Page 135 of Damián

I lift my glass, down the rest of the juice in one gulp, the taste miraculously better now, and set the empty glass on the counter.

I walk toward Damián and step right up behind him. Leaning forward, I press my forehead against his back and slide my arms around his waist. My fingers slip under the hem of his T-shirt, trailing upward across the hard ridges of his abs before pressing flat against his bare stomach.

Damián instantly freezes.

He leans back into my touch and lets out a deep sigh.

“Dami,” I whisper, sliding my hands higher up his chest. “…I’m sober.”

He clicks the stove burner off, turns around within the circle of my arms, and looks down at me. His light brown eyes immediately search mine, scanning my pupils, looking for any lingering trace of the drug. But there is none.

All he’s going to find is desire and need.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

I reach up, tracing his stubble before cupping his cheek. “I’m sure.”

Damián steps fully into my space, walking me backward until my hips hit the edge of the kitchen island, completely caging me in.

I love it when he cages me.

He lowers his face to mine, pressing a series of soft kisses to my cheek, my jaw, my neck, covering me in them, his eyes constantly darting back to check my reaction.

Then, without stopping, he slides his hands down my sides, feeling the curve of my waist through the thin cotton of his oversized shirt, and pulls me against his hard-on.

A shiver shoots straight down my spine, lighting my entire body on fire.

“Nene…” Damián whispers against my skin. “You’re shaking.”

“It’s nerves,” I breathe, my chest rising and falling rapidly. “Not fear.”

He dips his head, pressing a kiss to my shoulder before dragging his tongue up the column of my neck, tasting the exact spot he marked so possessively two weeks ago.

“Ahh…” I moan, my shaking hands clinging to him.

“Ollie,” he murmurs. “We have all the time in the world… we don’t need to rush this.”

My fingers curl into fists, gripping the fabric of his T-shirt as I pull him against me. “I want you, Damián Soto. And I want you right now.”

And thank God, Damián doesn’t argue anymore.

This time, he bends down, hooks his arms under my thighs, and lifts me off the floor. He carries me back into the main bedroom, setting me down gently on the edge of the mattress. Stepping between my parted knees, he grabs the hem of the oversized shirt, pulls it over my head, and tosses it aside.

I am left completely naked, my breath catching as I watch him strip off his own shirt and throw it in the same direction.

Wow…

I lift a trembling hand, tracing the hard lines of his chest. My fingertips tingle as they slide over his warm skin. His muscles are ridiculously defined, tanned, and absolutely mouthwatering.

Damián bends down and kisses me… and for a man who fights terrorists and cartels for a living, his hands move unbelievably gently on me. He traces the lines of my body as if I were something precious.

He kisses my jaw, my neck, and my chest.

And it is too much.

Between the anticipation and the sheer vulnerability of being completely naked and inexperienced while he is so good at this, my brain short-circuits, and I start to shake even harder.

“Relax, babe,” Damián whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.