Page 71 of Damián

After every three movies, I crack the door just enough to leave out my empty plates and the silver tray dusted with cocaine.

The staff takes them away and knocks once they’ve left the next meal and a new, clean tray outside the door.

And that’s it.

As long as I stick to that exact routine, stay entirely off my phone, and eventually come out with my father’s business solution, absolutely no one questions what I do here. Well, no one except Rafael.

After what feels like an eternity, I finally finish the list. I plug in the lip balm USB, transfer the files, and eject the drive once I’m sure they’re saved. Then, I trigger a hard factory wipe on the laptop.

I watch the screen go black, the progress bar wiping every single trace of the document, the operating system, and the keystrokes.

I’m officially done.

“Oh, my freaking chihuahuas!” I groan as I stretch my stiff body.

Spending three days on my bathroom floor is not the best for my back.

Ughh… I need a shower and like twenty massages.

I stand up, strip off my clothes, and step into the glass shower, cranking the water as hot as I can physically stand it.

I lean my forehead against the wet tile, letting out a long, exhausted breath as thick steam fills the room.

For the past three days, I was so focused on cross-referencing that list and solving my father’s ledger that I somehow managed to keep that night in his car out of my head. Not gonna lie… It took a lot of effort.

No matter how many times my brain tried to wander back to him, and there were many, I forced myself to focus on the work.

But now, without a single thing left to do, all I can think about is Damián.

My heart does a pathetic little flip as I remember the weight of his hands on my hips when he hauled me onto his lap. He was so sexy and effortlessly strong.

And the kiss…

God, the kiss.

The way his mouth took complete ownership of mine, the way his tongue tasted, and the masculine growl he made in his chest when he came.

So damn hot…

Without thinking, I lift my hand and trail my fingers over my own collarbone, down the center of my chest.

But in my mind, it isn’t my hand.

It’s Damián’s.

I imagine his large, calloused palms scraping gently against my skin. I let out a shaky breath as the hot water beats down on my shoulders.

What would it feel like if we weren’t pretending?

What if we were alone in his apartment and he wanted me as much as I want him now?

My mind spirals, painting a vivid picture.

I imagine Damián pressing me back against the shower glass. I imagine his lips trailing down my jaw, biting gently at my neck, mapping the skin of my chest. I imagine him dropping to his knees, his hands gripping my thighs, telling me to open them for him… his mouth moving lower, and lower…

My eyes snap open as my heart beats like crazy.

Oh my God!