Page 110 of Offside Angle

I nod once, doing my best to hold onto whatever dignity I have left. “Okay,” I manage. “I’m listening.”

Santi sets the bags down on the counter without taking his eyes off me. The apartment is quiet. Just the low hum of the fridge and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.

He steps back into my space, close enough that I have to tilt my head down a little to meet his eyes.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because we’re not rushing this, cariño. Not tonight.”

“Wanna eat first?” Santi asks.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, even though my stomach is too twisted up to actually feel hungry.

Santi sets everything out on the coffee table while I drop onto the couch. He sits beside me, close but not touching, and hands me a container. I open it and try to eat like a normal person. I really do.

But my right knee starts bouncing almost immediately.

Santi doesn’t say anything at first. He just reaches over and rests his hand on my thigh. It works for maybe three seconds.

Then my left knee starts going too.

“Oh, fuck this,” I groan, dropping the container onto the coffee table with a dull thud. I don’t even think about it. I just turn toward him, grab the front of his shirt, and lean in to press my mouth against the side of his neck.

The second my lips touch his skin, something in me settles and sparks at the same time.

Santi’s hand slides up from my thigh to my waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of my hoodie. He lets me stay there, breathing against his neck, my heart hammering so hard I’m sure he can feel it.

I kiss him again, a little higher this time, right under his jaw. My hands are still fisted in his shirt like I’m afraid he’s going to disappear if I let go.

Santi’s voice comes out low and rough against my ear.

“Easy, cariño,” he murmurs. “We’ve got time.”

But right now, with my mouth on his skin and his hand on my waist, time is the last thing I care about.

After a minute, his hand slides up my back and into my hair. Then he speaks against my ear. “Sit back a little, cariño.”

I pull away just enough to look at him, breathing harder than I should be from kissing his neck. Santi’s eyes are dark, but his expression is steady.

“Take your hoodie off,” he says. “Slowly.”

My hands shake a little as I reach for the hem, but I do it. I pull it over my head and drop it somewhere behind me. Santi’s gaze travels slowly over my chest and shoulders, taking in every inch.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Now come here.”

I lean back in, but he stops me with a hand on my chest.

“Not yet,” he says. “I want you to tell me something first.”

I blink at him, confused and way too turned on.

Santi’s thumb strokes slowly over my collarbone.

“Kiss my neck again,” he instructs. “But this time, I want you to tell me what you notice when you do it. What you feel. What I do.”

My face burns, but I nod. I lean in again and press my mouth to the same spot under his jaw. I kiss him there, slower this time, letting my tongue brush over his skin.

Santi exhales through his nose, and I feel the way his hand tightens just slightly on my waist.

“I notice…” I start, “that your skin gets warmer when I stay in one place. And your hand… it grips me harder when I use my tongue.”