Page 110 of Pin My Alpha
“And if you need space,” I add, “you take it. If you want to stay at the apartment with the guys sometimes, you stay. If you want your own account, your own room, your own anything, we talk about it. I don’t get to decide your life for you.”
Shay’s throat moves.
“You really mean that.”
“I do.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “I don’t want my own room.”
“No?”
“No.” His breath warms my mouth. “I want this one.”
My alpha goes so still inside me it’s almost reverent.
Shay kisses me.
Once. Soft.
Then he catches my hand and leads me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed.
“Sit,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “That an order?”
“Obviously.”
I sit.
The nest gives under my weight, blankets and shirts and the old towel carrying both our scents. Shay stands between my knees, looking down at me. His curls are messy from his friends grabbing at him. The scar through his eyebrow pulls when he frowns, and I know that frown by now. It means he’s nervous. It means he’s about to say something that costs him.
“I want you,” he says.
My hands settle on his hips. “You’ve got me.”
“I know.” He takes a breath. “I want this. Not because I’m scared you’ll leave. Not because I need to prove I’m staying. I just…”
He looks at the nest around us.
“I want to be here with you.”
Every part of me softens.
“Tell me what you want,” I say.
His gaze drops to my mouth, lingers on the bow of my lower lip like he’s memorizing how it curves when I say his name. The pulse in my throat jumps under his attention and I feel the exactthree inches of air between that mouth and his. Close enough that his next exhale ghosts warm across my skin. My hands stay locked on his hips, fingers spread wide so the heat of him bleeds straight into my palms. I don’t close the gap. I let the almost-touch sit there, humming between us until my cock throbs in time with my heartbeat.
“I want to ride you.”
The words land low in my gut. I watch the way his tongue touches his upper lip when he says it, the tiny wet flash that makes my mouth go dry.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” A tiny, wicked smile appears. “And I want you to stop looking so smug about it.”
“I’m not smug.”
“You’re smug in your bones.”
