Page 52 of Pin My Alpha
That gets his attention. He looks back at me, and his fingers find mine, lacing through them. “Okay,” he breathes.
I lean down and kiss the inside of his knee, then his thigh, moving higher until he sucks in a sharp breath when my mouth finally closes over his cock. I take my time, licking along the ridge of the head, feeling him jerk against my tongue.
“Fuck,” he gasps out, his hips twitching. “You’re… good at this.”
A broken laugh escapes him. I take him deeper, and his fingers tangle in my hair, not pushing or pulling, just anchoring himself. He’s close. I can feel the tension coiling in his stomach, the way his thighs start to tremble against my shoulders.
I ease off, and he makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.
I kiss my way down his stomach, over his hip bone, nosing at the crease of his thigh where his scent is strongest. “You’re going to let me taste you now,” I say against his skin, and it’s not quite a question.
“Yes,” he says, the word immediate, desperate. “Please.”
I use my thumbs to spread him, and his hole clenches, slick and ready. I press my mouth there and lick him once, a slow, deliberate slide of my tongue.
Shay chokes on a gasp, his whole body arching into the nest. He tastes like salt and himself, a flavour my body recognizes on a level I don’t understand. I hold his hips steady when he starts to buck—easy, he’s so small under my hands—eating him slowly, learning every sound he makes.
His laugh breaks into a raw sound. “You said you wanted us to choose this.”
“I did.”
“Then let me.”
He goes tense under my mouth. I pull back, keeping my hands gentle on his thighs. He won’t look at me, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Hey,” I say.
“No.” He opens his eyes, and they’re dark and defensive. “I just… I don’t know how to hear that without it getting weird.”
“Okay.”
“There you go again,” he mutters.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He reaches for my face, his thumb brushing my beard. The frustration in his expression softens. “Just… keep telling me what you mean.”
I lean into his hand. “I mean I like doing this for you. I like watching you relax. I don’t want anything back for it.”
“Sounds fake.”
“I know.” I kiss his palm. “But it’s not.”
He watches me for a long moment, then gives a single, sharp nod. “Keep going,” he says.
So I do.
I press one finger into him, slow enough for him to feel every inch. Shay’s breath catches, his knees opening wider. He’s so tight around me, even now, even ready like this.
“You were made for this,” I tell him, the words rough, half to myself. “Made to take me.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, and it’s not defiance, it’s agreement.
I work my finger in and out, then add a second when he starts pushing his hips back onto my hand. His slick coats my knuckles, messy and hot. I stretch him slowly, keeping my mouth on his cock, listening to every wrecked sound he makes.
“More,” Shay says, the word tight.
I slide in a third finger, and he groans, his body taking them, tight at first, then yielding around me like it knows what’s coming next. I watch my hand working him open and feel something feral twist in my chest.
