Reluctantly You (Our Exception Book 3)
Reluctantly You: Chapter 15

Gideon

I throw our clothes in the wash and then make my way to Mitchell’s room, hearing the water spray from the en suite shower. He’s inside, waiting for me, completely nude, his cock erect, muscles tense.

He’s not washing, just standing there, watching as I approach.

I step inside, my cock twitching between my legs in appreciation of the sight of him.

He might not be my type, but fuck, he’s hot.

He was even hotter earlier, when he picked Arnie up and socked him in the face.

I never wanted to drop to my knees faster and suck his cock. But I couldn’t, not when Rory was so shaken.

So I brought him to Shiloh’s before heading here.

And hell, what a fucking night it’s been.

I plan on keeping him next to me, moaning and needy until the sun peeks above the horizon.

“You need to wash,” I say when I step right in front of him, my hand trailing up his arm. His dick is hard, not having gone down from earlier, and I wet my lips in anticipation.

The things I want to do to him.

If he’ll let me.

“I’m not a child,” he retorts.

I arch an eyebrow at him as my hand snakes around the back of his neck and pulls him toward me. My mouth captures his, my tongue sliding into his mouth.

“You love it,” I whisper when we finally part. “You want to be told what to do.”

“Fuck off,” he whispers, but I can feel his heartbeat in his dick. It doesn’t lie.

I reach around him and grab the soap from the rack and squirt some in my hand.

“Shut up and let me wash you,” I tell him, and he huffs in frustration.

My hands skate across his broad chest, his muscles rippling as I drag my fingers toward his groin, his breath coming out in pants when I wrap my hand around his cock once more.

So big, thick, the perfect size.

“Was it good for you?” I ask, my eyes meeting his under wet lashes.

“It was okay,” he lies, and I grin at him, tugging roughly on his dick.

He grunts and shoves at me, but I always beat him at his own game. My arms wrap around him and I push him face first against the shower wall, his cheek pressed against the cool tiles, his ass against my dick.

“I could fuck you just like this. And you’d like it,” I whisper into his ear, feeling him shudder against me.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“You lie,” I say as I drag my dick up his crack and hear him whimper.

Oh god, he’s perfect. I hate that I want him so much.

I step back, trying to collect myself, not wanting to push him too far too fast, but he just stays there, his hands splayed across the tiles, his cheek still pressed up against the wall.

His ass out.

I grab more soap, lathering up my palms and dragging them down his back to his butt, running a finger right through his crease.

He moans, a low, needy thing. It echoes off the walls of the bathroom and my balls draw tight.

Yes. Yes.

More.

My finger replaces his entrance and I swirl around it, feeling it pucker against me. Gently, I ease it in, just the tip, making Mitch gasp, his mouth open slightly.

“You’d love it. Me pushing inside of you, making you scream.”

“Fuck. You.”

It’s all he can say, I’ve scrambled his brain.

But I’m not going to give him more. Not until he asks for it.

My finger slips from him and I continue washing his body until he’s completely scrubbed clean.

“Now wash me,” I tell him as he stands under the water, the suds swirling down the drain.

“Wash yourself,” he says as he lathers up his palms and then roughly paws at me. I let out a loud laugh as his fingers drag down my body, cupping my dick roughly and then squeezing the globes of my ass.

I love it, how rough he is. Usually the men I fuck need me to be tender. But Mitch…

He needs to be owned. He’s so fucking lost.

I rinse and then we towel ourselves off, moving into his bedroom.

My eyes settle on his bed and he huffs, looking away from me. But I can see the flush on his skin, the needy tilt of his cock.

“Get in bed, Mitchell. I’m going to hold you.”

“I don’t want to be held.”

I step toward him. Closer. Closer, my hand moving up to his jaw and cupping it roughly.

“Do as I say.”

His eyelids flutter and he moves toward the bed, crawling between the covers and lying on his side. I follow, moving in behind him and pressing my hands against his chest.

I pull him back and he nestles against me, his hands twisted into the sheets beside us.

“Relax,” I say, and he grunts in annoyance. My hand strokes up his chest, across his nipples. I hear his breathing come out in a tremble as I pluck at those sensitive nubs.

“Stop touching me,” he grumbles, and I hesitate, just for a moment.

“Do you really want me to?”

He doesn’t answer, just continues to lean against me. He could easily leave, roll away, but instead, he remains quiet. And so I resume my slow perusal of his strong, capable body.

“What happened with Rory?” Mitchell asks, and my hand comes to a stop, resting just above his beating heart.

“It’s not my story to tell, but Arnie is…a bad man. Someone who hurt him.”

He lets out a long breath. “Glad I punched him then.”

“Me too,” I reply and then bring my hand up to his neck and press against his thundering pulse. “I’m glad you were there to protect him when I was distracted.”

“Same.”

I let out a huff of laughter and then sober. Fuck, Rory was so afraid. He hasn’t seen that man in years, and of course, he was right there, at an obscure art gallery in the city. We had no way of knowing he’d be in attendance. I’m furious with myself for ever letting him out of my sight.

“How long have you known each other?” Mitchell asks, and I stroke my thumb across his bottom lip.

“Since he was eighteen. He rented a room from me and we just clicked. He was like the younger brother I never had. I protect him at all costs.”

“Yeah, makes sense.”

“You have younger brothers, do you protect them?”

“Not as much as I should have. I’ve hurt them more than anything. But the other day, my youngest brother, Magnus, called me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “I told him about my dad.”

“What did he say?”

“He was shocked, told me to tell Matt and Max. I dunno.”

