Chapter 101: Use Your Words, Oliver (18+)
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I shifted for the tenth time, trying to get comfortable. But, sleep remained stubbornly out of reach.
Beside me, Damien shifted a bit. "You’re thinking too loud."
I groaned. "That’s not a real thing."
"It is when you do it."
I rolled my eyes, though it was wasted in the dark. "Go to sleep."
"You first."
"Damn it."
A quiet chuckle floated from beside me, low and amused. We fell into a few moments of silence, letting it settle into something companionable instead of tense.
Then Damien broke the stillness again. "So what happened today?"
"I... broke up with Melanie earlier."
The silence that followed felt heavy. I waited for him to say something...anything.
Instead, I felt the subtle shift of his body as he moved closer. When I risked a glance over my shoulder, I caught the slight curve of a smile on his lips that he was clearly trying (and failing) to hide.
My face heated instantly. There was no fucking way...
"Are you seriously happy about this?!" I hissed, half-turning toward him.
"I can’t help it." Damien didn’t even bother denying it. His smile deepened, slow and satisfied, those pale blue eyes gleaming in the dark.
This guy...what was i going to do with him?!
"Now I’ve got you all to myself," he murmured against my hair, voice low and rough with contentment.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was sure he could feel it. Heat flooded my face, spreading down my neck and chest. I rolled my eyes even as my stomach flipped wildly.
Why does he keep saying things like that?
When he didn’t feel the same way?
I tried to sound annoyed, but my voice came out quieter than I intended. "W...whatever."
Eventually, the laughter faded, and the teasing in his expression shifted to something gentler, so naturally that I almost missed it.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
The question threw me off. I actually took a moment to think about it, really think, instead of just reaching for some deflecting answer.
"Tired," I admitted.
Damien nodded. "Fair enough."
"Guilty."
Another nod. "Also fair."
I stared at the blanket between us, tracing the pattern with my eyes. "But mostly—" I hesitated. "Relieved."
That word hung in the air.
Damien only chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against my back. His thumb brushed slow, absent circles over my stomach where his hand rested over my shirt, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And the worst part?
I didn’t pull away.
I just lay there, burning with embarrassment and something warmer, deeper, more dangerous, letting him hold me like I belonged there.
Damien’s expression didn’t shift into anything I dreaded... no judgment, no surprise. Just steady, like he understood in that quiet way he’d developed since I opened up about everything with my dad. Somehow, that made the admission easier instead of harder.
"I think I knew for a while," I said, my voice quieter than before. "I just didn’t want to admit it."
Damien watched me carefully. "You cared about her."
"I did."
"But?"
I sighed. "But not in the way she deserved."
The silence that followed felt gentle. Not uncomfortable, just honest, the kind of quiet that settles in after something true has finally been said.
Then Damien shifted closer. Not dramatically, just enough that his shoulder bumped against mine under the blankets, a small contact that landed with more weight than it should’ve.
My throat tightened unexpectedly, and for the first time all day, maybe all week ...the tension I’d been carrying began to ease just a little. Not completely. Life was still messy, my dad was still sick, I was in love with my roommate. The future was still uncertain in ways I didn’t want to count.
But lying there with Damien, listening to him breathe steadily and without guard, made those problems feel a bit less insurmountable than they had just a few hours earlier, when I stood at Melanie’s door with all those knots in my chest.
Eventually, his breathing deepened,
I was trying to calm my racing heart when I felt it, Damien’s hand sliding slowly under the hem of my shirt.
Well there goes my attempts to calm that stupid organ.
His palm was warm against my bare skin, fingers tracing lazy, paths up and down my side. Each slow stroke sent sparks racing through my nerves. I tensed up instantly, every muscle going tight, but I didn’t pull away.
"What... what are you doing?" I asked, my voice embarrassingly shaky.
Damien’s smirk pressed against the back of my neck as he kept stroking me, his touch confident and unhurried.
"Nothing," he murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep and something else.
I stayed silent, breath caught in my throat. His fingers dipped lower, brushing just above the waistband of my sweatpants, then back up along my ribs. The sensation made my skin burn.
When he tried to pull his hand away, I jolted and grabbed his wrist without thinking, pressing it back against my stomach.
He was surprised by my actions, but I shit you not...I was even more surprised than he was.
"What’s this? You want me to keep touching you?" He whispered, that dumb teasing tone practically dripping from his words.
I was as red as a freaking tomato at this point, but I refused to respond. But I did grip his hand even tighter. Damien chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against my neck and sending another shiver through me.
"Use your words, Oliver," he whispered, clearly reveling in my struggle. I buried my burning face deeper into the pillow, mortified.
Did he really want me to say it out loud?!
This was a new kind of torture...
My heart was racing so hard I was certain he could feel it. After what felt like an eternity of embarrassment, I finally muttered, "F–fine... I want you to keep...um, touching me. Okay?"
The words felt foreign as they left my mouth, but the relief flooding my chest when Damien smiled against my skin was undeniable.
"Good boy," he breathed.
I stiffened at his words. I didn’t mean my body, just a... certain part of it.
His hand slipped fully under my shirt again, palm flat against my stomach this time, stroking slowly and possessively.
His fingers explored every inch of skin they could reach, tracing the line of my ribs, brushing over my chest my belly button, teasing along my side. Every touch felt electric. I gasped sharply when his thumb grazed my nipple.
This felt nothing like Melanie.
With her, everything had felt forced and wrong. But with Damien... every brush of his fingers sparked something inside me. I felt safe, wanted...alive even.
My body was reacting so strongly it was embarrassing, heat pooling low in my stomach, my cock already half-hard against the fabric of my sweatpants.
Damien’s breathing grew heavier against my neck. He pressed his body closer, spooning me tighter, and I could feel the hard line of his arousal against my ass. Just the realization made my face burn even hotter.
Goddamn! Was he...was he turned on by this too?
Could it be that he swung that way too?
He placed a slow, open-mouthed kiss on the back of my neck, then another on my shoulder, his lips lingering while his hand continued its gentle exploration.
"Is this okay, Oliver?" I murmured against my skin.
Fuck yeah...
I unconsciously gripped his forearm, fingers digging into the muscle like I was afraid he’d stop. I didn’t want him to stop.
My breath came out in shaky little gasps as Damien’s fingers kept moving, slow and confident, as if he had all the time in the world to learn every inch of me.
The line between "just friends" or "just roommates" and something more had never felt thinner.