Page 132 of Damián

“How did you know? Is it because I suck at… at sucking?”

I hug him tight as I try not to laugh.

“My nene, how can you think you’re bad at it?” I kiss his forehead. “We haven’t done much, and it’s already the best I’ve ever had.”

He glares at me. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, we’ll have all the time in the world for me to prove you wrong. Just not today.”

“Please,” Oliver bursts out sobbing again. He writhes on the sheets, his jaw tensing as he becomes completely overstimulated by the damn Molly.

“My skin feels like it’s on fire. I need you to touch me.”

I check the time.

Damn it… It’s been almost two hours since Ollie was drugged, and if I don’t do anything about it, this could go on for four to five hours more.

“Okay. I’ll touch you… But nothing is going on inside of you.”

Oliver lifts his teary face. “But—”

“Nothing mine, and nothing yours,” I say, locking eyes with him so he knows I am deadly serious. “Absolutely nothing, or I will stop immediately. Do you understand?”

Oliver nods. “I understand.”

I pull my shirt over my head and throw it to the floor. As I shift my weight over him, Oliver immediately reaches for my waist, his clumsy fingers trying to undo the metal button of my jeans. I catch both of his wrists in one hand and pin them gently to the mattress over his head.

“No. These stay on.”

“But I want to see you.”

“I’m a good man, Oliver, but I am not a fucking saint. These stay on.”

I keep both of his hands over his head, and I lower my head to kiss him.

First, I start with his lips, but then I trail his jaw, cheek, and neck. I kiss, lick, and taste every inch of him, from his shoulders down his throat, and over the expanse of his chest.

Oliver’s back arches off the mattress.

“Bite them,” he gasps, and I do exactly what he asks.

I dip my head, flicking my tongue over the tight peak of his nipple before catching it gently between my teeth, biting down softly, yet hard enough to make him gasp.

He lets out a breathless moan, his back arching off the mattress, and I swear I see stars.

I reward that sweet sound with another pass of my tongue over his nipple, and I use my hands to caress his arms and chest.

“Damián,” Oliver gasps, his head falling back. “Feels incredible. More.”

Without stopping the movement of my hand, I continue my descent. I taste the salt on his skin, nibbling and pressing soft, wet kisses over his ribs, across his stomach, and down to the dip of his navel.

I press my bare chest against his, and the sudden friction of skin on skin makes both of us moan.

Fuck… I can barely contain how much I want this man, how much I need him.

Between moans, groans, tears, laughter, and pleas, he is absolutely falling apart at my touch. The chemical high has made him so sensitive that the simple touch of my mouth against his skin almost short-circuits his brain.

I have spent my entire life keeping people at arm’s length, treating intimacy like it’s an extra fun activity to enjoy and never caring to commit…