Page 130 of Damián

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I arrive at my apartment carrying Oliver, only now, his legs are locked tight around my waist, his arms clinging to my shoulders, and he is rapidly entering the drug’s second phase… the absolute euphoria and the extreme enhancement of physical sensations.

Mierda…

He is desperately kissing, sucking, and licking at my neck, clearly losing whatever control he had left. And it feels so amazing, it’s killing me.

“You feel so good,” Oliver moans against my skin. “Fuck you taste so good. Touch me, Dami.”

I walk us toward my bedroom, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth ache as he moans and grinds his hips against my stomach.

“You are high, nene,” I remind him for the tenth time.

“Please…”

“No. I’ll touch you tomorrow.” I carry him into the bedroom and place him down on my mattress. “Stay here. I’ll get you some water.”

I retreat to the kitchen, or more like I run the hell out of that sex-dream that’s currently on my bed.

I turn on the sink and splash cold water over my face, trying to cool down. I look down and glare at my own painful erection.

“Don’t get any ideas… You’re not coming out today.”

Feeling calmer, I grab the biggest water bottle I own, fill it up, and walk back into my room, only to find the most terrifyingly beautiful sight imaginable.

Oliver is completely naked on my bed.

Dios, why do you torture me this much?

Oliver is half tangled on my sheets, with his eyes closed, and his head thrown back, as he moves his hands, tracing lines all over his body.

My immediate, overwhelming instinct is to back the hell out, lock the door, and run for my life.

But I can’t…

He is too high, too stubborn, and very uncoordinated… If I leave him alone in this state, he’ll end up hurting himself. So I have to stay here and watch him.

Damn it… I curse as I stare at the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, moving in the sexiest way humanly possible… begging for me to touch him.

Mierda, mierda, mierda…

I take off my jacket and throw it on top of him to cover his body. Then I sit down on the edge of the bed and hold out the water bottle.

“No clothes, it’s so warm,” he says, as he tries to wiggle away from my jacket.

“Come on, nene. Have a bit of water.”

Oliver shakes his head, his hazy eyes locking onto mine. “I don’t want water. I want you.”

“Drink the water first,” I bargain, “and then we’ll talk about the rest.”

“God, you’re so handsome. Have I told you you are handsome?” he asks, the drug completely smashing his inner filter. “I want to lick your abs. Can I lick them? And your thighs too. Fuck… I want to slide my tongue from the base of your coc—”

“Oliver!” I cut him off, trying not to groan. “Drink some water… please.”

“Fine…” He takes the bottle and tilts his head back to drink.

A single drop of water escapes his lips, tracing a path down his chin, sliding down his throat, and pooling on his bare chest. It takes a terrifying amount of willpower to stop myself from lunging forward and licking it right off his skin.