Page 115 of Offside Angle

It’s not the usual groan or curse I’ve heard from him before. This one is higher, more desperate — a broken mix of frustration and pure, unfiltered want. His hips twitch beneath me and I feel him throb hard against my stomach through his underwear.

“Fuck. Shit. Okay! Okay!” he gasps.

I release his finger with a slow drag of my tongue and raise an eyebrow, waiting.

Matteo’s face is flushed deep red, chest rising and falling fast. He looks like he wants to murder me and climb me at the same time. He swallows hard, eyes flicking away for a second before he forces himself to look at me again.

“…Can you touch me?” he asks, barely above a whisper. “Please?”

Something in my chest cracks open at the sight of him.

Matteo Rivera lying beneath me flushed and shaking, his voice barely above a whisper as he asks for what he wants. It hits me harder than I expected.

“Buen chico,” I whisper against his mouth, letting the words brush over his lips. “You asked so well.”

I slide my hand down between us and wrap my fingers around him properly for the first time. The sound that leaves him is broken and beautiful. I stroke him slow, watching every reaction. The way his stomach tightens, the sharp hiss he lets out when I twist my wrist just right, the way his back arches off the bed when I drag my thumb over the head.

I kiss down his chest as I touch him, open-mouthed and unhurried, tasting the salt on his skin. Every little sound he makes goes straight through me. I can feel how close he already is, how much he’s holding back.

Then Matteo does something that makes my chest tighten all over again.

Without a word, he pushes his own boxers down his hips, kicking them off the rest of the way. He doesn’t look at me when he does it, still a little shy about taking that step himself.

I don’t comment.

Instead, I reward him.

I wrap my hand around him again, firmer this time, and stroke him with more intent while I kiss lower — down his stomach, following the trail of dark hair. My free hand slides up his thigh, gripping gently as I take my time exploring him with my mouth and hand.

Matteo’s breathing turns ragged. His fingers find my hair and tighten.

“That’s it, mi cielo,” I murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

“Santi…” Matteo groans, his hips shifting restlessly beneath me.

I lift my head to look at him, my hand moving slowly over his cock. “Yes, guapo?”

“More… please.”

I have to close my eyes for a second. The way he says it nearly undoes me. When I open them again, I keep my voice low. “More…” I repeat, brushing my lips against the inside of his thigh. “You want my mouth, or more?”

Matteo lets out a shaky breath. “Yes.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

He huffs, a little of that familiar cockiness creeping back in even as his face burns. “Girls do it…” he mutters. “Can’t be that bad.”

I snort softly against his skin. “You want me to fuck you, Matteo?” I ask, looking straight up at him. “Is that what you want?”

Matteo’s entire face goes scarlet. He turns his head to the side, refusing to look at me, and I can feel how hard he’s blushing even from here. “Please don’t make me say it…” he huffs, embarrassed.

I press a slow kiss to his hip, then another, softer one right above where my hand is stroking him. “You don’t have to say it out loud if you’re not ready,” I murmur. “But I need to know what you want, cariño. So I can give it to you properly.”

My hand slows, giving him space to breathe. “Tell me what you need.”

Instead of answering, Matteo squirms beneath me, pressing closer like he’s trying to hide in the contact.

I rest my hand on his hip to still him gently. “Alright… how about this,” I say. “We take it slow. You tell me to stop whenever you want. Deal?”