Page 28 of Pin My Alpha
He notices. Of course he does.
His hand stills in my hair, making me stop. I look up, panting.
His gaze drops to my crotch.
I follow it. A dark, wet patch is spreading across the denim, the fabric clinging obscenely to my bulge.
Oh, God.
“Don’t,” I say, the word coming out thin.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking,” he says, his voice gone soft, “that you might want some help with that.”
My laugh comes out thin and brittle. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
His hand leaves my hair, slides down between us. I watch, frozen, as he presses his palm against the soaked denim. He cups me through the jeans, his thumb pressing right where the head of my cock is trapped, and I make a sound I don’t recognize.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“I’m cold.”
“No, you’re not.” He rubs slowly, the rough denim dragging against my cock, and my hips jerk into his hand. “You’re a mess for me. Soaked through your jeans like you’ve been waiting for this all night.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Shut up.”
“Why?” He keeps stroking me through the fabric, relentless and gentle. “You think I don’t want to taste this? I’ve been thinking about it since I first scented you.”
He withdraws his hand. My eyes fly open. He lifts his palm, and in the dim light I can see the glistening slick smeared across his fingers, thick and shiny. His gaze holds mine as he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean, a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue.
I can’t breathe.
“Just like I thought,” he says, voice rougher now. “You taste like mine.”
Everything inside me clenches.
“Fuck you,” I whisper, but it comes out like a prayer.
Declan leans forward, his hands going to the button of my jeans. With him seated on the stool and me kneeling between his legs, he doesn’t have to reach far at all. He pops the button, drags the zipper down, and shoves the denim and my boxers just low enough to free my cock. It springs up, flushed and leaking, and he wraps his big hand around it without hesitation.
I can’t stop the moan that tears out of me. I grab his wrist for balance, my forehead dropping to his thigh. “Fuck, fuck—”
“That’s it,” he breathes, stroking me with long, slick pulls. “Let me hear you. You’re so fucking hard for me.”
He’s right. I’m aching, dripping onto his knuckles. I try to pull myself together, but he starts twisting his wrist on the upstroke and my brain short-circuits. I push into his fist, helpless, and open my mouth against his thigh, breathing hot and ragged into his skin.
“Take me back in your mouth, Shay.”
My body obeys before my brain can object. I push up, clumsy, and wrap my lips around his cock again, moaning around him as he matches his rhythm to mine. His hand strokes my cock withthe same slow, deliberate pace as I take him, and I’m pinned between the two sensations, no room for thought. Just the taste of him, heavy and salt-bitter, and the slick, obscene sounds of my own arousal filling the bar.
I try to go faster, to take back some control.
Declan’s fingers tighten in my hair, anchoring me, forcing my pace to slow. “Don’t rush. We’ve got all night.”
