Reluctantly You (Our Exception Book 3)

Mitch

The mouth around my dick is wet and tight as I grab on to the full head of hair and yank. I hear him gag and my skin prickles at the sound. Fuck yes, this cunt is getting what he deserves. Offering to meet me and suck my cock in a public place—only a whore would do that. And so I treat him like one. A fucking slut begging to be used.

I let my dick slide out of his mouth, and then I shove it back in, listening to him moan as I fuck his throat.

What a loser—a pathetic, needy man on his knees for a stranger. I can see his free hand working his own dick through his pants, getting off on the degradation. He wants this just as much as I do.

But then again, they never complain. I’ve had my dick sucked hundreds of times by random men. In car parks, on beaches, in clubs.

Once even by a cop who pulled me over in the woods for loitering.

They’re always so desperate.

Fuck.

My balls draw up as I hold his face against my groin, smashing his nose against my neatly trimmed pubic hair and forcing him to swallow around me. He loves it, loves choking on me, loves fighting to breathe. When I finally let him inhale, he gasps but doesn’t pull off, only sucks me harder, so rough and desperate that I’m seeing stars.

When I come, I make sure to explode across his face, leaving him messy and wrecked. Marking him, making it hard for him to walk around without evidence of what he just did. And then wordlessly, I pull up my pants and stare down at him, his dick straining from his pants, his face a cum-covered mask.

“Passable,” I grunt and then pat his head like the dog he is, leaving him kneeling in the sand as I trudge away. I never reciprocate. Never. That’s not what this is.

I’m not gay.

I can’t be gay.

The stars are twinkling overhead, the full moon out. It’s a nice spring night, warm and tepid. I shove my hands in my pockets, riding the wave of adrenaline as I stalk along the edge of the shore. It’s always fun cruising for men, for someone to get me off. It’s reckless and dangerous, and despite knowing I could get into trouble for it, I can’t seem to stop.

Maybe I want to get caught. Maybe I want someone to put a stop to this. To put me in my place.

In the distance, I see a party, something fancy and expensive. Something I could never afford, even with all my savings. Under yellow string lights are several tables, a large floral crescent arch facing the crashing waves.

Someone’s getting married, I think, scoffing. Someone happy, someone in love.

My mind swivels to my brothers. Magnus. Max. Both married. To men.

Gay as the day is long.

My jaw clenches, an angry click resounding in my skull.

Gay.

They’re fucking gay.

Although, Matt is too, probably. Judging by the way he looked at that roommate of his. The tender way he carried him around.

I rub at my chest, the euphoric bliss slipping into a pained ache.

They’re together, my brothers, they’ve created a life without me. I wasn’t invited. I’m never included.

My mind flashes to my dad, or who I thought was my dad.

Two weeks ago, my biggest concern was the fact that my brothers had abandoned me, moved on without me, and then I found out that our dad isn’t really my dad at all.

Not biologically anyways.

It seems I’m no one’s.

I’m fatherless and brotherless.

As I approach the twinkling lights, hearing the happy laughter and chatter of the guests, I see a familiar figure in the distance.

Max and his Beau, kissing under the stars, looking content and happy.

Is this why he’s stopped talking to me? Because he’s with another man?

My heart beats faster, rage pulsing through me.

Fuck them.

Fuck them for finding love when I can’t even seem to find myself.

Why I even care what they do, I don’t know. They showed me who they are, who they care about.

And it’s not me.

It’s never been me.

I’m not even their brother, not fully. Maybe that’s the disconnect.

Maybe they know. Maybe they found out and hate who I am even more.

My feet stop moving, and my entire body locks up.

My gaze catches on another figure moving in the light. Sem and Magnus, my brother in his husband’s arms. Two little kids holding on to their fathers’ legs. They’re dancing, smiling, teeth showing as they throw their heads back and laugh.

It’s ridiculous. Infuriating. How two people can seem so in love, so enamored with each other.

