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Preston’s body remembered his. Ambrose’s senses were jolted, shocked with the taste and smell of a man who had been at his side for years. He’dmissed this. And he was terribly, horribly lonely.
And then his hands weren’t his, grabbing at the thick ponytail of dark hair, shoving that cold fleece away, grasping at muscled shoulders. Ambrose’s knees went weak as Preston pushed against him, into him. His back hit the wall and dimly, in the distance, he heard the door shut.
“Preston.” He barely managed to mumble it against the lips pressing into his, but he needed to get it out.
Preston startled back with a jolt, dark brown eyes wide. Shock? Regret? “Shit.Shit. I…” His ex looked away. “I lost my mind. I grabbed you -”
“I let you.”
Preston’s gaze cut back to him, sharp but hopeful. “You have to mean that. I can’t…”
“I do. And I know.” Ambrose curled his fingers into that ponytail, the thing at just the right height for him to grab and yank on. He pulled gently and Preston’s moan echoed through him, down his spine. A bolt of lightning his body remembered; that he remembered.
Preston leaned his forehead against Ambrose’s. “Tell me. Please.”
“Fuck. Fuck, Preston…” This was insane. He didn’t care. Heneededto feel this. “Touch me.”
Preston groaned
“We don’t need these,” he said softly, pulling Preston’s glasses down. “Get your shoes and coat off.”
He let Preston shrug out of his fleece and toe his shoes off while he put those pretty frames aside, safe on the kitchen counter. “You smell so fucking good.” The voice in his ear, the press of warm muscle behind him, hemming him in. He remembered this, too. His body responded, cock growing hard, pressed almost painfully into the edge of the counter. Preston traced the side of his neck with his tongue and Ambrose sagged, groaning. “So fucking good.”
Preston knew his weak spots and was taking him apart by the seams. Plucking. Pulling.Licking. “Ah, fuck, Pres.” Ambrose arched back and Preston grabbed him by the hips. A hard cock against his cleft and Ambrose was reduced to whimpering.
Ambrose reached back, trying to grab at Preston, wanting to pull that thick ponytail again. Maybe wrap it around his fist and crush their mouths together. Relearn Preston’s taste, hold him still while he nipped at the sensitive spot under his jaw; the one that never failed to make the other man hiss in pleasure. Ambrose liked that hiss, liked what it belied with no words but alwaysalwaysmade his blood heat.
Preston relented, pushing even harder, chest to back, wedging a thigh between his. A knee teased at his balls and that hard cock was pressed so tightly between his cheeks, Ambrose wanted to sob with need. “Did you come here to tease me or fuck me?”
The growl he got back for that sent shivers across his skin. Sharp teeth bit down on his earlobe. “I came here to see you, then I saw you and lost my mind. I always do around you.”
Ambrose turned. “We’re not together.”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “We’re not. Four years.”
“Four years,” he agreed. “What is this? A…fuck down memory lane?”
Preston’s laugh was warm and rumbly and for a moment, Ambrose remembered Barrett’s laugh. Similar but deeper, more hearty. More earnest. Preston’s slipped and slid, sensual but distanced in its own way. The distance of four years. And then Preston’s hands were on his face, palms sliding against Ambrose’s jaw as he said, “I was thinking friends with benefits.”
He couldn’t help the snark. “We’d have to be friends first.”
“We would.” He leaned harder into Ambrose, almost to the point of pain. His nerves were already jangled but this was…different. Preston had never been so demanding, so desperate. He found he liked this side of his ex. A little strung out, a little thready breathing, a little more darkness in already dark eyes.
“I’m okay with benefits for now.” And he was. Because he was lonely and desperate and wanting and weak and all of the things he hated about being agoddamned human who needed others. He hated that weakness, that swirling void waiting to be filled.
Silently, he pulled Preston upstairs, to his bedroom, and was shrugging out of his sweater when, suddenly, there was a pair of lips on his neck and a hand on each hip. He was rooted, frozen in place by a few warm, steady touches. How fucking desperate he was, how pathetic. Ambrose bit down on the self-hated, determined to shred it to pieces so he could enjoy this. To remember the way Preston felt; the way anyone felt.
“Let me.”
“You don’t -” Ambrose was cut off as Preston pushed his sweater up. Warm fingers trailed over the knobs of his spine and he shivered. “You don’t have to be kind.”
“This isn’t that kind of game, Ambrose.”
“I know.” His sweater was dropped to the floor and then Preston’s hands were on him once more and his thoughtsstopped. He kissed Preston hard, surging up into it, fingers flying over buttons and zippers while Preston cupped the back of his head just right and licked into his mouth.
Another tug and Preston was over him, on him, both of them half naked with Ambrose pinned to the mattress. Preston was a little thicker in the chest and shoulders from what Ambrose remembered. The muscles shifted under smooth skin and wiry chest hair and he had to touch. Preston bit down on a curse, eyes dropping shut. “Fuck.”
He wanted to unravel Preston, to take his time. But the burning under his skin screamed for release. “Fuck me.”
