Reluctantly You (Our Exception Book 3)

Gideon

He hasn’t so much as looked at me all week. During work, he strides into his office, does his job and leaves. No eye contact. Nothing. He pretends I don’t exist. Like the hot dry humping on his floor never happened.

It’s put me in a mood. Usually men are crawling back to me, begging to go again but it’s like I’ve been…discarded.

I don’t understand him at all.

“You’ve been such a grump since that dinner with Mitch,” Shiloh says, coming into my office with my lunch. He looks bright and cheerful today, such a contrast to my current gloomy mood.

“I’ve been normal.”

“I mean, yes, you have. You’re usually a grump, but now you’re even grumpier. So I bought you a sandwich. None of this weird salad shit. You need meat on your bones.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “I have plenty of meat.”

Shiloh rolls his eyes. I may have gotten drunk at one point in our friendship and showed him my cock. He was not impressed. “Thank you for lunch,” I amend when he sets the sandwich down on my desk. I stare at it and then meet Shiloh’s shrewd gaze.

“I know something’s up between you and Mitch. It’s not rocket science to figure it out. I’m not asking for details, but…” he rolls his lips between his teeth, “he’s broken a bit, I think. You need to be careful.”

I huff and run a hand down my face. I know he’s broken. I’ve seen it, and yet, for some reason, I can’t stay away.

What the fuck is that about?

“There’s not anything with Mitchell Morris. He’s just an employee.”

“Right,” Shiloh drawls with another roll of his eyes. I should fire him for insubordination and just outright rudeness. But then again, Rory would kill me if I did that, and I wasn’t lying when I said Shiloh was amazing. He’s managed me for years. There’s no going back now. We’re stuck together.

“I think I’ll eat lunch alone,” I grump and Shiloh grins at me.

“Yeah, fine. I’m off early today, anyway.”

“Again?” I ask, and he places a hand on his hip, arching an eyebrow at me.

“I’ve worked overtime for you for years, Gideon, and now I’m taking some time off. And no, you don’t get to tell me I can’t. That’s not how this works.”

I grumble under my breath and then huff and puff the entire way through lunch, gobbling down my sandwich in an impressive four bites. It does make me feel slightly better, my blood-sugar levels evening out, but then I walk past Mitchell’s closed door a few hours later and my mood plummets again, my stomach tied up in knots.

What the fuck is his problem?

What the fuck is my problem?

I stare at his door for far too long before striding back to my office and locking myself inside. I log in to a virtual meeting and see that Mitchell’s also in attendance, and I end up staring at his image on the screen so intently, my eyes dry out from not blinking.

Asshole. Goddamn guy.

Why has he gotten under my skin? Is it the thrill of the chase? Of trying to figure out who he is?

I don’t fucking know, and I don’t know why I care.

Sinking back in my chair, I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling. It really needs a better paint job. I can see the lines from the rollers.

My mind flits through all possible rational thought. I was supposed to be satisfied, getting this job, taking it all away from Jack Morris, and here I am, obsessing over his son who hates me. Who I honestly don’t like much either.

And yet, I can’t seem to stay away from him.

“Um, boss, we have a problem,” Shiloh says, his voice coming through the speaker on my phone.

I snap up and tap the button. “What?”

“Seems someone is here to see Mitch and he’s not happy about it. She’s making a bit of a scene.” My heart rate picks up as I jolt from my seat. I turn to look at the screen and see that Mitchell is now offline.

Who the fuck is bothering him?

Striding toward Mitchell’s office, I find him standing in front of the door, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed in frustration. The woman who looks so much like him is flinging her arms out as if pleading with him and yet missing the mark entirely.

“I’ve tried calling, Mitch. I’ve tried and you won’t speak to me!” she cries, her voice shrill.

“Who the fuck is this?” I interrupt, stepping beside Mitchell, sensing the anxiety rolling off him. His body tenses when I get close, but he doesn’t step away.

Good. He should let me help.

He needs to let someone help him.

“Excuse me? Who are you?” the woman says, her voice shrill and annoyed.

“His boss. And who are you?”

“I’m his mother,” the woman hisses, her eyes flaring with sadness and anger. She looks appalled that I’m interrupting, that I’ve navigated my way between her and her son. Well, she chose the wrong place to approach him.

Not on my fucking watch.

I stare at her, seeing the emotion splayed across her prominent features. “Did you have an appointment?”

“I’m his mother!” she reiterates, but I’m unmoved.

“You’ve said, but we should conduct this in your office, Mr. Morris,” I say curtly, causing his eyes to flash to mine.