“You should. You need to tell someone.”

He sighs. “Told my therapist.”

“Good.”

“Don’t congratulate me yet. Canceled the last session.”

“Will you go back?”

“Mhm.”

Good. He needs it. Everyone needs it at some point in their lives. We have things we need to process.

“Well, if you want to talk about this more, I’m here to listen.”

Silence falls between us, and for a moment it’s just the two of us breathing. And then Mitch asks, “What was your dad like?”

“A brilliant, broken man.”

“Why was he broken?”

I freeze, unsure if I should tell him. I ponder it a moment before shaking my head. Not yet. I don’t want to ruin this, not when I’ve just gotten him.

“He just had a lot of regrets.”

“I get that,” Mitchell replies, and my finger can’t help but trace his bottom lip once more. Seems I’m becoming slightly obsessed with his fucking mouth.

“And then after he died, I was in the system for years. Until I aged out.”

“Must have been hard.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t the best experience.”

He twists his head to look at me. “Is that why you’re an asshole?”

I huff a laugh. “Perhaps. But one thing it’s taught me is that I never let myself lose, Mitchell. Never. I’ve always had to fight. And I’ll continue to do so until I’m the best. Until I have everything I want.”

“Yeah. Makes sense.”

We’re silent a moment and then Mitchell turns over, his body curling into mine. “You ever going to be happy with all that? When you finally have it all?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t fucking know.”

We end up falling asleep in each other’s arms. I only wake when I feel Mitchell move from me, his feet pattering to the bathroom. My mind doesn’t think much of it, until he’s gone for far too long. I sit up in bed and roll up, my dick half-hard from early-morning wood and being pressed against his body all night long.

“Mitchell?” I ask lowly.

I hear a drawer close and then an anxious, “Be right out.”

A moment later, when he doesn’t open the door, I worry that he’s hurting himself. What if things got dark? What if he’s upset about last night? It might have been too much.

Without another thought, I push the bathroom door open and catch him, his foot on the toilet, his hand on his cock, the other on his ass.

“Get the fuck out!” he hisses, but I can’t move, my dick twitching into full hardness at the sight of him.

“Oh, Mitchell,” I say softly and then move toward him, reaching down and pulling his finger out of his ass. His cheeks are flushed, his chest heaving. “You want it so bad, don’t you?”

“I fucking don’t.”

It’s all lies. He reeks of them.

“Let me help you.”

His eyes slam into mine in the mirror and I see those blown-out pupils, the way the blush bleeds into his cheeks.

“Tell me you want it, tell me.”

His chin hits his chest, a small admission causing me to press against his side, my finger sliding down his already wet crack. He’s prepped, ready. My finger slips into his open hole and he groans, his hand flexing on the marble countertop.

“Both hands.” His gaze snaps to mine, and I clarify. “Both hands on the counter. You’re going to come hands-free.”

“Fuck that.”

“Do it.”

Mitch’s hand reluctantly leaves his dick and settles on the countertop, and I feel my pulse increase. Yes. Yes.

“Good boy.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

I grin at him as I press my finger in deeper, making his hole clench around me. I feel my dick harden, and hell, I want in. I want to slide inside that tight, wet hole and make him beg for it.

But not yet.

Not fucking yet.

“You’re going to take three of my fingers,” I tell him as I twist my wrist slightly, making him gasp when I hit his prostate. I continue to work him until he’s fucking back against my fingers, his chin on his chest, his hands clenched into fists. It’s then that I add a second finger, scissoring him open, alternating between watching his face as he moans and watching his hole open for me.

“Look at you, my little slut,” I say as I peg his prostate again. He’s groaning now, full on, not even trying to hide it. “You’re feral for it, desperate. I bet you’d like me to replace my fingers with my cock. I bet you’d take me so good.”

His hands are clasped on the edge of the vanity now, thrusting back on me, fucking himself on my fingers. I add a third, making him cry out, his head thrown back, his spine arched.

“Tell me how good it feels. Tell me.”

He shakes his head, trying to fight back, but his body won’t let him. He wants this too much. His orgasm comes quickly, barreling through him as his cock explodes across the cabinets. I feel his hole clench around my fingers in a vise-like grip, keeping me inside of him for a few seconds longer.

When his body slumps forward, his cheek against the marble, I slip out of him and press my cock to his slippery crack. It would be so easy to push inside of him, but I don’t. I just squeeze his cheeks together and fuck along the crease of him, my own dick pulsing from the sensation. I come quickly—fingering Mitchell my foreplay. My cum splashes across his lower back, dripping down his ass, and I can’t help but push some inside of him.

A feral, possessive moment, but he lets me do it all the same.

“You’re so good for me, so hot.” I lean forward and press my lips against his back, tasting the sweat of his skin.

“Thought I wasn’t your type,” he murmurs, and I reach around and grab him by the throat and chest. I lift him up against me, so his bare back is against my chest. I can feel the mess I made smear across my skin as I hold him to me.

“You’re more than my type,” I tell him, our eyes clashing in the mirror. “I hate that I want you, but I do. You’ve consumed me.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the palm of my hand.

“I want to own you.”

“You’ll never have me.”

My lips turn up into a smile. “Oh, but Mitchell, I already do.”

We crawl into bed shortly after wiping our bodies down. I went to clean his ass, but Mitchell held my wrist and pushed me away.

He wanted to keep a part of me there.

It’s all I think about when I pull him into my arms under the covers.

“Don’t fight me on this,” I whisper, and a moment later, he softens in my grasp, the two of us falling asleep in tandem.