Page 50 of Pin My Alpha
He stares at me for a long beat, then sets the towel down on the bed. The little embroidered BYRNE’S logo ends up facedown on one of my shirts. His hands drop to the hem of the Henley he’s wearing.
“Come here,” he says.
I go still. “Shay—”
“Not because I owe you.” His voice is quiet, but it’s got that sharp edge, the one that dares me to get it wrong. “Because I want you to. So don’t make it weird.”
I take another step, then another, until I’m standing right in front of him. “Okay.”
He lets out a short, frustrated breath. “Okay? That’s all?”
“No.” I can feel the stupid, helpless smile on my own face. “It’s just all I can say without sounding like a complete fool.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Harsh.”
“True.”
I reach for him slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull back. My fingers just brush his wrist, right over the quick thrum of his pulse. He doesn’t move. Instead, he turns his hand and threads his fingers through mine.
It’s such a small thing. My breath catches. His palm is warm, a little damp, and the faint callus on his index finger—from gripping a pen too tight while he updates one of hisspreadsheets, probably—presses into my skin. It’s a tiny, perfect detail that makes him unbearably real.
“You still here?” I ask, my voice rough.
“Yes.”
“Can I kiss you?”
He rolls his eyes, but I smell the sweet spike in his scent. “Declan, if you’re going to ask for permission every single—”
“Just say yes.”
His face softens. “Yes. Kiss me.”
I don’t grab him. I just tip his chin up and kiss him the way I’ve wanted to for weeks. Slow. His lips part on a quiet sigh, and he tastes like the coffee from this morning. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat that goes straight through me. I let him deepen it, his free hand coming up to flatten against my chest before sliding around to the back of my neck. His fingers tangle in my hair, and the kiss turns warmer, needier, but it stays gentle.
When I pull back, his eyes are dark and his breathing is unsteady.
“That was almost disgustingly sweet,” he says.
I don’t answer. My thumb finds the little scar bisecting his eyebrow. The skin is a faint, raised line, so familiar I could trace it in the dark.
“You’re a menace,” I tell him, my voice low.
His gaze drops to my chest. “That’s a lot.”
“You started it.”
“I didn’t start anything. You’re the one looking at me like you want to—” He trails off, shaking his head.
“I do want to.”
That quiets him. I kiss the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then the soft skin just under his ear. Shay’s breath hitches when I press my mouth to his neck, right over the healed bite mark.I don’t use my teeth. I just linger there, feeling the faint tremor that runs through him.
His fingers tighten in my hair. “Fuck.”
“You okay?”
