Page 117 of Offside Angle

I hum in approval around him and keep going, sucking him deeper as I work my fingers inside him at the same steady pace.

His back arches hard off the bed as he comes with a loud, broken moan that’s so much louder than the last time I had him in my mouth. The sound rips out of him like he can’t hold it back even if he tried.

“Fuck— Santi— I’m— oh my god— I’m coming—”

His voice cracks on the last word. He curses again, whining high in his throat as his toes curl and his hips jerk up against my mouth in short, desperate thrusts. I feel every pulse of him as he spills down my throat, loud and shameless in a way that makes heat coil low in my stomach.

I swallow around him, smirking against his skin, then lick him clean with slow, lazy strokes of my tongue. I keep rubbing that spot inside him with my fingers, just enough to make him twitch and whimper through the aftershocks while I press soft kisses to the inside of his trembling thighs.

I carefully pull my fingers out. I crawl back up over him, kissing my way along his stomach, his chest, his throat, until I reach his mouth. “Such a good boy for me, cariño,” I murmur against his lips.

Matteo throws an arm over his eyes, his face burning red. “Shut up,” he mutters, hoarse and embarrassed, but there’s no real heat behind it.

I smile and gently pull his arm away so I can see him. His cheeks are flushed, his hair messy, and he looks thoroughly wrecked in the best way. I lean down and kiss him, letting him taste himself on my tongue.

When I pull back, I rest my forehead against his. “You did so well,” I whisper.

I press another slow kiss to his jaw, then murmur against his skin, teasing. “Next time,” I say, “I’m fucking your brains out.”

Matteo’s eyes snap open. He lets out a startled laugh and immediately swats at my shoulder, still flushed and breathless.

“Shut up,” he says again, but this time he’s laughing as he says it, the sound warm and genuine. He swats at me once more for good measure. “You’re such an asshole.”

I grin and catch his wrist, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles. “You love it,” I murmur.

Matteo rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he lets it rest against my cheek for a second, brushing over my skin. The fight has completely drained out of him now, leaving behind something softer. He looks at me with that half-lidded, post-orgasm haze and shakes his head. “You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters.

I lean down and kiss him again. “I know.”

I settle beside him, one arm draped loosely over his waist as we both catch our breath.

Matteo stares up at the ceiling for a moment before speaking again. “I still hate Luca, though.”

I let out a laugh, turning my head to look at him. “We’ll work on that lesson later,” I say, amused.

Matteo immediately shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “No. That’s way too advanced for me. I’m not ready.”

We both chuckle at that. Matteo shifts closer without thinking, resting his head against my shoulder.

I press a kiss to the top of his head and let my fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along his side. “Good,” I murmur.

He hums in response, his eyes already starting to drift shut. For a few long minutes, we just lie there in comfortable silence, the only sounds being our breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

Eventually, Matteo speaks again. “…Thank you,” he says. “For not rushing me.”

I tighten my arm around him gently. “Always, cariño.”

The locker room is loud with the usual chaos of intermission, but I feel fucking great.

We’re tied going into the second period, and instead of feeling the usual tight knot of pressure in my chest, I feel loose. Alive. My legs feel fresh, my head is clear, and there’s this stupid, unstoppable grin plastered across my face that I can’t seem to wipe off no matter how hard I try.

Damian is pacing in front of the whiteboard, barking out adjustments with enough intensity to suggest our survival depends on getting them right. His voice is sharp, focused, and more than a little pissed off that we let them tie it up in the first period. Most of the guys are locked in, nodding along, serious.

I’m sitting on the bench with my helmet in my lap, unable to wipe the stupid grin off my face.

Jace drops down beside me, bumping his elbow into my arm. “You look… different,” he says, side-eyeing me with a knowing little smirk. “Whatchu do, lover boy?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say, smug.