27. Roman
Roman
I wake up to the unfamiliar feeling of an arm draped over my waist and the warmth of someone pressed against my back. It takes me a second to piece together where I am, but the faint scent of Damon’s cologne and the soft hum of his breathing make it clear.
I’m in Damon’s bed.
His arm tightens around me slightly, and I glance down at the inked skin of his forearm, his tattoos dark against the pale light filtering through the window. His body is warm and solid, and for a second, I let myself sink into it while enjoying the rare calm.
But my mind doesn’t stay quiet for long.
I think back to last night, to the way Damon looked when he opened the door. He was… wrecked; eyes hollow and shoulders tense like he was barely holding himself together. The way he grabbed onto me still sits heavy in my chest.
What the fuck happened yesterday?
Damon doesn’t let people in—not easily, and definitely not without a fight. But last night, he clung to me like I was the only thing keeping him afloat, and it scared the shit out of me. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. But I didn’t push. I let it go.
Just like I let things go with Caleb.
The thought makes my stomach twist, and I take a shaky breath, staring at the window across the room. I can’t do that again. Not with Damon. Whatever’s going on in his head, I have to find a way to get through to him, to make him talk, because the idea of losing him to whatever demons he’s fighting is—
“Mornin’,” Damon’s voice rumbles against my neck, rough with sleep.
I shiver, his breath warm against my skin as he presses closer, his arm tightening around my waist. “Morning,” I manage, my voice coming out weaker than I’d like.
Damon hums against my skin, his hand sliding up to rest on my abs. “Hmm, you’re warm,” he mutters, nuzzling into my shoulder.
“You’re the one holding me,” I point out, my voice teasing despite the way my heart’s starting to race.
His teeth nip at my skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a bolt of heat straight through me. “Still got my mark,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the spot on my shoulder where he bit me.
“Yeah, thanks for that,” I breathe, my voice catching as he runs his tongue over the mark, soothing the sting.
Damon chuckles, his hand sliding lower until it rests just above the waistband of my boxers. “You’re welcome,” he says, his breath hot against my neck.
I open my mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a sharp inhale as he ruts against me, his morning wood pressing into the curve of my ass. “Fuck,” he groans, his voice strained. “Need to feel you, baby.”
My stomach tightens at his words, and his hips grind slowly against my ass. The heat between us is unbearable, and for a moment, I lose myself in the sensation of his lips, his hands, his body.
“We can’t,” I manage, my voice shaky as I remind him. “Not until the tests come back.”
“I know,” he mutters, but the way his hips grind against me says otherwise.
His hand moves again, tugging my boxers down enough to bare my ass before he grabs the lube from the bedside table. The sound of the cap popping open sends a shiver down my spine, and I bite my lip, trying not to lose my fucking mind as he slicks himself up.
Damon doesn’t waste any time, his hands gripping my thighs as he slips his cock between them. The heat of him against my skin is almost too much, and I can’t stop the noise that escapes me when he starts to move.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, his breath hot against my ear. “You feel so fucking good, Roman.”
I can’t respond, my brain short-circuiting as the heat of him—the weight of him—takes over. His chest presses against my back, his lips returning to my neck as he moves, slow and steady, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through me.
“You like that, Hotshot?” he murmurs against my skin, his voice rough and teasing.
I nod, biting back a moan as his teeth nip at my shoulder. “Yeah,” I manage, my voice strained.
“Good,” he says, his hands tightening on my hips. “Because I’m not stopping until you’re covered in our cum.”
I bite my lip, trying to keep quiet, but it’s useless. The friction, the heat, the sound of his cock sliding between my thighs—it’s too much, and I can’t stop the soft moan that slips out.
“That’s it,” he says, his tone full of smug satisfaction as he thrusts harder, his cock grinding against me in a way that makes my whole body shiver. “Fucking addictive.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but my voice trembles, and he just laughs.
“Why?” he asks, his teeth grazing my shoulder. “You don’t like hearing how good you are for me? How fucking perfect you feel?”
“Damon—”
“Say my name again,” he growls, his hand slipping around to grip my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts. “Come on, baby. Say it.”
“Damon,” I gasp, my nails digging into the sheets as he picks up the pace, his cock sliding faster, harder, the slick heat of him driving me closer to the edge.
“Good boy,” he mutters, his voice thick with pride as he fucks between my thighs, his breath hot against my ear. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn beautiful like this.”
I groan, my hips bucking against his hand as he strokes me harder, his thumb brushing over the tip in a way that has my whole body trembling.
“Damon, I’m— fuck, I’m close,” I manage, my voice breaking on a moan.
“I’m right behind you, baby. Make it messy.”
His words hit me like a freight train, and I fall apart, my release spilling over his hand and onto the sheets as my body shakes with the force of it.
“Fuck,” he groans, his hips stuttering as he thrusts faster, chasing his own release. The sound of his moan, low and desperate, sends another shiver down my spine, and I feel him spill between my thighs, hot and sticky.
