Page 43 of Match My Alpha
"Off," I say, tugging at his shirt.
He pulls it over his head. I take the opportunity to shove him sideways and climb on top of him. His back hits the mattress and he looks up at me—hair messed up, chest bare, his palms landing heavy on my thighs. His expression shifts from surprise to a dark, wrecked kind of hunger.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi."
I pull my own shirt off and toss it over my shoulder. Callum's fingers slide up my thighs to my hips, tracing my waist. He looksat me like I'm something he didn't know he was allowed to ask for.
"You're staring," I tell him.
"Yeah." He doesn't apologize. His thumbs trace circles on my hip bones, his eyes tracking the movement.
"Good," I say. I roll my hips down against him.
The friction through our denim drags a groan out of both of us. Getting the jeans off takes longer than it should. He tries to help with mine, pulls the wrong way, and I accidentally kick him. He retaliates by grabbing my ankle and pressing his lips to the inside of it, which is entirely unfair because it makes me shiver and forget what I was doing. His jeans are harder—he's hard, and the denim doesn't want to cooperate. I finally get them off and shove them off the side of the bed.
Skin to skin. I straddle him again, settling onto his hips. His cock presses against me, thick and hot. I can feel every inch of it sliding against my slick, and my body clenches around nothing, desperate for what comes next. His thumbs press into the inside of my thighs.
I reach back and wrap my hand around his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath. I smile down at him, because that sound belongs to me.
"You're so fucked right now," I tell him. My voice is low, teasing, coming from a version of myself I've been building since the night I showed up at his door and chose not to run.
"Am I?" he rasps.
"Mm-hm." I position him against me, the broad head of his cock pressing right where I'm soaked and open. "You deleted your app. You gave me a key. You let me name a plant."
I sink down. Slow, deliberate. Taking him in one long, steady slide that stretches me open and fills me up perfectly. I close my eyes as the fullness hits. "You're stuck with me."
His grip tightens on my hips hard enough to leave bruises. The sound he makes is half-groan, half-prayer. I sit there for a second, all the way down, letting the stretch settle deep inside me.
Then I move.
I roll my hips experimentally, find an angle that makes his breath hitch, and do it again just to watch his jaw tighten. I'm smiling, and he knows I'm smiling. He thrusts up to meet me, the collision making me gasp, and then laugh because his face looks absolutely wrecked.
"You think you're in charge up there?" he asks, his voice cracked and messy.
"I know I'm in charge up here."
"Cocky."
"Literally, yeah." I grind down, clenching around him. His head drops back against the pillows. I watch his throat work as he swallows. Making Callum Hayes lose his composure under me is better than anything I could have ever imagined.
He retaliates. His hips snap up—sharp, deep, hitting the exact spot inside me that makes my vision blur. The smug expression drops right off my face, replaced by a loud, breathless moan.
"There it is," he says, looking up at me with something filthy and competitive in his eyes. "That's my favorite sound you make."
"I make lots of sounds."
"That one's the best. The one where you stop pretending you're running this and your body just—" He thrusts up again, same angle. I grab his shoulders as the sound rips out of me again. He looks so fucking pleased with himself.
"Shut up."
"Make me."
I lean down and kiss him. He thrusts up hard, and my moan gets lost in his mouth. His hand slides between us, wrappingaround my cock. I break the kiss, gasping against his cheek. His grip, his cock deep inside me, his stupid smug face—it's all too much at once, and my thoughts white out.
"You look incredible up there," he murmurs, the teasing edge gone, leaving something raw behind. "Every time you do that with your hips—fuck, Milo."
