Page 60 of Mutual Desire

Damien closed his eyes, his body betraying him once more as a traitorous shiver coursed through him. The warmth of Nabokov’s breath on his skin clouded his judgment.

“What’s wrong?” Nabokov whispered silkily, nuzzling into Damien’s neck.

With an agonized grunt, Damien twisted violently away from Nabokov’s embrace, his pulse thundering in his ears. He turned to face the billionaire, his eyes blazing with anger and confusion.“What’s wrong?” Damien repeated, his voice rising. “Are you kidding me right now? Have you forgotten that I’m in a relationship?”

Nabokov didn’t flinch under the fury in Damien’s tone. His expression remained as composed as ever, cool and unwavering.“No,” Nabokov replied softly, as if the fact had never mattered. “How could I forget?”

“Then why are you doing this?” Damien demanded, his voice cracking with frustration. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Nabokov’s answer was a step forward, one that cornered Damien without touching him, his presence alone suffocating.

“What exactly am I doing to you?” Nabokov whispered, his voice a dark temptation.

Damien tried to turn his face away, but Nabokov's hand cupped his cheek with deliberate tenderness. The billionaire leaned in again, his lips barely brushing Damien's.

“Like this?” Nabokov murmured. His hand trailed down Damien’s back, finally settling on his ass with an unapologetic grip. “Things like this?”

Damien groaned involuntarily, his head dropping forward as Nabokov’s mouth trailed soft, devastating kisses down his neck. The slow exploration felt torturous, designed to break him piece by piece.

When Nabokov’s lips finally found Damien’s again, the kiss was slower, deeper, and even more dangerous. There was no urgency, only the weight of inevitability, as if both men had resigned themselves to the moment. Damien’s fingers tangled in Nabokov’s hair, and his other hand pressed against the man’s chest—whether to push him away or pull him closer, Damien didn’t know.

Then Nabokov whispered the words that shattered Damien’s resolve completely.

“Leave him. End it with Craig.”

Damien jerked back, his heart pounding in disbelief. “Wh-What?”

“You heard me.” Nabokov’s tone was maddeningly calm. “Put an end to it.”

A bitter laugh escaped Damien, though there was no humor in it. “You’re insane,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Nabokov’s expression remained indifferent, as if Damien’s reaction was precisely what he expected.

“How is it insane to tell you to leave someone you don’t want anymore?” Nabokov asked, his gray eyes cutting through Damien’s defenses with brutal precision.

Damien’s anger erupted, hot and fierce. “I do want Craig! You think I don’t love him? Just because I—” He faltered, unable to finish the thought.

Nabokov stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Who are you trying to convince, Damien? Me or yourself?”

Damien’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Nabokov tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You weren’t thinking about him when you kissed me back.”

Damien’s stomach twisted. “Shut up.”

Nabokov’s gaze burned into him. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Damien exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his pulse still erratic. “You really are a piece of shit, you know that?”

A slow, humorless smile crossed Nabokov’s lips. “Maybe. But I’ve never cheated on my lovers.”

The words hit Damien like a slap, searing through his guilt and self-loathing. Before he could think, his hand shot up, ready to strike Nabokov across the face. But the billionaire caught his wrist mid-air with alarming speed. His grip was firm—possessive—and Damien found himself locked in place, their faces inches apart, the tension crackling between them.

“Don’t ever try to raise your hand at me again, Damien. I won’t tolerate that level of disrespect,” Nabokov warned, his voice low and dangerous.

Damien glared at him, teeth clenched in defiance. “Let me go.”

Nabokov’s grip tightened for a fraction of a second before easing—loosening just enough to no longer restrain, but still holding Damien’s wrist in his grasp. Instead of retreating, he leaned in, his breath warm against Damien’s lips.

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