Page 54 of Pin My Alpha
It’s not a push. It’s a slow, deep rock forward, a surrender to the feeling. A soft, broken sound tears from his throat.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Declan.”
“I’ve got you.”
His arms are loose around my neck, his hands tangled in my hair. He rides me with a slow, easy rhythm, lifting and sinking until my cock is buried to the root. His ass slides over my thighs, slick running down between us, and I have to clench my jaw against a groan. Every rise is a loss, every drop a homecoming.
He looks different like this. Not just because he’s naked and on top of me, though that’s a significant part of it. It’s the absence of tension in his face. His curls are damp against his forehead, his mouth is soft and parted, and for once he’s just chasing a feeling instead of trying to outrun it. He tips his head back, and the long, vulnerable line of his throat makes my teeth ache.
“This feels…” he starts, then stops, sinking down again. “Fuck. It’s too good.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah.” His fingers dig into my shoulders. “It’s unfair. Nobody should feel this full.”
The growl that rips out of me is barely human. I shift my hips, meeting his next downward slide, and a low moan vibrates through his chest and into mine.
“Right there,” he breathes against my neck. “Don’t stop doing that.”
So I don’t. The motion makes our thighs brush, a deliberate press of skin on skin. His pace quickens, not frantic, just honest. He wants this.
“You’re taking all of me,” I murmur against his jaw. “Every fucking inch. Knew you could.”
“Keep going.”
“Not planning on stopping.”
His scent floods the room, sweet and dark, turning everything in my head to smoke. My knot begins to swell at the base of mycock, a low, insistent pressure. I watch his face when he feels it—the tiny hitch in his breath, the way his lashes flutter.
“Oh,” he whispers. “You’re close.”
“Getting there.”
“Let me—” He tries to speed up, to push us both over the edge.
I catch his hips, holding him still.
He blinks down at me, confused. “What?”
“I want you to come first.”
His expression immediately hardens. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can.” My thumbs press into the creases where his thighs meet his hips. “That’s not why. I want to feel you fall apart around me before I do. Let me have that.”
The fight in his eyes flickers. He just looks at me for a long moment, his breath unsteady.
“Okay,” he finally whispers.
I kiss him, then shift us carefully until he’s on his back in the middle of the nest, blankets tangling around our legs. I settle over him, my body covering his, but I keep my weight on my forearms. The space between our chests feels charged. He looks so small beneath me like this, swallowed by the nest and my shadow, and the sight of it—him, pinned and wanting and mine—makes my control fray at the edges.
His hands slide from my shoulders down my back, his palms flat and warm. “You,” he says, his voice quiet. “Just you. Slow.”
“Slow,” I agree.
I start to move, and each deep, deliberate thrust drags a wrecked sound out of him. Shay’s legs lock around my waist, opening for me, slick everywhere between us. The involuntary clench of his body when I bottom out makes my arms shake with the effort of holding back. He’s so tight, so hot, so impossibly small around me.
“Fuck,” he gasps out, his head falling back. “You’re so big.”
