Page 24 of Damián

I sit down on a leather couch that’s a few meters away from his bed and try to come up with something. “So you’re saying you’re always followed and always under surveillance, right?”

“Every second of the day.”

“How about when you go to the movies, where you do your hobbies, or go to a public restroom?”

“Even then…” Oliver flops onto the bed, looking tired and utterly defeated. “I always have two guards following me everywhere. The only place I can truly be alone is inside my best friend’s house, but they have the outside of her building under surveillance. They’ll see you the moment you show up.”

“Jeez…” I mutter. “Well, I didn’t see anyone following us here, and I can’t hear them outside, either.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because Rafael is a homophobic asshole who vomits at the thought of two men fucking.”

Dios mío con el pinche mamón.

What an absolute dickhead to have that level of disgust over two men fuc—wait… that’s genius.

“You know what, Oliver?” I stand up and walk closer to him. “That’s an excellent idea! We should do that.”

“Vomit?” Oliver asks, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

“What? No.” I burst out laughing. “Fuck. We should fuck.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” I say, waving a hand dismissively. “I meant we should act like we’re sleeping together. We don’t actually do it… just pretend we are fuckbuddies,” I explain, but he still looks horrified.

I step closer and sit next to him.

“Think about it. You can’t keep leaking info forever, and I can’t sneak into your house without getting shot at. But if we’re hooking up? It explains why we’re always together. And since Psycho-Killer wants nothing to do with your sex-friends, we use the hotels and dates to pass the intel.”

“Absolutely not.” He stands up and walks toward the other side of the room. “I can’t do that.”

I narrow my eyes… Is he serious?

The man who has a half-naked army attached to his body in every single one of his pictures is suddenly shy about a fake fuckbuddy?

“Look, I’m not even going to get offended by that reaction.” I close the distance, crowding his space until he’s trapped against his dresser.

I lean toward him… close enough I can feel his breathing.

“I won’t get offended because I felt your pulse in that bathroom, Oliver. I know exactly how much you liked it. Just like I did… But if you really hate the plan we can just waste another six months finding a way to make contact without any suspicion.”

Oliver’s chest rises as his breath quickens, and his eyes, now slightly hooded, move down to look at the floor.

He is a head shorter than me, and I am at least forty pounds bigger than him, and still, he lifts his eyes and holds my gaze.

And believe it or not, he glares at me.

“Fine… we’ll follow your damn plan. But you need to leave now. The longer you stay, the more nervous Rafael will get.”

“Right.” I step back and start unbuttoning my shirt.

Oliver’s eyes open wide. “What are you doing?”

“Selling the narrative, cariño,” I say, undoing the whole shirt to expose my chest. “Weren’t we supposed to be hooking up in the bathroom? I mean, I’m still wet from the pool, and my hair looks like a mess, but it would be weird if I walked out of here looking like I just did my taxes.”

I ruffle my hair, making it look properly sexed-up. Then I reach out toward him.

“You should take off your shirt, too. Or at least untuck it. There’s no way you would be looking this put-together after I’m done with you.”