CHAPTER 16
OLIVER
Iwake up to the feeling of sunlight warming my bare shoulders.
My head hurts like hell, but I guess that’s just a reminder of the absolute level of how high I was last night.
I don’t know why I always assumed that if you did drugs, you would black out and not remember all the dumb shit you did that day… but no.
I remember everything.
Some parts, like how Damián found me, how we got to his apartment, what the hell happened to my clothes, or at the very end of the high, are a bit hazy. But other parts, like me clinging to Damián while crying… and begging for sex… are so, so vivid in my memory.
Ugggh… so damn embarrassing.
I am mortified, tired, and—why the hell hasn’t Damián bought thicker blinds? Like, who the hell built a room that’s ninety percent windows, in New York, when it’s so damn bright?
Ughh… Maybe my hair is right, and I am a vampire…
I roll onto my back, sit up, and I see one of Damián’s white T-shirts folded on the nightstand with a sticky note that says ‘use me.’
Cute!
I smile, loving how amazing Damián is when he does things like this.
I pull it over my head, and it’s huge on me, to the point where the hem falls halfway down my thighs.
I drag myself into the bathroom to wash my face, and that’s when I catch my reflection in the mirror. My hair is messier than usual, my eyes are puffy from crying, my skin is super pale, and—
Oh, my God!
Damián’s T-shirt is so big on me that I look like I’m cosplaying John Darling from freaking Peter Pan.
A part of me wants to check his closet to see if there is something else that could fit. But he picked this one for me, and let’s be honest, everything he owns is going to fit me exactly the same way… so screw it. Let’s go with this.
I wash my face, attempt to tame my hair, and lick a dab of toothpaste off my finger. Once I look as human as possible under the circumstances, I finally venture out of the bedroom.
This is the first time I am here, and the more I see, the more I wish I could be in Damián’s real apartment, because I know without a doubt that, unlike this cold, minimalist-looking place, his apartment must feel like a real home.
All cozy, full of pictures, fantasy books, and that Damián feeling.
I follow the smell of butter, bacon, and maple syrup until I find Damián standing at the stove in the open kitchen, cooking what looks like an absolute mountain of carbs. How many people does he think he is feeding?
He hears my footsteps and turns around.
“Morning, nene.” He smiles, stepping over to press a kiss to my forehead. “How is your head?”
“It’s surviving.” I smile. “But what the hell is up with your bedroom having fifty windows?”
“Hahaha! That’s been my daily thought since I moved here. Here, have some juice.” He hands me a cold glass of orange juice. “The vitamin C and natural sugars are good for the serotonin dip after a Molly high. Food will be ready in no time.”
I take a sip of the orange juice, but thanks to the toothpaste I just licked, it tastes absolutely awful.
Ugghh… gross!
I steal a piece of bacon off a plate to kill the aftertaste and take a bite. It is crunchy, salty, and perfect. “Oh my god, this is so good.”
“Consider yourself lucky that I’m the one cooking,” Damián says, pointing at my stolen bacon. “My Ma would’ve snatched that right out of your hand and told you to sit down.”
“She hates people eating bacon?”
“She hates when people eat standing up. She says it steals away the flavor of the food.” He passes me a strawberry. “But I think it’s mostly because it leaves crumbs all over her floor.”
I take a bite of the strawberry, which is juicy and incredibly sweet.
“Come on, sit down. I’m almost done with this.”
I do as I’m told, pulling out a flat, minimalistic chair and sitting down… which I instantly regret.
“Dami… these chairs are extremely uncomfortable.”
“Yes, they are,” he laughs. “Blame your father and his tastes.”
“You decorated your apartment based on his tastes?”
“No, a designer decorated it so it would look like I am a successful art dealer.”
“Makes sense…”
I grab another strawberry from the bowl and take a bite, watching him cook.
He’s flipping pancakes and talking about the morning, mentioning a workout and a nearby park if I want to walk, but I just nod along in silence because I am staring at the broad line of his back, completely incapable of processing a single word he’s saying.
Even under the loose shirt, the shape of his muscles is visible.
My gaze trails down his arms…they’re beautiful, though one has a large scar. I can also see his tattoo on the back of his left hand. He always has it covered with makeup, so I am not used to seeing it on him, but it fits.
That beautiful infinity symbol with black and red fits him so well.
He is so handsome, so strong, and the way he moves enchants me.
I want him.
I want to feel his heavy weight over me. I want his body heat, his lips, his tongue.
