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Summary
Silco let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, but his eyes stayed locked on Vander’s hands—broad, rough, steady as they wrapped around the key and turned the lock. The heavy clunk of the bolt falling into place was the signal he’d been waiting for.
“Konečně,” he hissed, low and throaty, the word slipping out in silky Zaunite as he pushed off the counter. In one graceful movement, Silco was on him, a heat-seeking missile of sharp need, hands fumbling to undo Vander’s belt before the bigger man could so much as raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you dare pretend you didn’t know why I stayed.”
“I figured,” Vander rumbled, impossibly calm, though his lips quirked as he caught Silco’s wrists in his grip. “What’s the rush, huh? Been pent up all day, have ya?”