Page 20 of Rebound My Alpha
He gasps, his head dropping back against the brick. He opens for me effortlessly, and I curl my fingers to find his prostate.
"Jealous of that guy?" he taunts, though his breath is hitching. "He was boring. You're boring too, you're just bigger."
His voice breaks on the last word as I twist my fingers. His hips jerk.
"Keep talking," I growl. I free my cock, the cool alley air hitting me for a split second before I pull my fingers out. He whines at the loss. I hook his thigh over my hip, bracing him between my body and the wall, and push in.
One long stroke. Bottoming out.
We both freeze.
Fuck, it feels right. His body clenches around me, tight and perfect. The banter dies.
Then Benji digs his heel into my ass. "Move."
I slam into him. The brick scrapes against his back through his shirt, but his hands are free now, his nails biting through my jacket into my shoulders. I fuck up into him hard, pinning him to the wall.
Footsteps echo at the far end of the alley. Someone cutting through. I clap my hand over Benji's mouth on instinct, pressing him flush against the wall. His eyes go wide and dark above my fingers. He lets out a muffled moan against my palm, his slick heat clenching around my dick. The footsteps pass.
I don't move my hand. Benji's tongue drags hot across my palm, and I nearly lose my fucking mind.
I slide my hand to his jaw, tilting his face up. "You think some random gets to stand near you while my bite's on your neck?"
"That's not possessive, that's just rude," he pants. "I was having a nice conversation."
"You were performing." I drive into him on the word. "You wanted me here."
"Fuck you."
"You are. And you're loving it."
He opens his mouth to fire back, but I change the angle, hitting his prostate dead-on. Whatever he was going to say turns into a loud, wet groan that echoes off the brick.
Then, I slow down.
I shift from hard, punishing strokes to a slow, deep grind. I press him into the wall with my hips, rolling in thorough circles. Making him feel the drag. The stretch. The head of my cock dragging over his prostate on every single pass.
Benji's eyes snap to mine. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"Waiting."
"For what?" He rolls his hips, trying to force the pace, his heel digging harder into my ass. I don't let him. I keep it agonizingly slow.
"For you to stop performing."
"I'm not—harder, Knox, come on—"
"No." I pull almost all the way out, then push back in, slow and deep. He arches, his nails digging into my shoulders, a frustrated whine tearing out of his throat. "Give me something real. Stop putting on a show."
He fights it. He calls me an asshole, demands faster, harder, more. I just keep grinding. Slow. Deep. Taking him apart piece by piece, watching his face for the exact second his armor cracks.
It takes a minute. He’s stubborn as hell. But the pace works. His insults get shorter. His breathing gets ragged. His fingers stop clawing and start holding on.
His head drops back against the brick. His eyes flutter shut, and the sound that rips out of him has no snark, no brat, no words at all. Just raw, helpless need.
I reward him. My hips snap forward, hard and fast. He cries out, his legs locking around my waist. I fuck him exactly how he wants it, wrapping my hand around his slick, leaking cock.
The pressure builds low and heavy in my groin. My knot starts to swell, stretching him wider with every thrust.
