Reluctantly You (Our Exception Book 3)

Gideon

My mind lingers and spins on the night at the club, the way he felt in my arms, the way he cried my name when he came. After holding him tightly near the bar and talking him down, I pulled him onto the dancefloor, his face still tucked into my neck, his body pressed against mine. As if he was hiding inside of me.

The way our hips moved, a sensual sway against each other, his arms hanging by his sides but slowly moving up to palm my back. His fingers curled into my shirt, holding tightly as we rocked back and forth.

I could feel him sinking into me with every minute that passed. And I wanted to let him experience this just once before the night was through. The experience of being cared for.

So, my hands roamed his body, the bumps of his spine, the span of his shoulders, his narrow lower back. He grunted against my skin, the hat still pulled lower over his eyes as I sank my fingers into the globes of his ass. His cock was hard, pressed against mine, and I made sure he knew I felt it. I rubbed against it, my own lengthening in response.

I wanted to hear him come again.

But all too soon, it was over. Rory came bounding over again, ready to leave, and we had to pull apart.

Mitchell slipped from my arms, his cheeks flushed, hair mussed.

He wouldn’t meet my gaze, just fisted his hands by his sides and stared at the ground.

“Can I walk you out?” I asked him, and he shook his head.

“No, but I’m ready to go home.”

I wanted to fist my hands in his hair, pull his lips to mine and gorge on him, but hell, he wouldn’t let me.

He’s not ready.

He’s never going to be ready.

“We’ll walk you out,” I said, linking my arm with Rory’s, my other on the back of Mitchell’s warm neck. He tried to drift away, but I held him against me, making sure he made it to his car before I left with Rory.

And now we’re back at work and he’s avoiding me once more. When we have to interact, he snaps and grunts, like some kind of caged dog.

I want to peel back his layers and see what’s sitting right inside. I want to know him.

It doesn’t help that I’ve been staying awake at night and jerking off to thoughts of him, the feel of him, the scent of his sweat-soaked skin. The fact that he’s not beneath me as I get off only makes me grumpier and more stressed.

I’m a fucking walking, horny disaster.

“What are you looking at?” Shiloh asks, making me jerk upright. “Why are you peering outside with your secret binoculars?”

I huff and tuck them away, not wanting Shiloh to know what I’ve been doing.

I’ve lost my fucking mind and it’s not a pretty sight.

“Oh my god, you’re spying on someone,” he gasps as he moves up next to me and tries to take the binoculars away, but I’ve shoved them down the front of my pants.

He won’t touch me there.

“You’re an awful person,” he says when he sees the shape of them at my crotch. He turns his gaze to the window and peers down, trying to figure out what I was so intently looking at.

“It has to be Mitch,” he murmurs to himself. “It has to be. Where is he?”

When his eyes meet mine, searching, I refuse to tell him.

“Come on. Give me a clue,” he asks, putting his cupped hands up to his eyes.

“Only if you tell me why you’re really working at that scrapyard.”

His cheeks flush and he shakes his head. “Fine. I know it’s Mitch. You have it so bad.”

I scoff and run my hand across my face.

“Do you need something or are you just here to interfere with my lunch break?”

“I brought you food, you asshole,” he says with a small laugh and then points to the wrapped burrito on my desk. “Carbs again. To get you through this lovesick thing you have going on. I bet you burn a lot of calories stressing out about that guy.”

“I’m not stressing,” I murmur and then pull the binoculars out of my pants and set them in my desk drawer.

Shiloh arches an eyebrow at me and then places a hand on his hip.

“You know, you could just ask him what’s going on. You’re all about talking about shit, and here you are, spying on him.”

“He’s in his car. Has been each day this fucking week. For the past two days at least,” I finally admit. “And he hasn’t even been speaking with me and he told me he would.”

Shiloh watches me intently as I scrub a hand down my face.

“I don’t know why I’m even bothering with him. He’s a pain in my ass.”

“Yeah, but it seems you have a soft spot for him. You didn’t want it, but it’s there and you’re stuck.”

I sigh and lean my head back.

“Fine. You asshole. I’ll ask him…I’ll talk to him.”

Shiloh nods, clearly happy that I’ve decided on the most rational avenue.

Yeah, well, he’s not the most rational either. He in no way should be judging me. We’re both broken, warped guys at heart.

When the day nears the end, I make my way to Mitchell’s office and knock on the door. He grunts to come in and I do, leaning against the doorframe and shoving my hands in my pockets.

Be casual, behave naturally.

“I’d like to get dinner with you tonight,” I say, and his eyes shoot up to meet mine.

“Why the fuck would you want that?”

“Because. I’d like to speak to you.”

“The fuck about?” he murmurs, but I see the way his breath comes out a little heavier, the way his cheeks darken. He wants this.

