Page 165 of Offside Angle

“Still.” I catch the edge of his collarbone lightly with my teeth and feel the shift of his body beneath mine. “You’re very distracting when you lie there looking like this.”

His hands move higher along my thighs. “Then maybe you should do something about it instead of staring.”

I pull back enough to grin down at him. “Oh, I’m going to. I’m just deciding where to start.”

Apparently Santi has opinions about how long that decision should take.

One moment I’m over him, and the next he shifts his weight, catches me before I can react, and puts me flat on my back in the sand with the towel bunched underneath my shoulders.

I laugh as he settles over me, knees bracketing my hips and hands planted beside my head, completely at ease with the reversal.

That used to bother me. Not him specifically. The feeling of it. Someone else deciding where I went, how I moved, what happened next. There was a time when being underneath anyone made some stupid part of my brain immediately start insisting I should be doing something, proving something, taking control back before anyone noticed I’d given it away.

Now Santi gets over me and all that noise shuts the fuck up.

The change still catches me sometimes. There’s no panic anymore, no instinctive urge to flip us back over or turn it into a joke before I have to think too hard about what I like. I just sink into the towel beneath me and let the weight of him settle over my hips, because I know exactly who’s there.

And because, apparently, I really fucking like it.

“Better,” Santi murmurs. His gaze travels over me with absolutely no attempt at subtlety before coming back to my face. “I was getting tired of you being in charge.”

I laugh, even as heat curls pleasantly low in my stomach. “You love when I’m in charge.”

“I love when you think you’re in charge,” he corrects.

He lowers himself until his mouth hovers just above mine, close enough that I can feel his breath when he speaks. “There’s a difference.”

I look up at him and grin.

There probably is.

I’m starting to think I like that too.

His hips press down against me and I have to bite back a sound. The sun is warm on my skin, the ocean is right there, and Santi is watching me with endless patience and absolutely no intention of letting me escape this easily.

I reach up and hook my fingers in the waistband of his swimsuit, tugging lightly. “Then prove it,” I challenge, though my voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.

Santi’s mouth curves into that devastating little smirk. “Gladly.”

He kisses me with enough hunger to make it obvious this has been on his mind all day. It starts deep and unhurried, but doesn’t stay that way for long. His hips roll down against mine and I groan into his mouth, sliding my hands up his back to pull him closer. Every shift of his body makes me want more than we can possibly get away with out here.

He bites at my lower lip, then drags his mouth down my throat, and I have to tip my head back with a sharp breath.

“Santi—”

“I know,” he murmurs against my skin, though he doesn’t stop. One of his hands slides down between us, dipping his fingers just under the waistband of my swimsuit, and the sound I make is embarrassingly needy.

That’s what finally makes him pause.

Santi lifts his head. He glances toward the water, then back at me, clearly doing the same math I am. “Villa,” he says.

I nod immediately. “Villa. Now.”

He huffs a strained laugh and pushes himself up, offering me a hand. I take it and let him pull me to my feet. We’re both visibly affected, and the walk back up the path to the villa is going to be interesting, but I don’t care. I’d rather get caught looking wrecked than actually finish this on a public-ish beach.

Santi grabs the towel with one hand and my wrist with the other, already steering me toward the house.

“Come on, cariño,” he says. “Before I change my mind and risk the indecency charge.”