He doesn’t want to conduct anything with this woman, and from what he told me the other night, I understand why. But she seems unwilling to leave unless they speak and I really don’t want to have to call security.

“Now,” I emphasize, and Mitch steps to the side, allowing me and his mother to move past him and into his office. The door closes behind us with an audible snick and Mitchell turns to face away, his cheeks splotchy, his chest laboring under deep breaths.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Morris?” I ask and she huffs.

“I didn’t come here to speak to you.”

“I know, but you’re here, interrupting my work day. So what do you need?”

My words are cold, my body stiff and unyielding. She will not get past me to him. I refuse.

“He…he blocked my calls,” she explains and then turns toward Mitchell’s back. “Why would you do that? I’m your mother.”

He huffs, seemingly unmoved by this awkward display of remorse. “Because I didn’t want to talk to the woman who lied to me my whole fucking life. How about that, Mom?”

The last word is a sneer and her face crumples.

“I know, I know, but what was I supposed to do?” Her words are trembling, and I should feel bad for her, should soften toward her plight, but I never liked my mother. I don’t blame Mitchell for not liking his. She wronged him. She deserves this.

“You could have told me the truth,” he bites back and then turns to face the wall once more, his entire back to her now. He’s shaking, like he’s coming apart at the seams. “I don’t want to speak to you. I want her to leave, Gideon. Please.”

The way he says that last word…

“But I’ve given you time,” she begs.

“Not enough,” he growls, and her shoulders sag in defeat. She peers over at me, but I’m unrelenting. Mitchell may have kicked me out of his house the other day, may have made me question so many things, but I have his back on this.

Mothers can be the devil. Just because they birthed you, they think they can toy with your emotions, like a plaything, on a whim. Well, it seems Mrs. Morris did that and is now suffering the consequences.

Welcome to life, you cunt.

“But…none of my boys talk to me anymore,” she whispers, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

“Perhaps there’s a reason for that, Mrs. Morris. Now, if you’ll please leave. Mr. Morris has work to do and obviously is done speaking with you.”

Her face twists up and she shakes her head, but I’m already calling security, asking for someone to come discreetly escort our guest from the premises. And I’ll make sure she doesn’t step foot inside again.

While we wait, she pleads with him.

“I tried to tell you so many times.”

“Your father would have been so angry.”

“I thought I was protecting you.”

But Mitchell is unmoving, his shoulders square, his body still turned away through the onslaught of emotional manipulation. Not once do I hear her say she’s sorry, not once do I hear her take the blame.

So when Joe from security turns up, I feel myself exhale in relief. He nods to me before escorting her dejected form out of the building, leaving the two of us alone.

The silence is unbearable, the weight of what just happened tugging at my heart.

“You can leave now,” he finally says, sounding sullen.

I want to reach out, but my hands slide into my pockets, my nails curled into my palms. “Are you alright?”

He scoffs and runs a hand across his face. “Just didn’t need to hear her shit. And I really don’t need to hear yours either.”

I bite down on my tongue roughly, trying to hold my scathing comments at bay.

“Alright, if you need to leave early, you can.”

I can hear his eye roll, the derision in his voice. “And give you a reason to fire me? Fuck off. I’ll stay.”

His hands are fisted by his sides as he strides toward his desk, slipping into the chair and pulling up a window on his computer screen. I’m being ignored, my presence just a hollow, ghostly thing.

“You can go,” he murmurs, and I stand there for just a moment more before turning on my heel and making my way to my own office.

Fine. Fuck him.

Fuck him.

Fuck this entire thing. I shouldn’t care about this guy, I barely like him. I don’t know why I’m so damn obsessed with him.

It must just be some kind of mental snag, like a record on repeat, a subliminal message written beneath his skin. That has to be it. Because there’s really no other explanation.

After the events of the week and Mitchell avoiding me even more, I find myself at a rowdy gay club on Friday night, my mind firmly fixed on fucking someone to get over Mr. Morris and his hold on me.

Seems I can’t quite will myself out of this one. Last night, I reminded myself why I hate him, how he’s so crass and rude, how he loathes me even more than I do him, and still, the vision of him sprawled out beneath me, the taste of him, the way he moaned when he came… I jacked myself off to thoughts of it.

Over and over. So much so that my dick almost hurts to touch.

Not that I’m going to let that stop me from finding a nice, petite, polite bottom tonight.

Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do. That’s totally my type.

Ordering a drink from the bar, I lean back and watch the gyrating crowd, picking out a few people who’ve caught my interest while I wait. My eyes skim over Rory, who is dancing between two buff guys, his eyes closed, skin lined in a sheen of sweat, before my gaze roams around a little more.

