Page 50 of Damián

“You can’t go out there looking like this.”

“Like what?” I turn and see my reflection in the full-body mirror on the door, and, ignoring the fact that we look unbelievably intimate, my robe is tied, my freaking Twilight hair could use a cut, but it is okay, and I have nothing on my face.

“I look fine.”

Before I can move my legs to stand, Damián’s arm tightens around my waist. He hauls me up and carries me forward, lowering me until my back hits the floor. Then he cages me beneath him in a missionary position, my legs open, wrapped around his hips.

Then he leans down and kisses me.

I gasp at the sudden, delicious feel of his touch, and the second my lips part, his tongue slips inside my mouth and makes me see stars. Damián kisses exactly the way he is: consuming, deep, and so damn sweet it makes my head spin.

“The room service…” I breathe against his mouth.

“With the moans they’re hearing right now, I’m pretty sure they expect to wait a bit.” He presses his body against mine, and I gasp as I feel the distinct, thick ridge of his erection through his underwear.

Oh, my God…

Pleasure floods my veins. I arch my back to get closer, squeezing my eyes shut as my mind goes completely blank. I am panting, my entire world narrowing down to the intoxicating taste of Damián, the rough scrape of his stubble against my jaw, his hard-on pressing against me whenever his hips grind against mine, and the absurd fake moaning echoing from the TV in the bedroom.

Damn, I want him… I want him so bad.

Then, just as abruptly as he started, Damián moves back. He grabs my hips, pulling me up to my feet, and the fucker smiles.

He smiles!

“Perfect. Now that’s the face.”

I stumble over to the mirror, my legs shaking, and stare at my reflection. Wow…I can barely recognize myself. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes are glossy, and my lips are swollen.

I look exactly as Damián intended… wrecked.

“You could have just… asked me to fake it,” I breathe, glaring at his smug reflection in the mirror.

Damián chuckles. “Please… you can’t fake that face, nene.”

KNOCK! KNOCK!

The knock comes again, louder this time. “Room service!”

My legs are literally shaking like Bambi on ice as I walk out of the bathroom and cross the suite. I pull the front door open just wide enough for the waiter to see my face, and I catch a glimpse of Silvio leaning against the opposite wall.

The poor waiter takes one look at me, his eyes darting past my shoulder to the clothes scattered all over the place, and he blushes a deeper red than I am.

Interesting… Who knew that was possible?

“Your… your food, sir,” he stutters.

“Yes. Food. Thanks,” I say as I take the food cart from his grasp and shove two hundred-dollar bills into his hand. “Keep it.”

I slam the door shut, absolutely mortified, and turn to glare at Damián, who has collapsed onto the couch and is currently rolling with laughter.

I grab a throw pillow and launch it at his head, but the quick bastard easily catches it. “Stop laughing. That was horrifying.”

“Not from where I’m sitting. That was amazing.”

“Well, next time, you’ll get to open the door with a fuck-face while I enjoy the show.”

“Mmmm… I don’t know.” He tilts his head and grins. “Do you think you have what it takes to make me have a fuck-face?”