Chapter 134: I Came, I Saw, I Passed Out (18+)
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I was struggling to think clearly, especially with Damien’s hands holding me close, guiding my every desperate move. It was as if he understood what my body craved, even while my mind was still trying to catch up.
The party’s music felt like it was coming from another realm...distant and muffled, while everything between us focused on the heat of his body, the way his erection pressed against his pants, and the electric friction building between us as I moved against him without a hint of shame left.
I kept my face buried in the curve of his neck, partly because I couldn’t bear to meet his gaze and partly because his warm, faintly spicy cologne was intoxicating, making my mind spin even more than the alcohol had.
"Oh god," I murmured shakily against his throat, my voice cracking as another slow, grind sent shivers up my spine.
My hands gripped his shoulders, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt hard enough to wrinkle it, but I couldn’t let go. Every time I pressed forward, the thick outline of him rubbed against my own throbbing cock through our clothes, sending waves of pleasure crashing over me.
It was overwhelming and yet not enough all at once, a delicious torture that left my thighs trembling on either side of his lap.
I wanted more...
Damien chuckled low, the sound brushing my lips like velvet. "Look at you, sunshine... so needy already. You’re shaking in my arms, and we haven’t even taken our clothes off yet."
His fingers flexed on my hips, pulling me down harder with each movement, controlling the pace just enough to make me whimper. "Just like that. Keep moving. Show me how much you want this."
I wanted to argue, to snap something sarcastic about how this was all his fault for being so infuriatingly attractive, but my words turned into a broken moan as the pressure built within me.
My shorts were becoming damp where I was leaking, the slick fabric making everything feel more intense, more embarrassing, and even more addictive.
But my body didn’t care about any of that. It only knew the rhythm we’d found, the way his clothed cock pulsed hot against mine with each roll of my hips, the sensual drag sending my toes curling and my breath coming in short, needy gasps.
Damien’s hands slid under my shirt again, his warm, slightly rough palms caressing my bare skin, tracing down my spine before gripping my waist to guide me into a deeper, slower rhythm that made stars explode behind my closed eyelids.
"You feel amazing like this," he whispered, his voice rough with desire yet still teasing in a way that always unraveled me. "Moving on me like you’ve been dreaming about it. Have you, Oliver? Thought about this before?"
Heat rushed to my face, embarrassment mixing with pleasure, but I couldn’t deny it...not when my hips were moving faster now, chasing that perfect spot without even trying.
"S-shut up... ah—don’t say stuff like that," I managed, though it came out more like a plea than any real protest.
My fingers tightened around his shoulders as tension coiled tighter in my core, every nerve singing with rising ecstasy. I could feel myself getting closer, the pressure building with every desperate thrust, the wetness in my shorts growing as I leaked even more freely.
"D–Damien...I’m gonna–"
Damien’s breath hitched near my ear, and he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss just below it, whispering, "Come for me, sunshine. Just let go, I’ve got you."
That was all it took. His filthy encouragement, the relentless friction, and the warmth of his embrace pushed me over the edge.
Pleasure crashed into me like a wave, ripping a choked moan from my throat as I came untouched except for the grinding.
My body trembled violently against him, waves of intense release pulsing through me and soaking my shorts as I continued to rock against him, riding out every last spark until my vision blurred and my limbs felt like jelly.
Damien’s arms were still loosely wrapped around my waist when the room suddenly tilted. I frowned at the ceiling, which had been perfectly steady until now and had no good reason to act up. "...Damien?"
"Huh?"
"You—" I blinked at him, trying to focus like someone deciphering a foreign language they barely understand. "...you have two heads."
Damien chuckled, the sound echoing beautifully in my ear from wherever my head had ended up...the warm vibration was oddly comforting in that moment. "I only have one."
"No," I insisted seriously. "There are definitely two. I can see them."
"I’ll need to get that checked out."
I squinted at him, putting in a lot of effort that didn’t seem to be paying off. "I think," I muttered, poking at his chest with a finger that may or may not have been aimed correctly, "one of them is lying."
"Oh really?"
"The left one."
"My left or yours?"
I stared at him, working through the geometry of it all, then I sighed in defeat. "I forgot."
His shoulders shook with quiet laughter. "I figured."
I wanted to keep glaring at him. I had very legitimate reasons for that glare, reasons that involved tears, dessert negotiations, and a bit of a pillow fight. But my eyelids seemed to have different plans and were refusing to cooperate.
My head found its way to his shoulder, like it was coming home, and the storm brewing in my chest since I walked into the party finally — finally... started to calm down.
"...Still mad?" he asked, his voice quiet and almost careful.
"Mhm."
"You forgave me."
"...Still mad."
"I see."
"...A little bit. Just residual mad."
His hand moved slowly across my back, gentle and steady, and my thoughts began to drift apart, spreading into something soft and dreamy.
"But...I do forgiv–"
The sentence never got finished.
Everything went dark.
[3rd Person Pov]
Damien Lockwood
Damien felt Oliver go completely slack against him, the sudden shift from presence to absence as if he’d just stopped and wandered off somewhere else. He blinked once, a quiet laugh escaping him, genuine and low as he carefully supported Oliver, one hand resting possessively on his hip while the other brushed damp strands of hair away from Oliver’s flushed face.
Did Oliver just come and pass out?
He hadn’t expected Oliver to pass out so dramatically, but then again, the mix of drinks, tears, and an intense orgasm could do that to anyone, especially someone as tightly wound as his sunshine.
"...Well," he murmured, adjusting his hold so Oliver wouldn’t slide away. "I suppose that’s one way to end an argument."
Oliver didn’t react. His breathing had settled into that deep, even rhythm of someone who had surrendered completely to unconsciousness.
Damien watched him for a moment.
"You really are impossible."
He said it like you do when you’re not truly criticizing, as if some words just change meaning over time.
He was still achingly hard, his cock throbbing under the fabric where Oliver had been grinding just moments ago, but it didn’t bother him.
It would take way more than a heated dry-humping session to push him over the edge. Right now, looking after Oliver was his priority.
With precise movements, he guided Oliver toward the bed and laid him down gently on the mattress. Oliver let out a small protest, his eyebrows knitting together like the pillow had insulted him.
"...Comfortable..."
"You’ll be more comfortable in a moment."
He brushed Oliver’s messy hair away from his forehead, his fingers lingering there for a second longer than necessary, a moment that felt significant but was left unspoken.
Even in sleep, Oliver was expressive in a way most people weren’t when awake. His cheeks still had a hint of color from the night, and his lips were just slightly pursed, as if he had things to say but was being kept from saying them by sleep.
"...Cute," Damien said, mostly to the room, to himself.
Oliver responded with a mumble that didn’t make sense.
"I’ll take that as a thank you."
He stepped to the window and quickly made a call.
"It’s me. Bring the car to the front entrance." A pause. "I’ll send you my location." His butler didn’t ask questions he never did, which was part of his value.
"I’ll be there shortly."
After hanging up, he returned to the bed, finding Oliver somehow turned halfway onto his stomach in the mere thirty seconds he’d been away.
Damien looked at him. "How do you move this much while asleep?"
No answer. He didn’t particularly need one.
He slipped one arm beneath Oliver’s knees and another around his back, lifting him with a grace that would have either reassured or annoyed Oliver if he were awake.
Oliver’s head fell against his shoulder, fingers instinctively clutching the fabric of Damien’s shirt.
That tiny, involuntary gesture did something to Damien’s chest he couldn’t quite name but felt deeply.
"I’ve got you," he whispered, even though Oliver couldn’t hear him. The weight of him felt right, natural in a way that surprised him.