touch, and I trace the subtle valley between them before moving to his shoulders, which are impossibly broad, carved from what must be years of training. My fingers trail down the defined ridges of his abs, counting each one. "You're built like a fucking Greek god and it's unfair."
He laughs, breathy and a little self-conscious. "Says you."
"I'm pocket-sized. You're—" I gesture at all of him, at the sheer size of his frame, the way he takes up space without trying. "You're massive."
"Is that a complaint?"
"Fuck no."
