Page 49 of Damián

Partly because it’s humiliating, but mostly because I am eighty percent sure the only reason he’s so touchy with me… why he kisses me the way he does, so hot and rough, is because he thinks I sleep around just as much as he does.

He is so polite and respectful that if he knew the truth, he’d likely feel conflicted just holding my hand.

So call me greedy, a liar, or whatever the hell you want, but I’m not ready to give his touches and kisses up.

At least not yet.

I swallow my needs and force my expression into a glare.

“No, I don’t want to hear your moans. We have to finish here.”

“The data is transferring.” He points at the screen. “And it looks like we still have forty-five minutes to kill.”

“So you’re saying we should spend that time watching you out-moan porn?”

“That actually sounds awesome.” He laughs, then his light brown eyes drop from the screen as he scans my body and lingers on the gap of my fluffy bathrobe. “I was thinking something a bit more… entertaining.”

“I am super curious to know what Damián Soto finds entertaining.”

“Lately? A lot of things. Things I never thought I would find entertaining.”

“Like what?”

“Your games, your questions… your expressions.” Damián lifts his hand; the tips of his fingers brush lightly against my bare calf, and I gasp. “Like the face you made right now when I touched you.”

“I jumped because your hand is cold,” I lie, and he laughs.

“My body is never cold, Oliver.”

“That’s what you think.”

“Really?” Damián’s hand slides up my calf and hooks behind my knee, pulling me closer. Once I am within reach, his other arm curls around my waist, hauling me in until I’m sitting between his thighs, my legs over his, both hanging on each side of his hips, and our chests pressed together.

“Is my body cold, Oliver?”

Holy crap…

“…No.” I try to move away, but Damián’s hands lock around my lower back, anchoring me right where I am.

I put my palms against his shoulders and push back to at least create some space between us, but Damián dips his head and reaches the nape of my neck.

“Want to play twenty questions?” he asks, his breath fanning across my collarbone, making my fingers fist in the lapels of his robe. “Loser gets a dare.”

“Didn’t you say question games were lame?” I manage to gasp out.

“Turns out they’re not,” he murmurs, while tracing the curve of my neck with his nose. The contact makes my skin shiver. “Not when it’s you answering them.”

“What… what do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he whispers, before kissing my skin.

“I—”

KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Room service!” a man’s voice calls from the hallway.

“Shit! I forgot about the food.” I panic as I try to untangle myself from his body. “I’ll get it.”