Page 113 of Offside Angle

He doesn’t fight the hold. If anything, his fingers tighten around mine. His throat works as he swallows, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough and quiet. “It feels safe.”

The words hit me so hard I have to close my eyes for a second.

I’ve wanted him for so long. Years. I’ve wanted his mouth, his body, his laugh, the way he looks at me when he forgets to be careful. But this? This is what I wanted most. Matteo beneath me, choosing to stay even when he’s scared out of his mind. Trusting me enough to say it out loud. Letting himself feel safe in a place he never expected to find it.

I open my eyes and look down at him. My grip on his hands stays gentle, but I don’t let go.

“Matteo…” I lean down and press my forehead to his, breathing him in. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

He tilts his chin up and kisses me again, slower this time, like he’s trying to say everything he’s still too afraid to put into sentences.

I kiss him back, pouring everything I’ve been holding onto for ten years into it, and keep our fingers laced together above his head.

I pull back just enough to look at him properly. “Do you want to stop?”

Matteo shakes his head immediately. “No… please don’t stop.”

Something in my chest loosens at the quiet desperation in his voice. I loosen my grip on his wrists, and he takes the invitation right away. He wiggles his arms free and slides his hands down my arms, then over my sides. His palms are warm, a little rough from years of hockey, and I feel goosebumps rise across my skin wherever he touches.

When his fingers hook into the waistband of my sweats and dip underneath, I don’t stop him. I just lean down and press my mouth to the side of his neck, kissing the warm skin there as he carefully, slowly, pushes the fabric lower on my hips.

He’s not rushing this time.

There’s no frantic energy, no panic hiding under the surface like before. He’s taking his time, exploring, and fuck if that doesn’t do something to me.

I kiss just below his ear and let the words slip out in Spanish, soft and warm against his skin. “Así… despacio, mi cielo. Me gusta cómo me tocas.”

Matteo groans, his fingers tightening on my hips like the sound of my voice in Spanish went straight through him. I feel the way his body reacts beneath mine — the way he arches just slightly, the way his breathing changes.

I’ve noticed it before, but it hits me again now, clear as day. He gets so fucking responsive when I speak to him in Spanish.

I smile against his neck and keep my voice low, letting the words drag out slowly as I kiss down toward his collarbone. “Buen chico… sigue así.”

Another groan rumbles out of him, and his hands slide further under my waistband, bolder now, but still not rushing. I can feel how hard he is against me, how much he’s holding himself back even as he touches me.

I lift my head to look at him, my thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “Tell me how it feels,” I murmur, switching back to English for a moment. “When I talk to you like that.”

Matteo lets out a frustrated little sound that’s almost a whine. “Shut up and take these off.”

I chuckle, even as my cock twitches at the desperation in his voice. “No.”

He goes still for a second. I can see him fighting with himself, see the way his throat works as he takes a deep breath. “I love it when you speak Spanish to me,” he admits, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Because it’s something only we have.”

The words hit me harder than I expect. I lean down and kiss him, before murmuring against his lips in Spanish. “You’re so good for me… so brave.”

I feel him shiver beneath me. Only then do I finally push my sweats the rest of the way down my hips and kick them off. The second they’re gone, Matteo doesn’t waste a second. His hand slips between us and wraps around me through my boxers, firm and eager.

A sharp groan rips out of me before I can stop it. My jaw tightens as pleasure sparks hot and sudden up my spine. “Slow down, guapo,” I hiss. My hand comes down to wrap around his wrist, holding him still.

I don’t actually want him to slow down. Not really. I want to let him touch me however he wants. But I know him. I know how fast his mind can turn on him if things move too quickly. I want him to feel every second of this. I want him to stay here with me instead of disappearing into his head.

I loosen my grip on his wrist just slightly and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Slow,” I murmur again, softer this time. “I want to feel you. All of you. Can you do that for me, cariño?”

Matteo’s fingers flex around me through the thin fabric of my boxers, frustrated and eager, but he holds still. “Yeah,” he says. “I can do that.”

I smile against his mouth, unable to help myself. “Good boy.”