He doesn’t pull away immediately, his arms wrapping around me as he presses a kiss to my shoulder.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now.
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “I’m good.”
Damon chuckles, his breath warm against my skin. “Good.”
For a while, neither of us moves, the silence between us heavy but not uncomfortable. But even as I lie there with my body still buzzing, my mind is elsewhere.
I need to talk to him. I need to know what’s going on.
But not yet. Not now.
By the time we’re showered, dressed, and heading out the door, Damon looks like a completely different person than he did last night. The shadows that had clung to him are gone, replaced by something lighter. He’s not exactly grinning, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at his lips, and his green eyes are brighter than I’ve seen them in a long time.
It’s hard not to stare at him as we walk out to his bike. He’s got that effortless confidence about him today, the kind that makes it impossible to look away. His dark curls are still a mess from this morning, and he’s wearing a black band tee under the leather jacket that stretches across his chest in a way that makes me want to drag him back inside.
And then there’s the way he keeps glancing at me.
“Something on your mind, Ward?” I ask, tugging at the hem of the hoodie I’m wearing—his hoodie.
Damon’s smirk grows into a full-blown grin. “Yeah. You in my hoodie. Looks good on you, Hotshot.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the heat crawling up my neck. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I’m already used to it,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he throws a leg over his bike. “Might even make it permanent.”
“Dream on,” I mutter, as I climb onto the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist as he starts it up.
The ride to campus is quick, the wind biting against my open visor but doing nothing to cool the heat in my chest. I can’t shake the image of Damon’s grin, the way he looked at me when I pulled his hoodie over my head, like I’d done something monumental without even realizing it.
When we pull up outside the student parking lot, I hop off the bike and pull the helmet off, ruffling my hair. Damon does the same, resting his helmet on the handlebar before turning to me.
“See you later?” he asks, his voice soft.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding.
He leans in, his hand curling around the back of my neck as he presses a quick, heated kiss to my lips. I hear someone whistle nearby, and when I pull back, Damon’s grinning like he doesn’t give a single fuck.
“Later, baby,” he says, giving my ass a quick smack before walking off toward the art building.
I stand there for a second, shaking my head as I watch him go. His shoulders are relaxed, his stride easy, like he owns the world and knows it. It’s good to see him like this—calm, confident—but it also makes me think about last night.
The way he looked when I showed up. The way he wouldn’t let go of me.
I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more going on with him, something he’s not saying. And if I’m going to be with him, if this thing between us is going to work, I need to figure out what it is.
Which is why I’m heading straight to Killian.
I find him in the dining hall, sitting at one of the back tables with his laptop open and a protein shake in hand. He glances up when I approach, his blue eyes narrowing as he takes me in.
“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And… is that Damon’s hoodie?”
I sigh, sitting down across from him. “Don’t start.”
Killian smirks, but he doesn’t push it. “Fine, I won’t. What’s going on?”
I stare at the table for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I need your advice.”
“About Damon?”
“Yeah.”
He sets his laptop aside, giving me his full attention. “Alright, talk to Daddy. What’s the issue?”
I take a deep breath, running a hand through my hair. “Last night… he wasn’t okay. Like, at all. He looked wrecked when I showed up, and he wouldn’t let me go. I didn’t push him about it, but… I don’t know, Kill. I feel like there’s more going on with him than he’s letting on.”
Killian frowns, his expression serious now. “Did he say anything?”
I shake my head. “Not really. He just held on to me like he was afraid I’d disappear. And then this morning, he was fine. Like nothing happened.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it,” Killian suggests, though his tone makes it clear he’s not convinced either.
“That’s what worries me,” I admit. “What if something’s going on and he’s not saying anything? What if I don’t see it until it’s too late?”
Killian’s eyes soften, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re thinking about Caleb.”
I nod, my throat tightening. “I can’t go through that again, Kill. I can’t lose someone because I wasn’t paying attention.”
He shakes his head. “Roman, this isn’t the same. Damon’s not Caleb.”
“I know that,” I snap, though the words feel hollow. “But what if he’s struggling and I miss it? What if—”
“Stop,” Killian says, cutting me off. “Look, I get it. You’re scared. But beating yourself up over what happened with Caleb isn’t going to help Damon. You’ve just got to be there for him. Let him know he can come to you.”
I let out a heavy sigh, my hands running through my hair again. “I just don’t know how to get him to open up. He keeps everything so fucking close to the chest.”
He shrugs. “Then wait him out. Be patient. If he’s anything like you’ve been telling me, he’ll talk when he’s ready. But let him know he can come to you.”
I nod, his words sinking in. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
Killian smirks. “Aren’t I always?”
I roll my eyes, standing up. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”
“Just don’t be too loud when you bring him home next time,” he calls after me, laughing as I flip him off on my way out.
Killian’s right. Maybe I just need to give Damon the space to let me in.
And when he does, I’ll be ready.