Page 51 of Mutual Desire

“And why is that?” Damien asked softly, his voice betraying a dangerous curiosity.

Nabokov’s smirk turned predatory. “Because your body doesn’t belong to me... yet.”

Damien’s heart raced as he held the Russian’s gaze. “And it never will,” he said, his tone soft but unwavering.

Nabokov stepped even closer, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. His lips curled into a ghost of a smile. “Is that a challenge, Damien?”

“Having me in your bed is not a game, Alexander,” Damien said, his voice steady. “I’m not a game.”

For a moment, Nabokov’s eyes softened. “Not once did I ever think you were,” he murmured, his voice gentle but resolute.

Damien dropped his gaze, but Nabokov reached out, lifting his chin with a light touch. Their eyes met again, and Nabokov’s thumb grazed Damien’s lower lip, lingering there. Damien’s breath hitched, his body frozen under the man’s touch. His mind screamed at him to move, to pull away, but he stayed rooted to the spot.

“So...” Nabokov whispered, his gaze flicking down to Damien’s lips. “It’s an island you want?”

Damien’s tongue darted out, wetting the lip Nabokov had just touched, and the Russian’s eyes darkened with intent. Damien swallowed hard, his voice low and rough.

“And you...” Damien whispered. “What do you want?”

A slow, satisfied grin spread across Nabokov’s face. He turned away, picking up his cue stick from the table. “You’ll know when I win.”

Damien let out a small, nervous laugh. “When you win? Is that a joke?”The heavy tension between them lightened, if only slightly. Damien leaned against his cue, smirking. “Did you smoke something before I came here?”

Nabokov chuckled. “Are you going to keep talking? Or are you going to play?”

Damien grinned, the banter easing the knot of tension in his chest. “You’re really that eager for a fourth consecutive ass whopping, huh? I don't want an island anymore—I want a country this time.”

Nabokov stepped closer, his grin lazy but full of mischief. “Why stop at a country? Wouldn’t you rather have a continent?”

Damien laughed, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But I promise not to abuse my ‘blessed’ pool skills. Ready?”

They started the fourth and final round. But this time, something shifted. Damien could feel it almost immediately—Nabokov’s demeanor changed, his focus razor-sharp. His shots were no longer playful or casual; they were precise, each one landing with ruthless efficiency. Damien struggled to keep up, his confidence slipping as the game progressed.

By the time Nabokov sank the final shot, Damien knew without a doubt: the Russian had been playing him all along.

Nabokov straightened, spreading his arms as if expecting applause. “No congratulations?”

Damien shook his head with a knowing smile. “You threw the first three games, didn’t you?”

Nabokov’s grin was wicked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Do you really think so little of your own skills?”

Damien chuckled, rolling his eyes. “You played me well, I’ll give you that.”

Nabokov shrugged, stepping closer. “I simply needed to fine-tune my technique.”

Damien crossed his arms, leaning casually against the table. “Alright, I lost. So, what’s your request?”

Nabokov didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied Damien with a slow, deliberate gaze, the intensity in his eyes making Damien’s heart pound.

“I hope you’re not about to ask me for an island,” Damien teased, trying to dispel the tension.

“It would only be fair,” Nabokov replied smoothly, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Damien huffed a laugh. “Well, I can pull up Google Maps and show you an island, but that’s about all I’ve got.”

Nabokov’s low chuckle sent a shiver down Damien’s spine. “Don’t worry. I don’t need anything extravagant.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a low murmur. “I just need one small thing from you.”

Damien’s pulse quickened as Nabokov reached out, his hand closing over the cue stick in Damien’s grasp. He set the stick aside, moving in until there was barely an inch between them. Damien’s breath hitched as Nabokov’s hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing once more over his bottom lip.

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