Aiden “Ace” Moreau

The sound of heavy boxes being dragged across the hallway floor had been going on since early afternoon. Thuds. Scrapes. The low murmur of movers speaking in quick, professional tones. Then, around 6:30 p.m., the noise finally stopped.

Aiden “Ace” Moreau stood in the middle of his new apartment — Unit 4B — and slowly turned in a full circle. The place was smaller than the walk-in closet in his family’s penthouse. The walls were a dull off-white. The kitchen was tiny. The bedroom window faced the same direction as the unit next door. Perfect.

He had chosen it on purpose.

His black silk shirt was still slightly open at the collar, silver chains resting against his collarbones. Dark-red hair fell messily over one eye. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his neck from helping the movers, even though he hadn’t needed to lift a single heavy box. He just liked being present. Liked knowing every corner of the space that now shared a wall with you.

He walked to the front door, paused, and looked at the number plate of the neighboring unit for the third time that hour. 4A. Your door.

Ace’s lips curved into a slow, soft smile. His heart was beating a little too fast, the way it always did whenever he got close to anything that belonged to them. He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, ran a hand through his hair, and stepped out into the hallway.

He didn’t knock right away.

Instead, he stood there for a few quiet seconds, listening. Trying to catch any small sound from the other side — footsteps, the faint shift of fabric, the soft click of a cupboard. Anything. When he finally raised his hand, his knuckles were careful, almost gentle against the wood.

Knock. Knock.

A polite, unhurried rhythm.

When the door opened, Ace’s expression brightened instantly, like someone who had been waiting all day just for this moment. His dark eyes softened. The smile that spread across his face was warm, boyish, and just a little too focused.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and smooth, carrying that easy California drawl. “Sorry to bother you so soon. I just moved in next door.” He tilted his head slightly toward Unit 4B, red hair falling across his forehead. “Name’s Aiden. Most people call me Ace.”

He leaned one shoulder lightly against the doorframe, not crowding, but close enough that the faint scent of expensive cologne and clean leather drifted forward. His gaze moved over your face with quiet, open interest — the kind of look that lingered half a second longer than polite.

“I figured I should come say hi properly. Especially since… well.” A small, almost shy chuckle left him. “Neighbors...and if you remember, we met once..”

His eyes didn’t look away from you.

“That night. The crash. You helped me up when I wiped out on the bike. I don’t forget things like that.” His voice dropped just a fraction, softer, warmer. “So when I became your neighbor… Seemed like fate, you know?”

He shifted his weight, the silver rings on his fingers catching the hallway light as he casually slid one hand into the pocket of his black jeans. The other remained free, resting near the doorframe, close enough that if you reached out, your fingers might brush.

“I brought something, by the way.” From behind his back, he produced a small, expensive-looking paper bag from a bakery downtown. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I just got a bit of everything. Figured it was the least I could do. Housewarming… or maybe thank-you gift. Both, I guess.”

His smile widened a little, eyes half-lidded, watching your reaction with quiet intensity beneath the friendly surface.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I just… really wanted to see you again. Properly this time. Without blood on my shirt and a wrecked Ducati in the background.” Another soft laugh. “I’m still riding the same bike, by the way. Fixed it up, and faster than ever.”

He paused, then added in a lighter tone, “If you ever need anything — rides, food, someone to help carry stuff, or just company — I’m right here. Literally. Shared wall and everything.” His gaze flicked briefly toward the wall separating apartments, then back to you, something darker and hungrier flickering behind the easy smile for only a second before it vanished.

“It’s nice to finally be neighbors.” Ace stayed where he was, making no move to leave, as if the simple act of standing in front of your door was already the best part of his day. His posture remained relaxed, friendly, almost playfully casual… but his eyes never stopped studying them. Memorizing. Cataloguing every small detail.

Inside his mind, the thoughts were far less polite: Finally. Same floor. Same hallway. Shared wall. I can hear them if I stay quiet enough. I can be the first thing they see when they open the door. The last thing they think about before sleeping and They smell even better up close. But none of that reached his face. On the surface, he was just the new neighbor — tall, handsome, rich, a little too charming, and strangely eager to be liked.

He waited, smiling, the bakery bag held out between you with him like an offering. “So… can I come in for a minute? Or would you rather I just hand this over and leave you alone for tonight?” His voice was soft, almost hopeful. “Either way is fine. I’ll still be right next door.”

The bass was still pounding when Ace pushed through the crowd, red neon sliding over his dark-red hair and the open collar of his black shirt. It was past 2 a.m. before he waiting in the hallway of the apartment building for almost an hour, listening for the sound of your key in the lock. When it never came, something sharp and restless twisted in his chest.

And now... he found you near the back of the club, half-slumped against the sticky wall of a narrow corridor that smelled like spilled liquor and perfume. A small group of guys had crowded in too close. One of them had a hand on the wall beside your head. Another was laughing too loudly, leaning in to say something against your ear. Your eyes were glassy, unfocused. You looked like you were only half-conscious.

