Page 112 of Pin My Alpha
I add a third finger, my thumb rubbing over the place that makes his thighs shake. He curses into the blanket. Tells me I’m annoyingly good at that. I tell him he’s taking me so well, and his whole body goes loose for a second.
Good boy.
The old words mean something different now. They don’t pull him under.
They give him somewhere to rest.
When he’s ready, I shift back against the headboard. My cock is hard and aching between us, already slick with my own precum. Shay reaches down, wraps his hand around me, and his eyes go wide for half a second at the sheer girth filling his grip. The way his fingers can’t quite meet around me sends a fresh pulse of want through my veins.
“You’re still ridiculous,” he says, voice gone husky.
“You’ve handled me before.”
“Barely. There should be a warning label.”
“Want to stop?”
His expression goes soft.
“No.” He lines me up with his hole, the blunt head nudging slick-wet heat. “I want you in me.”
He lowers himself slowly.
The first press of my cock inside him steals the air from both of us. Shay’s mouth opens on a breathy curse, fingers digging into my shoulders. I hold his waist, steady and careful, letting him control every inch while my own thighs tremble with the need to thrust up. The heat of him, the slick drag, the way his body has to stretch around the thickness of me—it’s almost too much. I focus on the exact point where we’re joined, on the fraction of an inch still separating the rest of my shaft from being buried inside him, and breathe through the ache of holding back.
“That okay?” I ask, voice scraped raw.
“Yeah.” His eyes squeeze shut. “Fuck. Yeah. Just give me a second.”
“Take all the time you need.”
He breathes. Adjusts. Then sinks another inch.
Slick coats me, hot and messy, and Shay’s body grips mine like it remembers every part of me. He whimpers when he finally takes me deep, seated in my lap with my cock buried all the way inside him, the stretch so complete his thighs shake against mine.
I tuck my face into his neck, lips hovering over his mark without pressing down.
“Perfect,” I murmur against his skin, letting the word vibrate there.
“Don’t start saying things like that or I’m gonna get emotional.”
“You’re already emotional.”
“I’m sitting on your dick in a nest made out of your laundry. Of course I’m emotional.”
That gets a laugh out of me, but it dies fast when he starts moving.
Slow at first.
A gentle lift, then a careful drop. His body slides over mine, slick and tight, and he exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years. His hands brace on my shoulders, but he isn’t trying to pin me. He isn’t putting on a show.
He’s just here.
With me.
“Ours,” Shay whispers, the word breaking on a shaky inhale as he sinks down again.
I look up.
