Page 136 of Offside Angle

Matteo pulls off just enough to speak. “Am I doing it wrong?”

I laugh, breathless, and brush my thumb over his cheek. “No,” I say. “You’re doing it very right. Keep going. And this time, look at me while you do it.”

He looks up at me through his lashes as he sinks back down, and this time he’s more deliberate. He experiments — trying different amounts of pressure with his tongue, changing the angle of his head, taking me a little deeper before pulling back to breathe. Every small adjustment is written across his face in real time: the slight furrow of concentration, the way his eyebrows lift when he finds something that makes me react, the soft, surprised sound he makes when I twitch against his tongue.

It’s the most endearing and devastating thing I’ve ever seen.

“That’s it,” I manage. My fingers tighten in his hair without meaning to.

He hums around me, curious, and the vibration shoots straight up my spine. My hips jerk forward before I can stop them. Matteo’s eyes go wide again, but he doesn’t pull off. If anything, he steadies himself with his hands on my thighs and tries to take it.

I have to close my eyes for a second.

This was supposed to be a lesson.

Instead I’m the one coming undone while he kneels there looking up at me like he’s figuring out a new play on the ice.

When I open my eyes again, Matteo has found a rhythm. It’s still a little unpolished, still clearly new, but he’s watching my face the whole time, adjusting based on every sound I make. When he hollows his cheeks and takes me deeper than before, a broken groan leaves me before I can swallow it.

“Matteo—” My voice cracks. “You’re— shit—”

He pulls off just long enough to smirk up at me, lips shiny and a little swollen. “You’re supposed to be teaching me,” he says, breathless and cocky. “But it kind of seems like I’m doing fine.”

I let out a strained laugh and tug lightly at his hair. “Don’t get smart,” I warn. “Keep going. And this time, use your hand too.”

Matteo’s eyes darken with pride, and he immediately does as he’s told — wrapping his fingers around the base of my cock while he takes me back into his mouth.

My head falls back against the wall with a dull thud.

I’m not going to last much longer if he keeps this up.

Matteo suddenly pulls off me with a wet sound, and the loss of heat makes me frown and let out a low, frustrated groan. I look down at him, breathing hard.

He’s looking up at me with flushed cheeks and shiny lips, and then he just blurts it out. “Fuck my mouth.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “No,” I say immediately, even though my cock is still aching. “You’re not ready.”

Matteo’s expression shifts into something dangerously effective. This 6'1" defenseman — all muscle and attitude — actually pouts. Bottom lip pushed out, eyes wide and pleading. “Pleaaase, Santi,” he says, drawing the word out. “I wanna see how it feels.”

My knees actually go weak for a second.

I have to lock them to stay upright. The combination of his wrecked voice, the request, and that ridiculous pout is unfair. I close my eyes and drag in a slow breath through my nose, trying to hold on to the last threads of my control.

When I open them again, Matteo is still looking up at me, waiting. Hopeful. A little nervous under the bravado.

I cup his jaw and tilt his face up toward me. “You’re going to be the death of me,” I mutter. “If we do this, you tap my thigh the second it’s too much. No pride. No pushing through. Understood?”

Matteo’s eyes light up. “Understood.”

I brush my thumb over his bottom lip. “Open,” I say. “And keep your eyes on me.”

I keep one hand under Matteo’s jaw, thumb resting against the hinge so I can control exactly how deep he takes me. The other stays in his hair.

“Slow,” I remind him. “I control it. You just take what I give you.”

Matteo nods as best he can and opens his mouth again. I guide myself back between his lips, only giving him the head at first. He immediately tries to take more, eager and a little reckless, but I hold him steady with the hand under his jaw. “Easy,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”

I start with shallow thrusts — just enough for him to feel the weight and the stretch without overwhelming him. Every time he starts to push forward on his own, I tighten my grip and keep him where I want him. His eyes stay locked on mine, wide and dark, and the soft, muffled sounds he makes around me make me lose my mind.