Ace
Gunnar mumbled, rolling his eyes while pouring a measure of whiskey for himself.
Ace situated himself behind me, cupping my chin and forcing me to tip my head back to meet his gaze as he stared down at me, "Fix?" He mused, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of his bottom lip and I felt goosebumps litter my flesh, "you're right, I can't fix shit," Ace agreed, making certain his hazel eyes bored into my blue ones, "but I can break things. I break beds, backs, and even sweet pus—"
"You have three seconds to let me go before I elbow you in the nutsack," I interjected with a scowl.