CHAPTER 21 #3
“Yes. Knox just called to catch me up on things,” I say, walking toward him. “Come here.”
Oliver steps closer. I take the towel from his hands, guide him to sit on the edge of the bed, and stay standing so I can gently dry his hair for him.
He’s quiet for a moment before he whispers, “…Kai?”
I want to answer him, but my silence tells him everything he needs to know.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“They found his body near the Hudson.”
Oliver lowers his head, the guilt washing over him. I stop drying his hair, drop to a crouch in front of him, and place my hand under his chin to tilt his face back up.
“Stop. It is not your fault.”
“If I hadn’t gone to Chapters, he would still be alive.”
I toss the towel on the bed next to me and wrap my hands securely around his. “Whatever decisions Kai made were on him, Oliver.”
“He didn’t know who he was meeting, Damián.”
“He knew he would get us in trouble if he told Rafael I was a Harknett. His own malice got him killed, not you.”
I haul Oliver onto my lap and slide my hand up to the nape of his neck, leaning in to stare directly into his hazel eyes. I need to make absolutely sure this doesn’t stay with him, tormenting him.
“Tell me you understand that.”
“I understand.”
Satisfied, I lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Good.”
“Where is Rafael now?”
My thumb trails soft circles on his thigh. “No one knows.”
“Is Serena safe?” he asks, and I nod.
“So is Clara. Your family is safe.”
Then, Oliver tenses up… “I’m sorry, Damián.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“I broke my promise,” he says, looking down. “That nothing from my world would ever touch your family. You even had to tell them about us.”
“I’m not a fan of how this happened, but I am happy they met you, Oliver,” I tell him. “And I meant every single word of what I told my mother out there. This whole thing… it might have started as a fake cover story, but my feelings for you are real.”
His eyes lift to meet mine, wide and tentative. “They are?”
“Ollie, would you be my real boyfriend?”
“Ugh, I don’t know if I want that specific label, Damián,” he says, and I swear my heart stops, but then he smiles. “Being a boyfriend sounds like a lot of commitment, and I think I’d rather be your Taco Master.”
I glare at him, and Oliver bursts out laughing.
You monster…
I attack him with a barrage of kisses, capturing his mouth before catching him off guard and pinning him down onto the bed.
Oliver yelps, trying to squirm out from under me, but I just keep kissing his face until he’s laughing uncontrollably, begging for forgiveness between gasps of air. When his laughter finally tapers off into a breathless smile, he looks up at me.
He wraps his arms around my neck, pulls me down for a kiss, and whispers against my lips, “Yes, Dami. I want to be your real boyfriend.”
“Took you long enough,” I smile before kissing him again.
I roll us on the bed, and Oliver yelps the moment his back touches the wet towel I put on the bed. “Ugh! This is cold.”
Grimacing, he sits up and grabs it, then goes to the desk to drape the towel over the back of the chair.
I walk across the room, stepping up behind him, and wrap my arms around his waist. I pull his back against my chest, leaning down to press a kiss on his shoulder blade. I trail my lips up the curve of his neck, breathing in the scent of his shampoo.
Oliver lets out a soft murmur, and my kisses turn hungrier.
He tries to turn around and push me away, but he barely moves me an inch. “Damián… absolutely not.”
I turn him back around, guiding him until his hands press against the wall. Caging him in, I grab his hips and pull him back against me.
“Why? Don’t you want me, Ollie?” I whisper against his ear, and his body shudders.
He turns his head slightly, his hazel eyes darkening. “The answer to that question will always be a definitive yes, you idiot,” he glares. “But your entire family is here.”
“They’re not in this room,” I say against his neck.
My hands slide down his waist, pressing tighter against him, forcing him to feel exactly how much he affects me.
“Dami, they are in the house,” he hisses, his fingers digging into my wrists.
“Are you planning to be loud, my Taco Master?”
Oliver glares at me over his shoulder, his expression a mix of irritation and arousal.
“They just found out today that you have a boyfriend. They just found out your boyfriend is the son of Elijah West, and they were literally shot at. I am not adding extra family trauma to that list by letting them hear us have sex.”
“Alright, alright. Valid point.” I lean my forehead against his shoulder. “But… what if we don’t make any noise?”
“No…”
“Sure?” I ask, biting the nape of his neck because I know he can’t resist it.
And he can’t.
Oliver melts against me, his hips shifting back against mine.
“Fine. But no sex-sex.” I chuckle, and he glares at me. “As in no penetration, Damián. I mean it.”
“I promise,” I lift my hand like a scout boy. “No sex-sex.”
