Page 29 of Pin My Alpha
A frustrated noise gets caught in my throat.
His laugh is a low, soft sound. “There he is. So desperate to give it up, but you want to pretend you’re still calling the shots.”
I pull back, panting, a retort ready on my tongue.
His hand just tightens around my cock, a firm, steady pressure that steals the words. His thumb makes a slow circle over the head, and he watches my face while he does it. “You were saying?”
I glare at his thigh, trying to focus on anything but the slow, deliberate movement of his hand. But I’m falling apart and he knows it. My hips are rocking into his fist, my mouth open and wet.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs again.
“I’m— ah —” I lose the sentence when he picks up his pace, stroking me faster.
“No snappy comeback this time? Just my good boy, letting me take care of him.”
The praise sinks into me like a brand, and I moan around him, hollowing my cheeks, sucking hard. His control finally frays. His hips give a short, sharp jerk forward, and he groans my name like a curse.
I hum against him, a low, vibrating sound of victory, and he swears, choked and wrecked. His fingers pull at my hair, his other hand moving faster on my cock. My whole body is coiled, wound so tight I feel like a spring about to snap. I need to come,and I need him to stay. The two thoughts are tangled up, a knot of panic in my chest.
“Come for me,” he says, voice raw. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
And that’s it. The wire snaps.
My orgasm hits like a shockwave, a hot, shuddering rush that makes my whole body clench. My cock pulses in his hand, spurting slick and come over his fingers, and I choke on a sob around him, one hand clutching his thigh to keep myself upright.
A low, sharp groan rumbles through his chest. “Fuck, Shay. I’m coming.”
He starts to pull out.
My hands clamp onto his hips before I even know I’m moving. Pure instinct.
Mine.
He freezes. For a split second, I see it in his eyes—shock, then something darker, hotter. Then his hand fists in my hair, holding me in place, and he comes with a rough shout that echoes in the quiet bar. He pulses in my throat, hot and thick, and I swallow, eyes squeezed shut, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his thighs.
He gasps my name, and it sounds like it’s been torn out of him.
The bar goes quiet. There’s only the sound of our ragged breathing.
I don’t move. I’m kneeling, jeans undone, his slick and my own cooling on my skin. His cock is softening against my tongue. His hand is still threaded in my hair, not holding me anymore, just resting there.
A thought drifts into the quiet.
Safe.
The word is a violation.
I recoil, scrambling back so fast my shoulder cracks against the underside of the bar. “Fuck.”
Declan’s instantly crouching. “Shay, are you—”
“I’m fine.” It comes out too loud, too sharp.
He freezes, his hand hovering in the air between us.
I snatch the bar towel off the floor. I rub it hard across my mouth, once, twice, like I can scrub the taste of him away. Like I can wipe off the praise, the way I held him here, the fact that I came apart in his hand because he told me I was good.
The bar is too quiet.
