Page 111 of Pin My Alpha
“That’s not how bones work.”
“Then you need less bones.”
I laugh, and Shay climbs into my lap.
There it is.
The choice.
His knees sink into the mattress on either side of my hips. He cups my face, kisses me again, slower this time, and I can taste the nerves in it. His scent sweetens, sandalwood dark and rich, chocolate melting warm under it.
I slide my hands under his shirt and up his back, tracing the line of his spine with my thumbs. The involuntary shiver that rolls through him when I brush the small dip just above his waist makes my own breath hitch. Three inches. Still three inches between our mouths even while we’re breathing the same air. I could close it. I don’t. I let the charge build until my forearms tremble with the effort of holding still.
“Still want this?” I ask against his lips, voice gone gravel-rough.
He pulls back enough to look me in the eye. The scar in his eyebrow catches the low lamplight. “Yes.”
“Say it again.”
“Yes, Declan.”
That’s all I need.
I pull his shirt over his head, take my time with him. Kiss his shoulder. His chest. The mark at his neck, my teeth’s permanent answer to a question neither of us knew how to ask right. I let my mouth hover over the raised scar, close enough that my beard scrapes lightly against it, and feel the way his whole body reacts—hips twitching, breath catching—while I refuse to give him the pressure he wants yet. The cost of that restraint sits heavy behind my ribs, a low throb that matches the ache in my cock.
Shay’s fingers find my hair, tugging lightly. “You’re taking forever.”
“Thought you wanted to savor it.”
“I can savor it faster.”
“Brat.”
“Your brat.”
The words hit low and hard.
I kiss him until he makes that soft sound into my mouth, then work his jeans open. He helps, impatient but smiling, lifting his hips as I pull them down with his underwear. Slick already glistens between his thighs, scenting the whole nest with him, thick and sweet and unmistakably mine.
“Jesus,” I mutter, eyes fixed on the way a single slow bead of it traces down the inside of his thigh. My hands flex on his bare hips; the skin there is fever-hot under my palms. I track the exact distance between my thumbs and the crease where thigh meets groin—close enough that if I shifted half an inch I’d smear that slick everywhere. I don’t. I let the almost-touch burn.
“I know. It’s deeply inconvenient to be this into you.”
“It’s a burden we’ll bear.”
“Shut up.”
I lay him back for a minute, just long enough to get my mouth on him, to feel him twitch against my tongue and hear his breath go ragged. He comes apart so pretty when he stops trying to control every second of it. Not helpless. Never that.
Trusting.
I slide one finger inside him, slick and tight. Then a second, working him open with patience until he shudders. Shay’s hand catches mine.
“More,” he says.
“You sure?”
He gives me a look. “Declan.”
