Page 66 of Mutual Desire

Nabokov’s hand slipped around the back of Damien’s neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. The leather seat beneath them creaked as Damien shifted, pressing into Nabokov as if trying to crawl under his skin. The kiss was a storm, relentless and consuming, with neither man willing to back down.

Damien’s hands roamed—gripping the back of Nabokov’s neck, curling into his shirt, desperate for something solid to anchor himself to. Nabokov kissed him like he had all the time in the world, slow and deliberate one moment, then fierce and demanding the next, like he was savoring every second of Damien’s surrender.

When Nabokov’s hand slid beneath Damien’s shirt, brushing against bare skin again, Damien gasped into the kiss, his body arching involuntarily into the touch. It was too much and not enough all at once, and Damien felt like he was drowning in the sensation. He tore his mouth away, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

Nabokov’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire as he studied Damien with a calm intensity that made Damien’s skin prickle with heat.

“Do you want me to stop?” Nabokov asked again, his hand still resting on Damien’s bare skin, fingers tracing lazy circles that sent sparks of pleasure skittering down his spine.

Damien shook his head, his breath coming in ragged bursts.“No,” he whispered, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

The faintest smile curved Nabokov’s lips—triumphant, but not unkind. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Damien’s mouth, then another along his jaw, slow and careful, as if savoring the feel of him. Damien let out a soft, involuntary moan, his fingers tightening in Nabokov’s shirt as the billionaire’s lips trailed down the side of his neck.

The tension between them shifted—less frantic, more deliberate, like the slow pull of a tide drawing Damien deeper into dangerous waters. Nabokov’s hand slid lower, fingers tracing the line of Damien’s waistband, teasing but never quite crossing the threshold. The anticipation was maddening, and Damien found himself arching into the touch, silently begging for more.

And then, just as quickly as it began, Nabokov pulled back. Damien let out a frustrated sound, half a whimper, half a growl, and tried to drag him back down—but Nabokov held firm, his hand cupping Damien’s face with surprising gentleness.

“You need to make a choice, Damien,” Nabokov murmured, his thumb brushing over Damien’s bottom lip. “Stay, and there’s no going back.”

Damien’s heart pounded painfully in his chest, his mind spinning in a thousand directions at once. He knew what was at stake—knew that crossing this line meant stepping into something dangerous, something irreversible. But the thought of walking away felt just as impossible.

“I…” Damien swallowed hard, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I can’t.”

Nabokov’s gaze softened, just a fraction, and for a moment, Damien saw something in his eyes—something vulnerable, something real.“Yes, you can,” Nabokov whispered, his voice low and steady. “You just have to let go.”

Damien exhaled a shaky breath, his resolve crumbling under the weight of the moment. And then, with a soft, broken sound, he leaned in—pressing his forehead to Nabokov’s, his eyes fluttering shut as he let himself fall.

For a moment, they stayed like that—foreheads touching, breaths mingling, suspended in the quiet aftermath of their shared surrender. And in that fragile silence, Damien knew that everything had changed.

With trembling hands, Damien pulled away. He didn’t say goodbye—didn’t dare look back as he opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. Every step away from the carfelt like tearing off a piece of himself, leaving something behind that he would never get back.

And yet, as he walked toward Craig’s building, Damien knew that a part of him was still in that car, tangled up with Nabokov in a way he could never quite escape.

Behind him, the car’s door clicked shut, and the sound echoed through the night like a final, irrevocable decision. And though Damien kept walking, his heart stayed behind—lost somewhere between desire and regret.

TWENTY-ONE

The Confession

Damien woke up in bed alone.

His hand drifted to the other side, hoping to find Craig there. The cold sheets greeted him instead. A sigh escaped his lips, his eyes half-lidded from the restless night. Sleep had toyed with him. Each time he closed his eyes, he was dragged back into the storm of last night’s conversation with Nabokov. He kept waking up, as if convinced it had all been some feverish dream. But it hadn’t been.

It was real. Too real.

He had ended whatever twisted connection he had with Nabokov. At least, that’s what Damien told himself. Nabokov was on a plane to Ireland, gone for ten days—ten blissful days that Damien could use to patch his shattered life back together.

The ache in his body refused to let him stay in bed. He dragged himself into the bathroom, emptying his bladder while his sleep-deprived mind remained a fog. He splashed cold water over his face, hoping to jolt himself out of his exhaustion. The water chilled his skin, but it didn’t reach the heaviness inside him. When he stepped into the kitchen, wearing one of Craig’s t-shirts, he found his boyfriend sitting at the table.

Craig sat hunched over a bowl of cereal, surrounded by scattered sheets of paper. His focus remained glued to his work, completely ignoring Damien’s entrance. Damien stopped in the doorway, unsure whether to speak or retreat.

“Hey,” Damien whispered, voice tentative.

Craig barely looked up. His dispassionate eyes met Damien’s for a fleeting second before returning to his papers. He spooned another bite of cereal into his mouth, chewing slowly, as if Damien weren’t even there.

The cold indifference hit Damien harder than any argument could have. He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay calm. Craig wasn’t usually like this. They rarely fought. If anything, Craig was steady, a rock. But now? There was something... unfamiliar in his detachment.

“How long have you been awake?” Damien asked, his voice soft.

---