Page 67 of Damián

Oliver shatters.

He cries out, his hips jerking wildly against my hand as his climax rips through him, spilling across my knuckles.

I keep pumping my hand, kissing him desperately as I chase my own release, but my grip is slipping. Suddenly, Oliver’s hand covers mine, moving my fingers away and taking me fully into his own hand.

He squeezes softly.

“Harder, nene. Squeeze harder.”

He does, and it makes my vision go completely white.

“Ollie—” I choke out, my head falling back against the headrest.

He leans down, devouring my mouth, swallowing my groans as his hand works me perfectly. So perfect, it takes me less than thirty seconds to finish.

I hit the edge, my back pressing hard against the leather seat as I moan and come harder than I ever have in my life.

Oliver slumps against my chest, burying his face in my neck as he pants for air.

…Usually, this is the moment when I pull away.

The moment when I clean up, zip my pants, and emotionally check out.

But this time I don’t move.

Instead, I wrap both of my arms tightly around Oliver’s waist, pulling his body against mine. I turn my head, burying my face in his hair, and I kiss his neck, his cheek, and his temple.

I keep pressing soft kisses all over his face while we ride out the high, holding him as tightly as I possibly can until our heartbeats finally slow down.

Then Oliver rests his head on my chest and lets out a giggle.

A sound that, who the hell knows why, but it feels way better than the orgasm I just had.

‘I wasn’t talking about him…’

Maldición.

Finni was right… I am absolutely, completely screwed.

CHAPTER 8

OLIVER

It’s been just over three days since Damián took me to the parking lot, the night he slipped me the last part of the target list. It took a little longer than I anticipated, but I’ve finally gathered all the intel they need from both lists.

Now, I’m officially ready for a bender.

Well, a fake one, anyway.

After two years of scrambling to find excuses to be alone long enough to gather intel and prep encrypted files for the agencies, I’ve got this routine down to an absolute science. As long as I don’t overdo it, pulling the ‘Oliver is on a wild drug bender’ card gets the guards off my back and works every single time.

First, I ask Silvio or any other snitch to get me a quarter-ounce of coke. Then, I tell Martin to let the kitchen know I will be expecting my meals delivered to my bedroom door at specific times.

But the most important part of all: I ask my father to give me one of his business problems so I can use my “inspiration” time to fix it.

I learned early on that if I do that, even Elijah will make sure no one bothers me until I’m out of my room.

I pull out my phone and text Zara.