CHAPTER 28
DEVON
"THAT WAS..." I'm still processing what just happened when we finally reach my door. "Smooth."
Ace lets out a chuckle. "I panicked."
"You panicked smoothly." I unlock the door, pushing it open. "Also? Super fucking hot when you take charge like that."
"I don't know…"
"I'm serious. You standing there, all confident, rallying the troops for a cause?" I pull him inside, closing the door behind us. "That did things to me. Anatomical things."
He laughs, and the sound fills my small dorm room, making the space feel warmer. "You're ridiculous."
And then we're kissing, his mouth claiming mine with the kind of urgency that makes my knees forget their primary function.
My back slams into the door, making it rattle in the frame, and his hands are already moving, fingers digging into my waist before sliding up under my hoodie.
The first touch of his palms against my bare skin makes me gasp into his mouth.
I'm grabbing at his shirt, yanking the fabric, trying to get it off him or rip it off him, whichever happens first.
We stumble toward my bed, a tangle of limbs and urgent touches, shedding clothes as we go. My hoodie hits the floor. His shirt follows. My jeans get stuck on my ankles and I have to hop awkwardly to get them off while Ace watches, amused. "Shut up," I mutter.
He raises his palms. "I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
"I was thinking you're cute."
That stops me mid-struggle. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." He steps closer, now just in his boxers, and helps me with my jeans, sliding them off with significantly more grace than I managed. "Better?"
"Much."
We're both down to our underwear now, standing in the middle of my tiny dorm room, and the way he's looking at me makes my skin feel too tight, like it can't contain everything I'm feeling.
He reaches for me, pulling me close, and we kiss again, slower this time. His hands slide down my back, over my ass, squeezing, and I press closer, feeling his cock hard against my hip through the thin fabric of his boxers.
"Bed," I breathe against his lips.
We fall onto my narrow twin mattress, definitely not designed for two full-grown men, and immediately start negotiating limbs and space. Ace ends up half on top of me, one leg between mine, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
I run my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, feeling the solid muscle there. "How sore are you?" I ask as I squeeze his bicep.
"Not too bad." But there's a slight wince when he shifts his weight. "My thighs are a little tight."
An idea forms, and I grin. "I can help with that."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yeah. I'm kind of a magician." I push at his shoulder gently. "Roll over."
He raises an eyebrow but complies, rolling onto his stomach and stretching out on the bed. The view is spectacular—all that muscle, the broad expanse of his back, the curve of his ass in those tight boxer-briefs.
I grab the bottle of lube from my desk—obviously, I prepared—and straddle his thighs, settling my weight carefully.
"What are you doing?" he asks, voice muffled by the pillow.
"Magic." I pour lube into my palm, warming it between my hands. "Just relax."
I start with his lower back, working my thumbs in slow circles, feeling the tension in his muscles. He lets out an appreciative hum that goes straight to my cock.
I work my way down, spending time on his lower back where I can feel knots of tension, the kind that come from hours of skating and training.
My slick fingers press into the dimples just above his ass, those two perfect indentations, and he lets out a breath that sounds like relief and pleasure mixed together.
The lube makes everything smooth, my palms gliding over his skin, and I take my time exploring every inch.
"You're really good at this," he says into the pillow, words slurred like he's half-asleep already.
I move lower, to his thighs. They're ridiculous. Thick and powerful, carved from years of skating, each muscle defined and hard under my touch. I start at his knees and work upward, my hands sliding over warm skin, fingers pressing into the solid muscle, working out the knots and tension.
Both of my hands are working in tandem, thumbs pressing deep into the meat of his thighs. His legs are slightly parted, and I can feel the heat radiating from between them. Every time I press into a particularly tight spot, he makes these small sounds of pleasure that are driving me insane.
My hands slide higher, to his inner thighs, and his legs part wider, unconsciously making room. The movement is subtle, his body responding even if his mind hasn't caught up yet.
"You're so tense here," I say, pressing my thumbs into the muscle, working circles into the tissue.
"Hockey stance. It's hard on the legs."
I continue the massage, working closer and closer to the apex of his thighs. My fingers brush against the edge of his boxers and he shifts slightly, pelvis pressing down into the mattress.