I wasn’t lying when I told Mitchell that Rory and I don’t have that kind of connection. Everything about him should be what I want, the way he looks, the way he acts, and yet, he holds no appeal. It’s just not there.

But I digress.

My eyes settle on a few more seemingly unattached people on the dancefloor. One catches my eye—a slim body, a saucy grin, and my lips turn up at them knowingly.

They throw me a wink.

Good. I just want someone whose name I don’t know. Someone pliable and meek. Someone I can bend over and take without dealing with the emotional turmoil later on.

Suddenly, my eyes snag on someone familiar, a ball cap pulled low over their head.

“What the fuck?” I murmur as the bartender hands me my drink.

My eyes slide across the man, who is now leaning against the opposite wall, his arms folded across his broad chest.

Hell. Mitchell is here.

I know that body, have rubbed against it, felt the tightness of his muscles as they bunched and flexed beneath me.

My cock twitches between my legs.

I take a long sip, the liquid burning my throat, as he continues to peruse the crowd, obviously looking for someone. Someone to kneel before him.

It makes me irrationally angry, a tidal wave of rage rolling through me.

He hates this, and yet here he is, looking for someone once again.

He should be at home. He should be far, far away from this place.

I gulp down the rest of my drink, my eyes watering from the strength of the alcohol hitting my throat. Fuck. Me. I need it to get through this night because that asshole is here, ruining my well-laid plans.

Ruining my fucking life.

As I watch him intently, his gaze finally snags on mine and he falters, his hands moving up to his hat and pulling it lower around his eyes. As if that would hide him from me. As if he could hide at all.

He nervously glances around and suddenly seems to land on a target, but I’m moving too fast to let him get any farther than that. Oh hell no.

My hand wraps around his biceps, and I feel him tremble at my touch.

“Hello, Mr. Morris,” I say and then lean forward so he can hear me over the thump of the bass reverberating. “What are you doing here?”

His head tilts slightly and his eyes meet mine under the shadow of his hat. I can see the flush on his cheeks, and fuck, I’m so damn tempted to lean down and push my mouth to his. To taste him once again.

“None of your business,” he says, and I grab on to him tighter, not letting him step aside.

“No,” I say, my lips brushing his ear. “It is my business. You coming to get your cock sucked?”

My fingers tighten on him and I feel the flush spreading across his body and warming his skin.

“Because that’s what you do, right? It’s not gay if its someone on their knees getting you off?”

He shoves at me, but I just pull him closer, his body flush against mine. I can feel the frantic pace of his breathing as I press against him, the flutter of his heart against his skin.

“You’re not getting near anyone, but me,” I hiss, the alcohol going straight to my head. I’ve only had a shot or two, nothing major. Doesn’t really matter because fuck if I’m not acting like a possessive asshole right now. But I’m not going to watch him leave with a cute little twink when I’m right here.

“I’m not doing anything with you,” he spits, but his body isn’t lying. Even as he says it, he leans into me and I can feel his cock hardening in his pants.

“Want me to get on my knees then?” I ask, my voice low and taunting. “I can do that, Mitchell. I can suck your dick, show you what you’ve been missing all this time, you little slut.”

He shudders at my words, and I’m fucking done. I know what he wants, even if he won’t say it. I can read his body from a mile away.

I tug him forward, down a dimly lit hallway, doors lining each side. At the end is a burly bouncer with a shaved head and a fierce face. When I reach into my pocket, handing him several bills, he grins at me.

“In you go, fuckers,” he says and lets me push open a door to a cluttered office space.

“What the fuck is this?” Mitchell asks, his eyes swiveling around the room.

With a flick of my wrist, I lock the door and lean into him, pulling off his hat and setting it on his head backward. Fuck, that’s dangerous. He looks even better like that.

“Why the hat?”

“How did you get us in here?” he retorts.

“Trying to hide from someone? From yourself?”

“How often do you use this place?” he asks, and I grin at him.

“I know the bouncer and I refuse to get on my knees in the filthy bathroom.”

His lips twitch and he glowers angrily.

“I didn’t say yes to this. I didn’t say you could touch me.”

“Is that so?” I growl, leaning into him. His breath hitches, and I feel his cock pressing against my groin, straining toward me, desperate, needy. “Your dick seems to think otherwise.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, and I move even closer, still not touching, but allowing the tip of his cock to glide across me, taunting him slowly.

“You want me on my knees?” I ask, and his eyes droop, lust thick in the air. “Tell me you want it, and I’ll do it.”

I want to see him break, want to see him beg. I want it all. I can fucking taste it.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” he asks, his voice rough.

