Page 133 of Damián

But right now, feeling Oliver tremble beneath me makes me want to give him everything I am, with everything I have.

Anything he asks is his to take, and to keep… if he wants.

And it should terrify me or make me want to run away, but in reality, it makes me feel calm and at peace.

I map every inch of his beautiful skin with my hands, my lips, and my tongue. I kiss his jaw, his eyelids, the soft corner of his mouth, and worship every place I can reach, letting him feel exactly how taken I am with him.

“That’s it, nene,” I press my forehead against his, breathing the same air, entirely focused on making him feel safe, grounded, and adored. “You are doing great.”

I capture his lips in a kiss that is agonizingly slow and tender. I pour every ounce of my restraint into it. The intense, emotional weight of it completely overwhelms his Molly-infused brain, as he starts to cry.

“I love you, Damián…God, I love you,” he breathes against my mouth, and my heart stops.

I feel like I am out of breath and surrounded by it at the same time. I know it’s the MDMA talking… I know the drug forces the brain into a state of extreme empathy and artificial euphoria, and that it is incredibly common for users to declare their love even to people they’ve just met. I know saying something like this when you are on Molly doesn’t mean that you feel it… I know.

But looking down at his beautiful face, while holding his trembling hand against my chest, a selfish, desperate part of me completely breaks, and I can’t help but wish…

God, I wish you could feel the same way while sober.

“I know, nene,” I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Just hold onto me. I’ve got you.”

And I hold him there, skin to skin, letting the hours pass away as I open my heart and let him in.

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.