God, I really want this man…
Yesterday was amazing, and not just because of how good his hands felt on me. It was because he respected me enough to draw a line, refusing to take things further until I was sober.
Well, today, I am very sober.
Come on, Ollie. You can do this.
I lift my glass, down the rest of the juice in one gulp, the taste miraculously better now, and set the empty glass on the counter.
I walk toward Damián and step right up behind him. Leaning forward, I press my forehead against his back and slide my arms around his waist. My fingers slip under the hem of his T-shirt, trailing upward across the hard ridges of his abs before pressing flat against his bare stomach.
Damián instantly freezes.
He leans back into my touch and lets out a deep sigh.
“Dami,” I whisper, sliding my hands higher up his chest. “…I’m sober.”
He clicks the stove burner off, turns around within the circle of my arms, and looks down at me. His light brown eyes immediately search mine, scanning my pupils, looking for any lingering trace of the drug. But there is none.
All he’s going to find is desire and need.
“You’re sure?” he asks.
I reach up, tracing his stubble before cupping his cheek. “I’m sure.”
Damián steps fully into my space, walking me backward until my hips hit the edge of the kitchen island, completely caging me in.
I love it when he cages me.
He lowers his face to mine, pressing a series of soft kisses to my cheek, my jaw, my neck, covering me in them, his eyes constantly darting back to check my reaction.
Then, without stopping, he slides his hands down my sides, feeling the curve of my waist through the thin cotton of his oversized shirt, and pulls me against his hard-on.
A shiver shoots straight down my spine, lighting my entire body on fire.
“Nene…” Damián whispers against my skin. “You’re shaking.”
“It’s nerves,” I breathe, my chest rising and falling rapidly. “Not fear.”
He dips his head, pressing a kiss to my shoulder before dragging his tongue up the column of my neck, tasting the exact spot he marked so possessively two weeks ago.
“Ahh…” I moan, my shaking hands clinging to him.
“Ollie,” he murmurs. “We have all the time in the world… we don’t need to rush this.”
My fingers curl into fists, gripping the fabric of his T-shirt as I pull him against me. “I want you, Damián Soto. And I want you right now.”
And thank God, Damián doesn’t argue anymore.
This time, he bends down, hooks his arms under my thighs, and lifts me off the floor. He carries me back into the main bedroom, setting me down gently on the edge of the mattress. Stepping between my parted knees, he grabs the hem of the oversized shirt, pulls it over my head, and tosses it aside.
I am left completely naked, my breath catching as I watch him strip off his own shirt and throw it in the same direction.
Wow…
I lift a trembling hand, tracing the hard lines of his chest. My fingertips tingle as they slide over his warm skin. His muscles are ridiculously defined, tanned, and absolutely mouthwatering.
Damián bends down and kisses me… and for a man who fights terrorists and cartels for a living, his hands move unbelievably gently on me. He traces the lines of my body as if I were something precious.
He kisses my jaw, my neck, and my chest.
And it is too much.
Between the anticipation and the sheer vulnerability of being completely naked and inexperienced while he is so good at this, my brain short-circuits, and I start to shake even harder.
“Relax, babe,” Damián whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
“I just don’t know what to do… should I move my hands? Or not? Or—”
Damián pulls back just enough to look at me, a warm smile on his lips. “Just do what you want. Touch what you want.”
“I mean… what to do to make you feel good.”
“Everything you do makes me feel good,” he assures me, but I’m so nervous, I just don’t buy it.
“Not just like that… I don’t want to make you feel ‘oh, this is nice, good’ and so… I want to make you feel the way you make me feel,” I blurt out, the nerves completely taking over.
“Ollie…”
“And you are so incredibly good at this… Like, Oh my God… I literally melt when you touch me, and my skin comes alive, and I feel like I’m going to burst inside.”
“Oliver…” he tries again, but I’m too far gone to listen.
“So yeah, I want to make you feel good… as in, I want you to enjoy this just as much as I do… I mean, you’ve probably had others who are ridiculously good at this, and I’m so lost, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to make you feel hot, or turned on, or—”
Damián grabs my hand and guides it downward, pressing my palm firmly against his long, thick erection.
I gasp, instantly falling silent as my eyes snap up to his.
“Is this turned on enough for you, nene?”
Unable to move my hand or say a word, I just stare up at him and nod.
He lets go of my hand and pulls me forward until our bodies are fully pressed together, wrapping me in a delicious hug. One arm circles my back while his other hand cups the nape of my neck. He leans in like he’s going to kiss me, but stops, holding my gaze.