Page 25 of Pin My Alpha
His hand comes up slow, giving me more than enough time to pull back. It settles against the side of my neck, his thumb brushing the tender skin right over his bite. I stop breathing.
“Shay,” he says.
I hate how quiet he sounds. Hate that he says my name like it’s something real, not just a line item on a spreadsheet.
“Don’t,” I mutter.
His thumb goes still. “Don’t what?”
“Do the voice.”
“What voice?”
“That one.” I glare up at him. “The reasonable, emotionally mature one. It’s creepy.”
A low laugh rumbles in his chest. Completely unfair. Then his fingers curl lightly around the back of my neck. Not holding me, just…there. “You started this,” he says.
“And you want to be in charge.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
The word just lands in the space between us. I had three different sarcastic comebacks ready to go, and he just erases them. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn it into another challenge. He just stays there, big and solid and hard under my hand, waiting.
Which is worse. So much worse.
Because now I actually have to do something.
I hook two fingers under the waistband of his jeans and tug. “Help me out here.”
Declan’s gaze drops to my mouth. “Bossy.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“No.” His hands go to his belt. “Not even close.”
The buckle gives with a soft metallic click. Then the button, the zip. Declan pushes his jeans and boxers down just enough, and his cock springs free, thick and hard, the head already flushed a deep, angry red. A pearl of precome glistens at the slit.
I’ve had my hands on him. I know the weight of him, the way that vein jumps when he’s about to come. But seeing him from down here, aimed at my mouth, is a completely different thing. My own body remembers, my hole clenching so tight I have to bite the inside of my cheek. He’s just… big. Not in the exaggerated way guys talk. Just factually, annoyingly large. Thick enough that my fingers won’t meet when I wrap my hand around the base. My mouth is already watering.
Declan is watching my face, of course he is. Catching every flicker of it.
“Still think you’re in charge?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
I look up at him. “Trying to compensate for something, Byrne?”
A slow, lazy smile spreads across his mouth. “You seemed to like it last time.”
“I had complaints.”
“You also came three times,” he says, not like a jab, just a fact. “But go on.”
God, I hate him.
I lean in and drag my tongue from the base of his cock all the way to the tip, catching that bead of salt and bitter. His breath catches. It’s not a loud sound, just a hitch low in his chest, but it’s enough. I roll my tongue over the crown, tracing the ridge, and his hips give a tiny, helpless twitch.
“Fuck,” he murmurs.
