Page 72 of Pin My Alpha
“Okay,” I say. It’s the only thing I can give him.
I fuck him without praise after that. Without the quiet words that usually make him fall apart. He takes it like he needs the roughness more than he needs air, and I give it to him because I know exactly what he’s doing. If it’s rough, it’s familiar. If it’s ugly, maybe he doesn’t have to believe it mattered.
His body is shaking. He’s close. I can feel him starting to clench around me, can hear the sharp little breaths he’s trying to swallow. The way his hole keeps fluttering around the thickest part of my cock, greedy even while the rest of him stays braced like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Don’t you dare come before me,” he says through his teeth.
Even now. He’s still trying to be in control. A laugh punches out of me, empty of any humor. “You want to make rules now?”
“Fuck you.”
“Already doing that.”
He lets out a sound that’s half sob, half laugh. Then he shoves back against me again, and I lose what’s left of my restraint.
My hand closes on his hip. The other finds the back of his neck, not squeezing, just holding him there as I drive into him. He’s warm and slick and trembling, and I feel the knot start to swell.
“Declan,” Shay gasps.
That does it. My knot catches.
Shay cries out as I push in one last time, locking us together. The stretch of it makes him go rigid, then boneless, his forehead dropping to the wood. I come hard, teeth clenched, my body claiming something my heart has no right to.
He comes a second later, his whole body jerking, his fingers clutching the bar. He says my name again, but there’s no victory in it. Just pain.
And then the fever breaks. Fast.
I’m still inside him. Tied to him. My chest is pressed to his back, my hand at the nape of his neck. And all I can see is the way he’s curled in on himself. The way he isn’t reaching for me.
The way he went still when I got mad.
I close my eyes.
What the fuck are we doing?
Every fear he has was in this room with us tonight, and instead of talking, we fucked straight through the middle of it.
The knot holds us together, awkward and awful. Shay’s breathing is shallow. So is mine. The bar smells like spilled liquor, sweat, sex, and the citrus cleaner Tessa used hours ago.
“Shay,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer.
I pull my hand away from his neck.
He flinches anyway.
That hurts more than anything he could have said.
So I don’t touch him again. We just stay there, locked together, staring in opposite directions while the last of the gold confetti glitters under the lights.
Shay
The knot finally starts to ease, and I hate that my first reaction is relief.
It’s not because I’m hurt. I mean, I am, a little. Declan’s never exactly subtle, and my body’s still clenching around him in these weak, stupid little pulses like it didn’t get the memo that we’re done. But mostly, it’s because being tied to him like this—his chest at my back, his breath on my shoulder, the weight of him everywhere—has become unbearable.
Home.
