Page 7 of Pin My Alpha
“I’m pleased with you.”
That gets me a sharp intake of breath and fingers digging into my shoulders. He kisses me again, hard, his other hand tangling in my hair and pulling just enough to make my scalp ache in the best way. I groan into his mouth, grinding against him once, twice.
“Sorry,” I say when his head bumps the wall again.
“Don’t be.” His voice is thin, tight. “Just keep going.”
I do. By the time we reach the landing, his shirt is shoved halfway up his chest and my Henley is unbuttoned wrong. Hisskin is warm and smooth under my hands. I splay my palm over the frantic pulse in his stomach, feeling the rapid beat against my skin.
The third stair from the top groans under my weight. Shay gives a breathless laugh against my mouth.
“You’re lazy,” he says.
“Still came up.”
“Don’t get smug about it.”
I get the door open on the second try. It’s hard to work a key when Shay’s mouth keeps finding mine, his teeth catching my lower lip, his body squirming in my arms. The lock finally gives, and the door swings inward.
I set him on his feet just inside.
My apartment is dark, quiet. Streetlight cuts across the clean kitchen counters, the living room with its one armchair. It’s exactly how I left it. Orderly. And until this second, I never realized how empty it is.
Shay turns, back to the door, and takes in the room. A slow, critical sweep.
“It’s clean,” he says, like it’s an accusation. “No personality. I bet you own matching towels.”
“I own towels.”
He lets out a shaky laugh. “Fucking chilling.” Then he’s on me, his hands grabbing the front of my shirt, pulling me into another kiss that’s all teeth and frustration.
I walk him backward toward the bedroom, his mouth still moving against mine. He talks between kisses, a running commentary that feels like he’s trying to outrun the silence.
“Don’t think this means anything,” he says, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of my Henley. “I’m not staying.”
“Didn’t ask you to.”
His hands still on my chest. He looks at me, really looks at me, and swallows. “Good.”
“Take your pants off,” I tell him.
He does.
His eyes drop to my cock, and then widen. The bravado he’s been wearing all night just… shorts out. His mouth opens, then closes. He looks from my cock back to my face, a fresh glare already loading, but it’s undermined by the heat that floods his cheeks. His pupils are blown wide.
“That’s… excessive,” he finally manages.
A rough sound gets stuck in my throat. “You haven’t even touched it yet.”
“I have eyes, Byrne.” A beat, and then he adds, voice fraying, “Get on the fucking bed.”
I don’t argue. I settle back against the headboard, leaving him room. He strips his shirt off and tosses it onto the floor. The streetlight catches the lean lines of his body, the black ink of a small tattoo curving over his ribs that I want to taste.
He climbs onto the mattress, straddling my thighs. His hands push my unbuttoned Henley down my arms, and I let it fall away. He leans in, his mouth hovering over mine, his breath shaky.
“You still good?” I ask, low.
“I’m not made of glass, Byrne.” He grinds his hips down against me, the hard line of his cock pressing against mine through his jeans, and we both suck in a breath. “Do I feel like I’m about to break?”