I press his back against my chest, ensuring the back of his head rests against my clavicle. I slide my hand down the front of his boxers, my fingers wrapping around his length, while my left hand reaches down between his legs.
Oliver turns his head, scowling at me. “Damián, I said no sex-sex.”
“I know what you said… Trust me.” I kiss his cheek. “Now put your hands on the wall.”
Oliver’s breath comes in short gasps, but he does exactly what he is told.
He stretches his arms out, planting both of his palms flat against the wall, and I step closer to him. I curl my left hand up, covering his mouth with my palm to muffle any sudden sounds, and with my free right hand, I pull his cock out of his underwear and move my fist up and down.
Oliver moves between my arms, his hips shaking as he pushes back against me.
“Close your legs,” I instruct him against his ear. “And keep your thighs tightened.”
He nods, locking his thighs together.
I pull my own cock out of my sweatpants and slide it between the tight, warm junction of his closed thighs.
It feels amazing.
I begin to thrust slowly, my length moving back and forth with the friction of his legs.
Oliver moans against the palm of my hand, his hips instinctively rolling back into the movement as his fingers claw at the wall.
I grip him harder, my right hand curling around both of us to match the pace of my hips.
I thrust between his thighs over and over, my cock sliding under his and into my fist, and then back again, his noises completely muffled by my hand.
Oliver’s body suddenly goes rigid beneath me, and a series of intense tremors wrack his frame as he finds his release against my fingers. His body falls back, and I catch him against my chest, pumping myself until I cum between his thighs, my chest heaving against his back.
I uncover his mouth, turn him around, and devour him. We kiss all the way to the bed, where we go at each other once again.
The next morning, I open my eyes to find Oliver curled tightly against my right side. His head rests on my shoulder, his good arm thrown across my chest as he sleeps soundly.
He always looks younger when he’s asleep… probably because he isn’t scowling.
I lean down, pressing a gentle kiss right between his eyebrows to smooth out the creases he gets from frowning too much, before carefully slipping out from beneath his weight.
I slide out of bed, pull on a clean black t-shirt, and slip out of the room.
As I walk down the hallway toward the kitchen, I’m met with the rich aroma of fresh coffee.
Ah… yes, please.
Fernanda is standing by the counter wearing a pair of oversized, fancy silk sweatpants, probably stolen from Law.
She is pouring boiling water through a plastic drip filter into two ceramic mugs. She looks up as I walk in and smiles.
“Morning. Look at you,” she says, passing a mug across to me. “You actually look rested for once in your life, Dami.”
I take the mug, letting the heat warm my palms before taking a slow sip. “I am rested, Fer. Extremely.”
Fernanda leans back against the counter, crossing her arms as she studies my face. “I’m happy for you, Damián. Seriously. You deserve the best.”
“He’s the best thing that’s happened to me.”
“Pretty sure it goes both ways.”
I grin. “You think?”
“I know.”
“Morning,” a groggy voice calls from the hallway entrance.
We both turn and see Oliver walking in. His hair is messier than usual, and he’s wearing one of my oversized black t-shirts that hangs halfway down his thighs.
Which, for some reason, he’s been rejecting any of my white shirts lately, so I’ve started buying extra black ones just so he can wear them.
“Do you have an extra cup of coffee?” he asks.
Fernanda pours a third mug and slides it across the counter toward him. “Here you go, Sleeping Beauty. How is the arm feeling this morning? Any localized throbbing or signs of inflammation?”
Oliver takes the mug. “The arm is great. Seriously, you have incredible hands.”
“Make sure to tell that to Tae—”
KNOCK! KNOCK!
We all freeze, our eyes darting toward the front door.
I set my mug down on the counter and lift my hand toward both of them.
“Stay here.” I sprint to the main entryway, retrieve a loaded Glock 19 from the hidden magnetic bracket beneath the entry bureau, and glance at the security monitoring screen…
Standing on the front step outside, wearing a dark hoodie, is Logan.
I store the gun back in its bracket and unlock the thick security door. Logan steps inside, and the second I catch a look at his face, I know whatever news he’s carrying is bad.
So fucking bad…
“What is it?”
“We need to move. Now.”
“Is everything okay?” Oliver asks, walking out of the kitchen with Fernanda right behind him.
Logan shifts his gaze. His gray eyes look directly at my boyfriend. “I’m so sorry, Oliver… Your father was found dead.”
Oliver’s face pales, his hands start to shake.
“What…? What happened?”
“Rafael killed him, and then declared he was taking your place.”
Oh, fuck…