Page 22 of Damián

“I can’t,” I smirk. “No gag reflex.”

Oliver looks like he wants to strangle me, but there’s no time; we can hear the footsteps thudding down the hallway.

“Then kiss my neck,” he says abruptly.

“Are you cursing at me? Is that some type of drug-lord way to say ‘kiss my ass’?”

“No, idiot. I literally mean kiss my neck. They’ll think we came here to hook up,” he explains, leaning his head back, offering his delicious neck to me.

That… is actually genius.

Usually, I would feel bad touching someone out of convenience, but with the sexual partners Oliver has had, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind… hell, he probably wouldn’t even feel it.

That, plus this man is breathtakingly stunning… and well, who am I to deny his amazing plan?

“Come here,” I say and close the distance between us, pulling him against me and burying my face in his neck.

I slide my tongue over his skin. It is soft, warm, and tastes better than I thought. My mouth closes over the curve of his shoulder, and Oliver moans the most sexual, cock-thickening sound I’ve ever heard.

Is he usually this sensitive, or is he just faking it for the guards outside?

Whatever the case, the sound is so raw it snaps my self-control, and the world melts away. The incoming guards, the party, the mission… it all goes quiet.

I feel as if I have submerged my head underwater until the only sound left is my own heartbeat.

Tasting him is pure, electric bliss, enough to make me forget I am in the middle of a damn job. A job that a few minutes ago could’ve gotten me killed.

I grip the fabric of Oliver’s sheer lace shirt with both hands and shove him back against the tile wall. He gasps, his eyes going wide, but I don’t give him a second to recover… I capture his jaw, tilting his head to the side, and crash my mouth down onto his. The kiss is anything but gentle.

It is deep, rough, and almost alive.

Wait, stop… damn it, your morals…

Think of your morals, Damián.

I stop immediately and stare at his lustful eyes. He looks as out of breath as I feel and a little confused about why I stopped.

“The eighty-plus innocents you supposedly killed, how many are alive?” I ask between breaths.

“All of them,” he whispers back, and that’s all I need to take his mouth again.

Only this time, I slide my tongue inside and curl it around his, tasting the fading sweetness of the wine he drank earlier. My hips grind against his, and I expect him to go along with this incredible plan of his and kiss me back.

I mean, his reputation is worse than anyone’s in Manhattan, hell, probably the entire state. I expect him to push back, take control, use his whole body against mine.

But instead, Oliver freezes.

His hands fly up, not to pull me closer, but to cling to my shoulders. His fingers dig into my shirt like he is about to fall from a cliff. He is rigid against me, and I can feel his frantic pulse, hammering in his neck under my palm.

Why is he so nervous?

Could he really be this scared of Rafael?

Still, he clings to my arms, gasping, reacting to my touch, and I feel myself harden. Heat pulsates straight to my groin as I press into Oliver’s hip and grind against him. I deepen the kiss, a low growl building in my chest… and my body craves more.

I want more… I need more.

BANG!