Page 53 of Pin My Alpha
When I finally climb up over him, Shay’s eyes drag down my body and stop on my cock.
His mouth parts.
“Still excessive,” he says, but his voice is breathy.
“You seemed to like excessive before.”
“That was different. I was proving a point.”
“And now?”
His gaze comes back to mine. There’s no performance there. Just want. His throat works on a swallow, and I can’t look away. “Now I want you.”
I brace my arms on either side of his head, caging him in. He’s so much smaller beneath me like this, my body blocking out the rest of the room, and the way he looks up at me—not scared, just hungry—makes my blood run hot.
He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. It’s hungry now. His tongue pushes into my mouth, and he nips my lower lip hard enough to make me grunt.
“There,” he says against my lips. “That’s better.”
“Brat.”
He gives me a sharp, possessive smile that goes straight through me. I kiss him again, then shift us until I’m sitting up against the headboard, pillows propped behind my back.
He looks at me, his expression lost. “What are you—?”
“Come here.” I shift, pulling him by the hand until he’s straddling my hips. His knees settle on the mattress on either side of me, and I just hold his waist, my thumbs pressing into the sharp points of his hipbones. The size of my hands on him is obscene.
He takes my hand.
He doesn’t look at my cock, not at first. He just looks at me, his own breath unsteady. Then he reaches down, his fingers warm when they close around mine, and together we guide the head of my cock to his entrance. I feel how much bigger I am against him, the blunt pressure against where he’s slick and small and waiting.
He lets out a shaky breath and braces his hands on my shoulders. There’s no challenge in his eyes now, no sharp remark on his tongue. He just starts to lower himself, slow and deliberate. The first inch of me slides inside, and his whole body goes taut.
“Okay?” I ask, my voice rough.
He gives a short, sharp nod, his eyes fluttering shut. He sinks another inch, then another. The heat of him is staggering, so tight I can feel the texture of him, the involuntary clench and give of his body opening for me.
“Christ, you feel that?” I grit out. “How much of me you’re taking?”
“Yeah.” The word is a puff of air. “All of it. Eventually.”
He keeps going, his face a mask of concentration, breathing through the stretch. I watch his jaw tighten, feel the fine tremor that starts in his thighs and works its way up his body. When he’s taken about half of me, he stops, his hips hovering.
“Look at me,” I say.
His eyes open. They’re dark, his pupils blown wide.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”
A flush creeps up his neck. His body gives a reflexive squeeze around me that almost undoes me. He presses his forehead to my shoulder, hiding his face like he can’t stand for me to see it.
“Don’t,” he whispers into my skin.
I just rub his back, a slow circle. “Just breathe. I’m right here.”
He takes a breath, then another, and finally sinks the rest of the way down. My cock is buried to the root, and he stays there, completely still, forehead resting against mine. We’re just breathing. I can feel the frantic beat of his heart against my own ribs, the impossible, perfect tightness of him holding me.
Then he moves.
