CHAPTER 24 #3
“Fine!” I gasp and turn my head back to look at him. “We can do half greens and half protein.”
He grins, letting me go. “Deal.”
Amused, I kiss his cheek and move toward the hallway. The rest of the apartment is incredibly cozy, filled with deep-toned woods, warm lighting, and oversized furniture that practically begs you to sink into it and binge the four seasons of Bridgerton while drinking rosé.
I don’t know how else to explain it… Everything in here feels like him.
From the colors, the textures, the warmth, and the smell, it’s all Damián.
I walk down the hallway and notice it branches into three rooms and a bathroom, so I check the closest one, push the door open, and find a family room.
Shelves cover the walls, packed with board games, books, and stacks of vintage vinyl, while a beautiful acoustic guitar rests on a stand in the corner. Damián follows a half-step behind me. His hands are buried in his pockets, but his gorgeous eyes never leave my face.
I can tell he’s nervous about my opinion, and it’s incredibly cute.
I stroll around the family room, looking at the books, the vinyls, and the pictures. On a small side table, a framed photograph catches my eye. I walk over and pick it up, and see a teen Damián standing shoulder-to-shoulder with an older man who looks just like him.
“Your dad?” I ask, looking back at him.
Damián nods. “That picture was my last birthday with him.”
“I’m so sorry,” I put the picture back in its place. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you.”
It’s okay, amor. It doesn’t hurt the way it did before.” Damián picks up the frame, and the look on his face breaks my heart.
It breaks me because I hate seeing him grieve, but also because I envy what he lost. I wish I could have known a father I loved and admired the way Damián does his.
Instead, I’m left hating what my father was, what he did, and everything he stood for, while still desperately wishing he had loved me enough not to become a monster.
I slide my hand into his, squeezing his fingers. “He’d be proud of the man you are, Damián.”
“And he would’ve loved meeting you.” He squeezes back, kissing my forehead before whispering, “Come look at the next room.”
I let him guide me across the hall, and when he opens the door to the second room, my jaw drops.
Did I die and go to tech heaven?
In the room, there is a dual-monitor setup, liquid-cooled towers, ergonomic chairs, and the coolest CPU ever made. Every single piece of hardware is top-of-the-line and so damn beautiful!
I turn to him, completely baffled. “I thought you hated computers.”
“I do. I barely know how to turn the damn things on. But this room isn’t for me, Ollie. It’s for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. You were going to need a place to plan and research your Ethical Smuggling gigs. So I built it for you.”
“I… don’t even know what to say.”
“You like it?”
“I love it. Thank you so much.” I press a kiss to his lips, then turn around to marvel at my new setup.
I check the cooling system, the extra ports, and a box of gadgets; everything is flawless. The amount of thought and love he poured into this place is overwhelming.
I’m leaning over the desk to check behind a monitor when he steps up behind me, pressing his body against my back and pinning me gently against the edge. His large hands slide around my waist, anchoring me to him.
He buries his face in the crook of my neck and shifts his weight, pressing his erection against my ass, leaving absolutely no doubt about what he wants next.
“Damián…” My breath hitches, my fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “You’re distracting me.”
“You’ve looked long enough,” he licks the nape of my neck, his hands sliding up beneath the hem of my shirt, his thumbs scraping over my ribs. I turn around in his arms, curling my hands behind his neck. “Have I told you you’re the best future hubby in the world?”
“No. And I can’t believe it took this long.”
I lean closer, my lips trailing the curve of his neck. “I am a terrible fiancé.”
“The worst,” he murmurs.
“How can I make it up to you?”
“You can make it up to me after I make love to my fiancé.” He scoops me into his arms and starts walking toward the third room… our bedroom.
I press a kiss to his neck, then bite his earlobe. “Are you making love to me?”
“Yes, but only once,” he promises.
“Only once?”
“Yes, once. Because after that…” Damián fists his fingers in my hair and pulls back. The sharp sting sends a jolt of pleasure straight down my spine. He leans in close, his lips grazing my ear. “I am going to fuck the hell out of you.”
Oh, my God. Yes please!
He crushes his mouth against mine, and I melt against him. Don’t
Our kiss starts romantic, passionate, and worshipful. He holds me like I am the most precious thing in his world, our hands shedding our clothes as if we’re moving through a rehearsed dance, until there is nothing left between us.
He sweeps me to the center of the large bed, following me down to claim his space over me, pinning my wrists to the sheets. His lips trace every inch of my chest and stomach, leaving a trail of shivers that makes my skin come alive.
His tongue follows the lines of my muscles, his teeth grazing over my hip bones, making sure I feel every single ounce of his devotion.
“Wait, Dami…” I gasp. “You were shot.”
“As if that would stop me,” he chuckles and proceeds to take me apart with his mouth and hands, his rough fingers sweeping the curve of my thighs.
Then comes the familiar click of a lube bottle just before he finally presses a finger inside me.
“Ahhh…” A moan escapes me as he begins to move in and out.
He takes his time, adding another finger to slowly open me up, his lips never leaving mine.
“Ready?” he asks against my mouth, and I can only nod.
Slipping his fingers free, he coats himself in more lube and settles between my thighs, leaning down to capture my lips once more.
“I love you, Oliver,” he whispers against my mouth.
“I love you too, Damiá—” I gasp, my voice breaking into a moan as he enters me. The initial stretch is agonizingly good.
He is stretching me completely, and it’s so overwhelming that it steals my breath.
And he is true to his word.
For the first twenty minutes, Damián makes love to me.
He moves slowly and deeply, drowning in every gasp and sigh from my mouth with his lips. His hands slide over me, constantly reassuring me, murmuring words of love and promises of a happy future. By the end, I am a crying mess, unable to think, move, or exist outside of him.
And as we come together, I can’t help but wonder if the reason I never felt like I belonged anywhere, or to anyone, was because life was preparing me for this.
Maybe I was always meant to belong to him.
To someone who would love me so fiercely and so deeply, I wouldn’t have a single piece of myself left to share with the rest of the world.