Page 52 of Offside Angle

Suddenly, I remember what I told Damian earlier. Kissing Santi made me feel alive.

The memory hits hard and fast, and before I can stop myself, my attention drops to his mouth. I catch myself almost immediately, but it’s too late. I’ve already noticed too much.

His eyes are nearly black beneath the eyeliner, dark and sharp against his face. His hair is long enough that I could probably get a good grip on it if I wanted to, and the thought makes my stomach twist. Then there’s his mouth, still moving as he talks, one corner curving slightly because he knows exactly what I’m doing and doesn’t seem remotely bothered by it.

“You can keep lying to yourself if you want,” he continues, “but I’m not going to pretend nothing happened. Not after that look you gave me. Not after you kissed me back. I’m not going to let you run from this forever.”

I keep staring at him, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears. I should tell him to leave. I should call Lena back. I should do literally anything except look at his mouth again.

“Kiss me.”

Santi’s smirk deepens as he leans in just slightly, teasing. “You sure about that, cariño?”

I swallow hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I want to test something,” I mutter.

Santi raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What am I, your high school project?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap.

Before I can second-guess myself, I reach out and grab him by the throat, my fingers wrapping around the warm skin there as I yank him down toward me. Our mouths crash together. Santi smiles into the kiss with an infuriating lack of surprise, and the second our lips meet, something inside me detonates.

God, he tastes like freedom.

The kiss is deep and messy and way too fucking good. Santi doesn’t let me lead for long. Even with my hand wrapped around his throat, he takes control almost immediately, tilting his head and kissing me harder, deeper, finally giving me everything he’d been holding back. His tongue slides against mine and I make a sound I don’t even recognize as mine.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My free hand punches into the mattress beside my hip, fingers curling into the sheets in a desperate search for something solid. But I don’t pull away. I can’t. Heat tears through my entire body, rushing down my spine and spreading beneath my skin until every nerve feels awake at once. Goosebumps rise along my arms and the back of my neck, and somehow none of it is enough to make me want this to stop.

Santi kisses me with a confidence that makes my head spin. There’s no hesitation in him, no surprise at how desperately I’m kissing him back, only the quiet certainty that he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. My grip on his throat tightens slightly, enough to feel the steady thrum of his pulse beneath my fingers.

I’m so fucked.

Santi gently breaks the kiss, pulling back enough to study me. His hand stays loosely wrapped around the back of my neck, thumb brushing lightly over my skin. I’m breathing hard, my chest heaving with the same exhaustion I’d expect after a brutal shift on the ice. And I’m rock hard. Painfully so.

Amazing. Just fucking amazing.

How the hell can one man kiss this well? My body has never reacted to anyone this intensely before. Sure, I’ve gotten hard from making out plenty of times, but this is different. My skin is still tingling beneath the goosebumps, every nerve buzzing with leftover electricity, and my entire system feels one bad touch away from short-circuiting.

That has never happened.

Not with anyone.

Not even close.

“No…” I whisper, the word barely making it past my lips.

Santi doesn’t move away. Instead, he brings his thumb up and gently wipes it across my lower lip, soothing the damage even while I’m still coming apart.

“Yes, guapo…” he says quietly.

I shake my head. “No… Santi…”

I don’t even know what I’m saying no to anymore. The kiss? My body betraying every assumption I had about myself? The terrifying realization that I’ve never felt anything this intense before? Maybe I’m rejecting the simple fact that I don’t recognize myself right now, that everything I thought I knew about who I am is cracking wide open and I have no idea how to put it back together.

Santi brings both hands up and cups my face, his palms warm against my skin. His thumbs brush lightly over my cheekbones while he studies me with an expression I can’t quite read. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“Don’t run,” he murmurs against my skin.