"I can make you even more relaxed," I say quietly, letting my fingers trail along the seam of his boxers where they meet his thigh. "If you want."
There's a pause, his breathing changing, becoming shallower. "How?"
Instead of answering, I let my slick hand drift higher, fingers brushing against his balls through the fabric.
Ace inhales sharply, his whole body going tense for a moment before relaxing again.
I do it again, this time with more intention, cupping him gently through the cotton, feeling the weight and heat of his balls in my palm. I massage him slowly, carefully, watching the way his thighs tremble slightly.
"Devon…" His voice is rough, strangled.
"Yeah?" I'm working him now, rolling his balls gently between my fingers, feeling them draw up slightly.
"That's—" He cuts himself off with a groan when I press more firmly. "Really good."
My hand slides up, over the fabric, tracing the line between his ass cheeks. When I press gently against where I know his hole is, even through the boxers, he makes a sound I've never heard from him before—high and needy and desperate, like I've found something he didn't know he wanted touched.
But then his hand shoots back, grabbing my wrist.
I freeze immediately, pulling back, both hands raised. "Sorry. Too much?"
"No. I mean—" He rolls onto his back, looking up at me with eyes that are dark and conflicted. "I—I don't know how I feel about this."
I scoot back slightly, giving him space, making sure he can see I've stopped completely. "That's okay. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."
"No, not like that." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, and I can see him struggling with the words. "I want—I think— I don't know…"
My heart squeezes in my chest. "Ace, we can just—"
"I've never—" He stops, swallows hard enough that I can see his throat work. "I mean…" He moves his hand to trace his finger over the inside of my forearm, parking his gaze there as well, like he's avoiding mine. "I don't necessarily want you to stop."
"No?" I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth, trying to pour reassurance into it. "I'll do whatever you want. But…you have to be sure. Like, really sure."
He looks at me for a long moment, and I can see him thinking. Weighing. Deciding. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his cock hard and tenting his boxers.
Then he spreads his thighs.
Wide.
An invitation if I've ever seen one.
"I'm sure," he says, and his voice is steady now. "I trust you."
Those three words hit me harder than they should, settling somewhere deep in my chest where they have no business being. I trust you.
"Okay," I say softly, reaching for the waistband of his boxers. "But if you want to stop at any point, you tell me. Promise?"
"Promise."
I help him out of his boxers, sliding them down his legs and tossing them aside. And then he's fully naked, spread out on my bed, vulnerable and trusting and so fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
I pour more lube into my palm, warming it between my hands while I just look at him. At the way his cock lies hard and flushed against his stomach. At the way his thighs are spread, muscles relaxed now.
At the way he's watching me with those huge eyes, waiting.
I start with his balls again, massaging gently, re-establishing the rhythm we had before. He relaxes into it, his eyes fluttering closed, his mouth falling open slightly.
I let my hand drift lower, fingers sliding over his perineum, that sensitive spot between his balls and his hole. The touch is feather-light, barely there, but he gasps like I've done something intense.
I do it again, pressing slightly firmer this time, and his hips shift, pressing back into my touch. "Okay?"
He answers with an affirmative hum.
I circle his hole with one slick finger, not pushing in, just touching, letting him get used to the sensation. His body instinctively tenses for a moment, but then he takes a breath and relaxes, his thighs falling open even wider.
"You're doing great," I tell him, circling again, applying just the tiniest bit of pressure. "So good for me."
I press against his hole, just the tip of my finger, applying gentle but steady pressure. His body resists for a moment, muscles clenching, but then he takes another breath and I feel him consciously relax as my finger slides in to the first knuckle.
"Oh," he breathes, and the single syllable feels loaded somehow.
"Still okay?"
I hold completely still, letting him adjust to the intrusion, and watch his face carefully. His brows furrow slightly, like he's concentrating, trying to process. After a few seconds, his expression smooths out and he nods slightly. "Yeah. Weird. But okay."
I move my finger deeper, slowly, achingly slowly, until I'm all the way inside. He's so unbelievably tight, and hot, and the trust he's showing me right now is staggering.
"How do you feel?" I ask, keeping my voice low and steady.
"Full. Strange. But not bad. Just... different."