Page 122 of Offside Angle

“Yeah,” he says, voice rougher now. “Like… wrists. Maybe to the headboard or something. I don’t know. Just… tied.”

Matteo’s ears are bright red now, but he doesn’t back down. He takes a small breath and pushes forward, even as my fingers slowly trace along the edge of the towel at his hip.

“I want…” he starts. “I want you to tie my wrists. To the headboard, maybe. Or just… together. I don’t know exactly how, I just—” He exhales sharply when my fingertips brush lightly over his lower stomach, just above the towel. “I liked the idea of not being able to move. Of you being the one in control.”

I hum softly, dragging my fingers up his side in a slow, feather-light touch. He shivers.

“Keep going,” I murmur.

Matteo swallows hard, but he does.

“I want to feel like I can’t do anything but take whatever you give me,” he says, the words coming faster now, rushed out before he loses his nerve. “And I want you to… talk to me. While you do it.”

My hand slides higher, palm flattening over his ribs as I step in closer. I let my thumb brush over one of his nipples, barely touching, just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Talk to you how?” I ask against his ear.

Matteo’s eyes flutter shut for a second. “Like you did before,” he admits. “In Spanish. Telling me what to do. Praising me when I listen.”

I smile against the side of his neck and press a slow kiss there, letting my hand drift back down to toy with the edge of his towel again — tugging it just slightly, but not enough to let it fall.

“You want to be good for me,” I say, more statement than question.

Matteo nods, breathing uneven. “Yeah.”

I pull back to look at him, my fingers still lightly tracing along the towel.

“And what if I decide to take my time?” I tease. “What if I tie you up and then don’t touch you right away? Just… look at you. Make you wait.”

Matteo’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “I think I’d like that too,” he says.

I let my hand slide around to the small of his back, fingers pressing lightly against warm, damp skin as I pull him in the last inch between us. “Good answer,” I murmur.

I keep my hand on the small of his back as I slowly walk him backwards toward the bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress, I stop. “Take it off.”

Matteo’s eyes flick up to mine for a second, but he doesn’t argue. He reaches down, untucks the towel from around his waist, and lets it drop to the floor. It pools around his feet.

I let my gaze drag over him before I place a hand on his chest and give him a gentle push. “Lie down,” I murmur. “Hands above your head.”

His breathing has already picked up, but he does as he’s told. He shifts back onto the bed and stretches his arms up, fingers loosely curling around the edge of the headboard.

I lean over him just enough to press a kiss to his jaw. “Buen chico,” I whisper against his skin.

Then I straighten up. “Wait here,” I say. “Just like that. Don’t move.”

Matteo’s eyes narrow at me, suspicion and heat flickering across his face.

I turn and walk toward the bathroom, unbuttoning my shirt as I go. I can feel his eyes on me the entire way.

I leave the bathroom door open.

Part of me wants to give him time — time to breathe, time to think, time to change his mind if he needs to. The other part of me just wants to make him wait. To let the anticipation settle under his skin while he lies there naked and exposed, hands above his head, wondering what I’m going to do when I come back.

I turn the shower on and step under the spray, letting the water run over me as I take my time. Every so often I glance toward the open doorway, curious to see if he’s where I left him.

When I finally step out, I don’t rush. I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist before moving to the sink. In the mirror, I can see Matteo — arms stretched above his head, completely naked, waiting. He’s squirming now, hips shifting restlessly against the sheets, his cock already hard and flushed against his stomach.

I smile to myself.