I purse my dry lips and tap at my sternum, willing my heartbeat to soften, but it only continues to pound. Harder. Rougher.

Because there he is. Matt. My brother, the only one I ever really felt close to. And in his arms is another man. His roommate, Cooper. They’re in tuxedos, their lips molded together for long seconds before they pull apart. Matt rests his forehead on Cooper’s and whispers something to him, something meant only for him. A secret.

Their eyes meet, and I watch their lips turn up in a smile, happiness and peacefulness radiating off them.

My eyes swivel down to their locked hands, and I see the rings glinting from the dim lights twinkling above them.

They’re married too.

They’re married and, once again, no one told me.

My face heats, and I feel my pulse pound in my skull, right behind my ears.

Why would they tell you? my brain mocks. You’re hateful and spiteful and ugly.

No one wants you.

No one cares about you.

I shake those chants away, fisting my hands near my sides, nails digging into my palms, and watch as everyone laughs and smiles. Happy I’m not there, happy their night is perfect without me, the ugly stain in the family.

The one no one wants.

The one they want to scrub away and pretend doesn’t exist.

My knuckles crack, and I turn my gaze away.

They hate me. Which is to be expected. I don’t like myself either, loathe the way I am.

I hate who I’ve been, who I can’t seem to help becoming.

I have nothing.

I am nothing.

No one.

No one would miss me if I were gone.

I turn away from the happy family, one that’s only half mine by blood, and move silently, letting the darkness consume the entirety of me, letting my existence disappear into the void.

What’s the point of moving when there’s nothing to move for?

That’s the question of the fuckin’ day, I think as I lie in bed, my gaze fixed on the ceiling, eyes hazy and slightly tilted. Everything is in black and white, a muted shade of gray. It swirls in my vision, like a blizzard, making my head fuzzy.

No one’s even noticed I’m gone. It’s been two days. Work doesn’t care, my parents don’t care—well, my mom hasn’t called. My dad isn’t my dad, now is he? Even if he were, he wouldn’t give a shit. He seems to only care about himself.

My brothers… Well, they’ve abandoned me, too busy being gay and happy.

And here I am, alone in my cavernous house, my limbs unable to move.

For a moment, I wonder if I’m depressed and then my dad’s voice fills my mind.

It’s not depression. Men don’t get depressed. Push through it.

My fists clench tightly and I loosen them as I breathe deeply through my nose.

I’d go to the gym, but there’s no one there to meet me, to toss a ball around with, to have fun with.

Maybe that’s just how it is now. How my future will be. I’m unlovable and no one wants me anymore.

The heels of my palms push into my wet eyes, and I huff in frustration. I hate feeling like this. For so long I’ve used anger to put up a wall between me and everyone else, and now it’s starting to crumble. Brick by brick, the mortar old and weak. I’m falling apart at the seams.

I’m still angry, don’t get me wrong, but now I’m just angry at myself.

I’m so fucking angry.

I turn onto my stomach and bury my face in my pillow, swirls of red and orange flitting through my vision before they melt back into the dull gray of earlier.

I can’t even envision colors anymore.

I can’t envision anything in this darkness.

Tomorrow I need to get my ass up and go to work. I don’t even want to. Perhaps I can call in sick. I don’t want to see my dad.

My non-biological dad. Not that he knows that I know. But I do. I fucking know. It hurts that it’s all been a lie. My brothers are just half of me. Maybe they always knew and that’s why they’ve pulled away. Maybe I’m just too different, too abhorrent.

Mr. Morris, I can confirm that I’ve found your biological father.

Who the fuck is my real dad, and how do I go about telling my mom I know what she did?

Goddamn.

I squeeze my eyes closed and push the world out.

I’ll manage this all tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Tomorrow is, in fact, not better. I find myself lying on the couch, staring at the television, my body limp and sore. I don’t want to move, just want to lie here while my enzymes burst into bits and pieces, leading me to my demise.

