Page 111 of Offside Angle

Santi hums, approving. “Good,” he says. “Again. Different spot this time. Tell me what changes.”

I move lower, kissing along the side of his throat, right where his pulse is beating fast. My lips part and I suck gently, just enough to feel it.

Santi’s head tips back a fraction and a quiet sound slips out of him.

I pull back just enough to speak, breathing against his skin.

“Your head tilts back when I do that,” I say, almost dazed by how much I like being told exactly what to do. “And you make this sound… like you’re trying not to.”

Santi’s fingers slide into my hair again, tugging just enough to make me look at him. “Very good,” he murmurs. “Keep going, mi cielo. I want to hear everything.”

I tug against Santi’s hold on my hair, just enough to angle my head up and finally kiss him properly. His lips are warm and firm, and he lets me lead for a few seconds before he takes over, kissing me slow and deep. My hands slide up his chest without thinking.

Just do it. Get on his lap. He said he wants you to learn him, right? So fucking learn. Don’t be a coward.

I shift forward, swinging one leg over his and settling onto his lap without breaking the kiss. My knees sink into the couch on either side of his thighs. I can feel how hard he already is through his sweats, and the second I roll my hips forward and grind down against him, Santi’s fingers tighten sharply in my hair.

A low, rough groan rumbles out of his chest and straight into my mouth.

I smile against his lips, feeling way too pleased with myself.

Santi pulls back just enough to look at me,his eyes dark and a little blown out. “Again,” he says. “Tell me what just happened.”

My face burns instantly. I swallow, caught between wanting to hide my face in his neck and wanting to keep that cocky little grin on my mouth.

“I…” I start, then huff out a shaky laugh. “I got on your lap. And when I moved against you, you made that sound. Like you weren’t expecting it.”

Santi’s thumb strokes slowly along the side of my neck, patient but clearly waiting for more.

I shift again, just a little, testing, and feel his grip tighten once more. My voice comes out quieter, but there’s still that stubborn, cocky edge to it.

“And you liked it,” I add, meeting his eyes even though my ears are on fire. “You liked me doing that.”

Santi’s mouth curves into a slow, dangerous smile. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I did. Now do it again… and this time, don’t stop until I tell you to.”

I keep rolling my hips against him in slow grinds, chasing the way his breath hitches every time I press down just right. My hands wander — sliding under the hem of his shirt, palms dragging over warm skin, fingers tracing the lines of his stomach and ribs. Every time I find a spot that makes him react, I stay there a little longer. The low sounds he makes, the way his back arches just slightly off the couch, the quiet growl that rumbles in his throat when my thumb brushes over one of his nipples — I’m drinking all of it in.

It should piss me off, being told what to do like this. I’ve spent my whole life being the one in control, the one calling the shots. But right now? It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever felt. I don’t have to guess. I don’t have to perform or worry if I’m doing it wrong. I just have to listen to Santi and everything feels… right.

“Still with me?” Santi asks, his voice thicker than before, rough around the edges.

I nod too fast, too eager.

“Words, cariño.”

“Yeah,” I breathe out, moving against him. “I’m with you.”

“Good.” His hand stays in my hair, grounding me. “Take off my shirt.”

I don’t even hesitate.

My hands move to the hem of his shirt and I start pulling it up, slow enough that my knuckles drag along his sides on purpose. I lift it over his head, and the second it’s off, I toss it somewhere behind the couch without looking. My eyes drag over his chest, his stomach, the warm golden skin I’ve only really seen in pieces before tonight.

I settle my hands on his bare waist and grind down again, slower this time, watching the way his stomach tightens under my touch.

Santi’s eyes are locked on me, dark and patient. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now,” he says. “While you’re touching me like that.”

“I’m thinking you make really nice sounds for someone who acts so smug all the time,” I say, trying to keep some of that cocky edge in my voice.