Page 98 of Offside Angle

“You don’t have to earn me by knowing what to do, Matteo.”

I let out a long, shaky sigh and grab his thighs, pulling him lower on the couch until I can hide my face in the warm curve of his neck. His skin smells like cologne and something that’s just him. I press my mouth there and grumble against it, the words muffled.

“I’m so fucking hard right now.”

Santi’s chest vibrates under me as he chuckles. “Want me to take care of it?”

The offer sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I stay buried against his neck for another second, breathing him in, trying to decide if I’m brave enough to say yes.

“Use your words, cariño.”

I lift my head enough to glare at him. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“A little,” he admits, that slow smile curving his mouth. “But I still need an answer.”

My throat works around the word. It feels bigger than it should.

“Yes.”

Santi’s smile softens immediately. He reaches up and brushes his thumb across my lower lip, eyes dark and steady. “Good. Then stop trying to be impressive and let me.”

I let out a rough breath and drop my forehead against his, nodding once. The fight drains out of my shoulders. For the first time all night I stop trying to figure out the next move, stop trying to perform, stop trying to prove I can handle this the way I think I’m supposed to.

I just let him.

Santi’s hands slide down my sides, and he shifts us carefully until I’m the one lying back against the couch again. This time the panic doesn’t hit as hard. His weight settles between my thighs and he kisses me slow and deep, giving me time to catch up to the fact that I just handed him the control.

And somehow… it feels okay.

My fingers curl into his hair as his mouth moves lower again, and I close my eyes, breathing hard against the quiet of the apartment.

Santi unbuttons my jeans and looks up at me again. “Up for me, guapo.”

I hesitate for half a moment, but then I lift my hips. He pulls my pants down slowly, kissing up my thighs the whole way, soft open-mouthed presses that make my skin burn. Every touch feels too much and not enough at the same time.

When his fingers hook into the waistband of my boxers I freeze completely.

“Wait,” I say, panting.

Santi looks up at me without pulling away. Instead he leans in and kisses me through the fabric. I groan at the sensation, the heat of his mouth so close but still not quite there.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

I shake my head fast, almost frantic. “No…”

Santi doesn’t make me wait long. He pulls my boxers down just enough to free me, and the second his mouth touches me I lose it. A broken sound rips out of my throat and my head falls back against the couch. He takes it slow but it doesn’t matter. The feeling is overwhelming. The heat, the wet slide of his tongue, the way he seems to know exactly what I need before I do.

“Fuck,” I choke out, tightening my fingers in his hair as my hips twitch without permission.

Santi hums around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine, and I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but feel him and the way he’s completely wrecking every idea I ever had about what this was supposed to feel like.

Every slow drag of Santi’s mouth, every flick of his tongue, every time he takes me deeper makes another broken sound rip out of my throat. The pleasure builds so fast it feels like I’m drowning in it — hot and overwhelming and so much better than anything I’ve ever felt before. My back arches off the couch and I groan loud, shameless, the sound echoing in the apartment.

Santi pulls back just enough to look up at me. He presses a soft kiss to my hip and then starts speaking low and filthy in Spanish. “Tan bueno para mí… mírame, guapo.”

The words hit me and I twitch hard, a full-body shudder running through me, another desperate sound spilling out before I can stop it.

My thighs are shaking. My breathing is ragged. And I can’t stop the noises I’m making, can’t stop the way my hips keep chasing his mouth every time he pulls back even an inch.