If this isn’t depression, then maybe I’m getting sick. Maybe they’ll find me in a few days, my rotten corpse decaying on this sofa. That thought has my eyes watering again, and I push my fists into them, forcing myself to stop being such a fucking pussy.

I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I need to snap the fuck out of it. I need to go back to work so I can pay my bills. Need to go to the gym, so I can stay in shape.

But I don’t care enough about either to get showered and dressed.

I don’t fucking care.

Suddenly, my phone rings and I grapple with it, my fingers slipping on the plastic shell. It tumbles and falls to the ground, and I quickly pick it up, my heart throbbing in my chest.

Is it Matthew?

Max?

Magnus?

My eyes snag on the unknown number, and I let out a pathetic huff. Of course it’s not. It’s just a cold call, a fucking spam line. They’re the only ones in contact with me. The ones who want my money.

I toss my phone onto the floor and go back to staring at the TV. I’ll get up later and try to make myself do something productive. Be a man about this, push my feelings aside and do what needs to be done. Maybe I’ll even find a hookup and let them suck my cock.

But my dick doesn’t even twitch at the thought. It’s dead, like I am on the inside.

I stare at my phone once more, lying there, taunting me. Unused. Maybe I should reach out, maybe I should be the one to try to mend this. But do they even want me to?

Probably not.

No one seems to want me.

“Fuck!” I grind out and then sit up, running a hand through my greasy, unwashed hair. Fuck this. Fuck it all.

I toss a pillow over my phone, not wanting to see my loneliness displayed in front of my face, and make my way into the kitchen, grabbing a beer and popping the top off. I’m gonna have a beer gut at this rate, but I glug it down anyway. Who cares? It’s not like the guys who suck my cock give a shit. They just want to choke on it.

I run a hand across my mouth and stare out the window. It’s dark out now, not even the stars can be seen in the pitch black sky. I could just wander around in the shadows and no one would see me.

“No one ever sees me anyway,” I murmur and then shake my head.

What the fuck am I doing? What the hell is this?

I move toward the door and pull it open, standing there at the entrance to my house and staring out into the blackness.

My heart thumps in my chest, my hand dangling by my side.

No one sees me, no one even knows I’m here. I don’t even know my neighbors’ names or who they are. My entire life is work, cruising, and then back home to sleep.

There was a time when I used to meet with my brothers and play ball, but none of them want to spend time with me anymore. They hate me. They avoid me. They don’t want to be associated with me.

So I’ve stayed home and kept my distance. This is the most I’ve been inside my house all year.

I have no friends, no family.

I have nothing.

My dark, tragic thoughts turn ugly—visions of ropes and rafters. My hand drifts up to my neck and I feel my pulse thrumming wildly beneath my fingertips. For a moment, I lose the ability to breathe, a peace settling over me. Then suddenly a high-pitched mewl resounds below me. I blink through my watery eyes and sniff as I glance down to see a small, orange kitten near my feet. Its tail curls around itself like a cinnamon roll, its blue eyes peering up at me.

“Fuck off,” I murmur, nudging it with my foot.

It tips backward into the dirt and glowers up at me, it’s small white whiskers twitching. It looks almost upset that I did that. Well, welcome to life, asshole. And welcome to me. I’m not nice. Never have been. Never will be. I was born with this innate thing inside of me that makes me ugly and unappealing.

“I don’t have time for shit like this,” I murmur, turning around and walking back inside, closing the door with a loud bang.

Yeah, no time for any shit. Period.

No fucking time.

I need to spend my time lying on the sofa, drifting back into the bleakness that is my life.

I go in to work the next day and realize no one even noticed I was gone. To them, I’m just a ghost, an invisible man haunting the hallways and looming in offices. I’m nothing more than a moving force to them, one of many that are used to make this company run seamlessly.

I walk past employees I don’t even recognize as I make my way to my office, trying to tune out the bustle of the people making phone calls, the clacking of keyboards, and the murmur of office gossip.