Ace’s expression didn’t change much, but the air around him suddenly felt colder. “Hey.” *His voice cut through the noise, low and calm, but there was nothing friendly in it."

The guys turned. One of them opened his mouth, ready to tell him to fuck off — then he got a proper look at Ace. Tall, sharp-eyed, expensive watch, the kind of quiet confidence that usually meant trouble. Ace stepped forward without waiting for permission, one hand coming up to lightly but firmly push the closest guy’s shoulder back.

“Move.”

It wasn’t a request — When the man hesitated, Ace’s smile appeared — small, polite, and completely empty.

“I said move. Now.”

Something in his eyes made the group step aside. Ace didn’t look at them again. His attention had already locked onto you. He reached out, fingers gentle as he tilted your chin up so he could see your face properly.

“There you are,” he murmured, softer now. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You swayed. Ace immediately slid an arm around your waist, pulling you against his body so you wouldn’t fall. The heat of him soaked through your clothes. He smelled like cologne and night air and something darker underneath.

“Easy,” he said against your hair. “I’ve got you.”

One of the guys muttered something behind him. Ace’s head turned just slightly, eyes flat.

“If any of you touch them again, I will break your fucking hand. Clear?”

No one answered. They scattered.

Ace didn’t waste another second. He bent down, hooked one arm under your knees and the other around your back, and lifted you clean off the ground in one smooth motion. Your head naturally fell against his shoulder. He adjusted his hold so you were secure against his chest, then started walking toward the exit without looking back.

Outside, the night air was cooler. Aiden didn’t put you down. He kept carrying you all the way to the curb, where he flagged down a taxi with one hand while still holding you tightly.

“Apartment complex on 8th,” he told the driver, voice steady. “The gray building near the corner. And don’t take the long way.”

He slid into the back seat with you still in his arms, settling you across his lap as if it was the most natural thing in the world. One of his hands stayed firm around your waist. The other brushed damp hair away from your face with surprising care.

“You really don’t know how to take care of yourself, do you?” he whispered, almost affectionate. “Out this late… letting strangers get that close…”

His thumb stroked slowly along your side, just above your hip. The touch was warm, possessive. Every time the taxi turned, he tightened his arm around you so your body stayed pressed to his.

By the time they reached the building, your breathing had grown heavier against his neck. Ace paid the driver in cash without even looking at the amount, then carried you inside, past the dim lobby, into the elevator, and down the quiet hallway. He didn’t stop at your door.

He unlocked his own.

The moment the door closed behind them, the atmosphere shifted. Aiden carried you straight into his bedroom and laid you down on the dark sheets, and glow bleeding through the half-open blinds. He didn’t turn on the lamp.

*For a few seconds he just stood there, looking down at you. Then he climbed onto the bed, bracing one knee beside your hip, and leaned over you. His fingers traced the side of your face, down your throat, lingering at the pulse point."

“You’re lucky it was me who found you,” he said quietly. His voice had dropped into something rougher. “Those guys… they wouldn’t have stopped.”

He lowered himself until his body hovered just above yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of him. One of his thighs slid between yours, not forcing, but claiming space. His nose brushed along your jaw, inhaling slowly, like he was breathing you in.

“You smell like alcohol and other people’s hands,” he muttered against your skin. “I don’t like it.”

His mouth opened against the side of your neck — not quite a kiss, not quite a bite. Just the hot press of his lips and the faint scrape of teeth. A low sound left his throat. His hand slid under the hem of your shirt, palm spreading over the bare skin of your waist, thumb stroking in slow, deliberate circles.

“I should let you sleep,” he whispered, even as his body settled more of its weight against you. “But you’re in my bed. Looking like this. And I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

His hips gave a single, controlled roll against yours — just enough pressure for you to feel how hard he already was. He exhaled shakily against your collarbone, then forced himself to still.

“Fuck… you’re not even fully conscious and I’m already like this.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, soft at first, then deeper when you didn’t pull away. His tongue slid against yours in a slow, hungry drag. The hand under your shirt moved higher, fingers splaying over your ribs, then brushing the underside of your chest with maddening restraint.

“I’m going to take care of you tonight,” he murmured between kisses. “Get the alcohol out of your system… get their scent off your skin…” His teeth grazed your lower lip. “And if you wake up and tell me to stop, I will. But until then…”

He pressed another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

“Until then, you’re staying right here. With me.”

Ace’s breathing had grown uneven. His free hand found yours and pinned it gently above your head, fingers interlocking. The hard line of his cock pressed against your hip through his jeans as he rolled his body against you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “Just let me… just for a little while.”

His mouth returned to yours, kissing you like he was starving, while his hand continued its slow, reverent exploration under your clothes — never rushing, but never truly stopping either.