“Because I want to see you come unglued. Again. I want to see the cockslut you try to hide⁠—”

He groans softly and then swallows. “Fine.”

I smirk at him and lower myself to my knees, undoing the button of his jeans and tugging them down his thick thighs.

Fuck, he’s so built, strong.

I love that despite all this muscle and brass, he’s such a needy little bottom.

For me. And me only.

His pants pool at his ankles, and then I drag his boxers down next, his cock popping out, nearly smacking me in the face with its size.

“I should have you know, Mr. Morris,” I say as I wrap a hand around his thick length and squeeze, making his dick jump in my palm. “I don’t kneel for just anyone.”

He grunts, his head falling back against the wall as I stroke him roughly. Just once and then stop, my thumb running over the tip of him, dragging the precum pooled at his slit around his swollen cockhead. With my free hand, I reach up and cradle his balls, rolling them in my palm and watching as he shivers.

“But I’ll kneel for you,” I amend and then pull the tip of him between my lips.

He lets out a soft moan, one of his hands moving into my hair as I suck him. He groans lowly as I bring him into the back of my throat until he’s hitting my tonsils and making me gag. But I’m not deterred. I won’t stop.

I want this more than I care to admit.

I fucking hate that I want him.

God, I want him.

Holding him in my throat for a few seconds, I slowly pull off and do it all over again, my wet mouth sliding along his straining cock until he’s moaning slightly louder, his other hand pressed against his lips, as if he can keep those sounds inside.

He better not swallow those down. I want to hear him moan for me.

My hand continues to roll his balls, tugging lightly, egging him on until he spreads his legs a little further, giving me access to more of him. I do as he silently suggests, snaking a finger across his taint.

I grin around him as his hand tightens in my hair and I continue sucking slowly, my cheeks hollowed as I bring him closer and closer to the edge. The finger at his taint slides back and forth until his legs are shaking.

He wants more than he says.

He wants it all.

My head bobs, and I slide a finger inside my mouth, wetting it.

When it’s practically dripping, his head is thrown back, chest heaving, I drag that wet fingertip back along his taint and then up his crack, chuckling when he bucks against me.

“Oh fuck,” he moans as I swirl my fingertip around his hole.

I groan as I continue to tease him, his rim kissing my fingertip as I trace it.

I can feel him opening for me. He wants this, and I want to make him beg, make him scream my name.

The thought of it spurs me on. Letting go of him entirely, I reach into my pocket and, with both hands, rip open a small lube packet I’d placed there for an occasion such as this. I smear the gel on my finger and drag it back to his hole, pressing gently against it.

Mitchell gasps as I steadily push my way inside, his hips stuttering slightly at the intrusion.

I hum around his length as he slowly lets me in, my finger working in and out of him until I’m knuckle deep.

“Gideon,” he gasps above me. His eyes meet mine, gaze open and confused, a mixture of wonder and bewilderment.

I twist my wrist slightly, seeking…searching.

When I find the small bump inside of him, he jolts forward, eyes snapping shut, his mouth open in a silent scream.

“Fuuuck,” he cries as I start to work him in tandem. Sucking him deep and pressing relentlessly on his prostate until he’s no longer using my head as a fuck toy, just hanging onto it for dear life.

“I’m…oh fuck—” I feel his whole body tense and shake before his dick explodes, the bitter taste of his release hitting my tongue as his ass clenches around my finger.

I hold myself inside of him, tapping that little bump and letting him come down from his orgasm second by second, before carefully pulling off and out of him.

He’s barely breathing as he slumps against the wall.

I swipe at my mouth. “You okay?” I ask, and he swallows and nods.

I push myself up to my feet and hand him a tissue from the box on the desk. He takes it from me with shaking hands and cleans himself off, cheeks flushed.

“You can go home now,” I say as I wipe my hands and adjust my hard cock in my pants. I didn’t come, but fuck if I won’t later. “You came here and got what you wanted.”

His eyes flash to mine and he shakes his head, trying to find the words. “Fuck you.”

“We’ve been over this,” I reply, leaning into him and brushing his lips with mine. He’s still naked from the waist down, and I can’t help but reach between his legs to cradle his softening cock against my palm. “I will be fucking you.”

He groans as I tug on him gently before I step back, running a hand through my messy hair.

“I’m not leaving,” he says as he pulls up his pants and buttons them.

“If you insist. You can stay but you’re not leaving my side. I have to wait for Rory to be ready to go home before I can take off.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he says as he pulls his ball cap back over his eyes.

I turn to look at him, my hand on the door. “Oh, Mitchell. You do.”

I will break him. Ruin him. Just like he’s doing with me.

When I stride out, I hope he follows.

He better fucking follow.