No one says a thing to me as I enter my office and settle behind my desk. I have my own space at this company because I’m the strategic financial director. It’s an important job, or so I thought.

For a decade, I’ve worked my ass off, spending late nights crunching numbers and even taking pay cuts to make sure ends were met.

And what has it gotten me?

Not fucking much.

No one’s thanked me, no one’s ever smiled at me. I just exist. A cog in the machine of the company. And yet, one day, I’m supposed to inherit it all.

I don’t even know if I want it.

I stare at my computer and loosen my tie slightly. Fuck dressing up for work. I should have gotten a remote job where I could work in my pajamas.

I glance down at my wrinkled shirt and run a hand over my unshaven face. I haven’t put much effort into my appearance lately. Not a single fucking thing actually. Why bother when people don’t even notice if I’m here or not?

Not even my fucking dad, who owns the damn company, has called to see where I’ve been or why I’ve been absent.

Right. Not my dad.

I need to remember that. Although, how could I forget?

Not a biological match.

It’s there, printed on a sheet of paper in my desk drawer at home, given to me by the private investigator—a stout man with a handlebar mustache. He took no care in breaking the news, his words perfunctory and cold.

He’s not your biological father.

It was the day my world imploded. And I couldn’t even tell anyone about it. There was no one around. Not my brothers, not my dad.

He hasn’t been answering my calls. Neither has my mom. And neither of them were home when I stopped by last week. I stood on the porch and pounded on the door but no one answered. I did see the curtain move as I stood there, my heart beating in my throat. Someone saw me and chose not to answer.

My eyes move to the computer screen, and I see my reflection staring back at me.

Well, hell. That’s not a good look at all.

I quickly shake the mouse and watch the screen come to life, my log-in screen blinking back at me.

Shit, I have to change my password again.

Fuck this place. Why do they have to make everything so damn complicated?

When I eventually log in, I know I have to work. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to do this anymore.

My breath comes out in shaking pants, and I consider, for a moment, standing up and walking out. What would it hurt? No one knew I was missing. They probably wouldn’t even notice I left. But before I can push out of my chair, an unfamiliar figure appears in my doorway.

I glance up and my chest tightens.

Who the fuck is this?

My eyes wander across his handsome face, with a chiseled jaw and perfectly coifed dark hair. His nicely pressed, expensive suit frames his tall, muscular form as my gaze travels down to his thick thighs visible through the fabric, before settling on his dick, the imprint of which I can see clearly.

This man oozes money and power, and suddenly, I feel so very small.

“Eyes are up here,” the man snaps, and my gaze flashes up to his as I feel my cheeks heat.

I never fucking blush, and yet here I am, red as a fucking firetruck.

“Who—who are you?” I ask, trying to regain my composure but failing. I’m stuttering slightly and feeling off-kilter.

“Gideon Masters.”

I blink at him and swallow. “And who is that?”

He narrows his eyes slightly, almost looking offended. “Your boss. Current CEO of the company.”

“What the fuck?” I murmur and then sit up a little straighter in my chair. It squeaks beneath me, and I feel my cheeks heating even more at the sound. It almost sounded like a whimper, weak and desperate.

“Are you my current strategic financial director?” he asks me.

“Yes.”

“Well, you were absent the past few days, so I assumed you had quit with the transition.”

“No. Just…sick.”

He nods, his hands moving into the pockets of his black fitted pants. “I see. Although, HR has no record of your time off.”

“Must have missed the request,” I bite out, sitting a little taller and squaring my shoulders. “And since when are you the CEO? What about my dad?”

He pauses a moment and then cocks his head. “Jack Morris sold the company. To me and my business partners.”

Air squeaks out of my lungs. “What?”

“Yes. The paperwork was processed yesterday. Were you not told?”

“No.”

I swallow, feeling the lump in my throat grow. He sold the company? It was supposed to go to me. He promised me long ago that the company would go to his oldest son.

Although…

I feel my eyes start to sting, and I turn my gaze away, staring intently at the pen sitting haphazardly on my desk. It has the company’s name scrawled in cursive, a gift from my dad last year.

Oh my god. He knows.

He has to know.

“No. He didn’t tell me.”

“Hm, that’s unfortunate.”

It is, but when I think about it logically, I realize it’s not really unexpected. Why would he give it to me when I’m not really his? Why would he care about me when we’re not even related?

Instead of speaking to me about this, he just sold the company and left.

Of course he did. I don’t know why I’d expected anything different.

He’s made a statement—he wants nothing to do with me.

“I’ll need you to vacate this office, though, and find another. My administrative assistant will need it.”

My gaze flashes to his, my mouth agape. What the fuck?

“There are plenty of other offices,” I say.

He eyes the skyline behind me and shrugs. “Yes, but none with this view. And I really do like my assistant. He’s quite the worker bee and he deserves this, don’t you think?”

I blink. And blink some more. Hues of blue and gray swirl around me as my eyes grow wet.

“I do know this is sudden and must be a lot to process, but I’d like you out by tomorrow. Shondra at the front desk has boxes waiting for you.”

“This should have been discussed with me,” I grind out, feeling my chest constrict. “I’m the director.”

“Yes, well, it would have been discussed had you been here. I believe an email was sent as well.”

My mouth purses, and the blush I felt from how attractive he is turns to one of anger.

“I didn’t get any⁠—”

“Either way,” he interrupts. “Boxes are with Shondra. Get out on time and we won’t have any issues.”

I watch as he gives me a clipped nod and then strides out, not a care in the world. And here I am, sitting in my office—which will soon be someone else’s—working for a company that will never be mine, despite promises that had been made.

Broken promises.

My world crumbling around me.

And no one even notices.

No one but me.

Shondra does have the boxes waiting, a fat stack of them. The way she looks at me with pity as I take them from her, tucking them under my arms, infuriates me. Everyone feels sorry for me. I can hear them whispering as I move my items from one office to another—a sadder, darker space with very little room to move and absolutely no view. Not even a window.

Poor, sad Mitch.

His dad sold the company without telling him.

Now he’s been demoted.

It’s almost too much. It is too much. I want to crawl under the desk and hide. I want to cower and cry, and yet I don’t. I just move my shit from one space to the other, pretending I don’t see the stares or hear the comments. And when it’s finally time to go home, I hold my head high and walk to my car, my keys clutched tightly in my palm.

I feel my legs start to shake as soon as I sit down in the driver’s side, my nose stinging with each inhale.

Fuck. Fuck.

I slam my hands on the steering wheel as my eyes grow wet.

It can’t get worse than this. It can’t.

I slam on the wheel again, my palms stinging as I rest my forehead on it, feeling myself grow dizzy.

How did it all come to this?

This was all supposed to be mine. He told me it was mine. I’ve worked for this company since I was twenty-two years old—ten years of service with hardly any vacation time—and now I’ve lost my office. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ve lost my position as director. Have I been demoted like everyone was saying?

I didn’t even think to ask.

I was so busy trying not to stumble while I packed my shit up.

My breathing grows labored and my vision whites out. I inhale deeply, steadying myself, trying to focus on anything other than this. My hands flex on my thighs, and I let out a shaky breath.

With trembling fingers, I dial my dad, wanting to hear it from him. But he doesn’t answer. My call goes straight to voicemail. Of course he won’t answer. I’m sure he has nothing to say to me. Nothing at all.

He’s just as mean as me. He’s who I learned it from.

Shit.

“Dad, it’s me. You should have…you should have told me.” My voice breaks and I regret the voicemail instantly. I’ve shown my weakness, that I care. I shouldn’t have.

Hanging up quickly, I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and start up the car.

I should go and work out. I should get my mind on something else for a short time.

Maybe the gym is the answer.

It has to be. Something has to be.

Or I might not make it.