“How about at my place?” I offer, cursing myself for being so desperate for time with him. I’m showing all my cards, and hell if I can’t stop myself.

He shifts in his seat.

“Fine. Just send me your address and a time.”

I push off the doorjamb, my heart beating swiftly in my chest.

“Will do.”

I’m pacing my kitchen, a glass of red wine in my hand as I wait for Mitchell to arrive. The food is on the counter—I ordered in—and I’m dressed down, with my tie off, sleeves rolled up my forearms.

I’m not even wearing any shoes.

I’m casual and cool.

I’m Gideon Masters. I overcame a shit ton of trauma to be where I am today. And I’m not fucking nervous over a dinner with in-the-closet Mitchell Morris.

The doorbell rings, so I force myself to take another drink and breathe in deeply before walking over to answer it.

As soon as I do, my heart flips in my chest.

“Come in,” I say, pulling the door open a little further. He steps inside, his eyes flicking around my home.

It’s bigger than most, an impulse buy that I made when I was feeling arrogant. Now that I’ve been living here, I realize that it’s far too much space for one person.

I don’t ever entertain, too busy with work.

It’s lonely as fuck.

“Nice place,” he says as he shuffles by me. I breathe him in as he moves past and bite down roughly on my lip.

“It is,” I say and then follow him into the kitchen. It’s an open floor plan, marble counters and wood plank floors leading into the living room. The food is set on the island, plates and silverware next to it. “I ordered in.”

He nods and fiddles with a plate, looking around and huffing slightly.

“Do you not like Italian?” I ask, and his eyes meet mine, unsure and slightly afraid.

“I like it.”

“Then why are you huffing and puffing?”

He clears his throat and then swallows. “Nervous, I think.”

My lips twitch and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.

“I am too.”

His eyes snap to mine and he shakes his head. “Fuck off.”

“I am. You fuck with my head, Mitchell.” I hand him a plate and then we dish up; parmesan pasta, garlic bread, and salad.

When we’re ready, I pour him a glass of wine and we move to the table which is situated near the open accordion doors. The warm summer breeze drifts in, making my skin prickle with anticipation.

“It’s nice out. I hope you don’t mind,” I say, and he just shrugs, sitting down next to me and digging into his food.

Something inside of me pulses with happiness. He’s here, enjoying himself.

He actually came.

He clears his throat after a moment. “It is a nice evening,” he says, and then gestures out toward the sunset. “And a beautiful view. Lilac and fuchsia. A nice color combination.”

My eyebrows rise at that, but I don’t comment on it.

The two of us eat in silence, filling up on food until our stomachs are near bursting.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, sitting back and taking a sip of his wine. “Don’t even like wine, but this goes together nicely, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It does.”

He smirks at me, and I can’t help but grin back.

When our gazes meet, those smiles slip slightly and both of us take awkward sips of our wine, not sure what to do next.

Why the fuck did I ask him to come over?

What the hell was I thinking?

“So why am I here?” he asks, shifting slightly in his seat.

My eyes slip down his body and I feel my cock perk up. I want to know where he’s been on his lunch breaks, and I want to fuck him.

That’s why.

“What have you been up to?” I ask, hoping he’ll tell me right away.

Of course, he doesn’t.

“What do you want to know?”

The question leaves me reeling. What do I want to know?

“Everything,” I manage to say, and Mitch’s eyes slam into mine. “But first let’s start with where you’ve been going on your lunch.”

He huffs and leans back, sipping on his wine. I can see the fire in him, he wants to push back. He’s going to try, but I won’t let him. I’m too far into this.

I fight for what I want.

“And don’t even think about telling me it’s none of my business.”

He’s quiet for a moment, finishing off his wine and then holding out his glass, asking for more.

I refill it and then sit across from him and wait.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist on my lunch breaks.”

My mouth opens and closes, surprise completely enveloping me. A therapist. Holy fuck.

“After the intake, we decided to meet as often as possible. Apparently I have a shit ton of issues.”

I’m frozen in place. I didn’t expect this. Not at all. When I left that business card on his fridge, I didn’t expect him to use it. I expected him to set it on fire and shove it in the garbage can.

“Good. Therapy is good.”

“That’s one word for it. It’s fucking weird, but yeah, trying to be better and all that shit.”

I run a hand across my jaw and pour myself another glass as well.

“I’ve been in therapy for years,” I admit. “We all have areas we can work on.”

“Yeah, seems so. Like I said. Weird.”

I nod, sipping at my wine. “Do you like your therapist?”

“Yeah, he’s cool.” He sighs and then takes another large drink of his wine, almost as if steeling himself for his coming admissions. “Growing up, therapy was mocked a lot in my house, so it’s a bit of an adjustment.”

“Your parents seem like small-minded people.”

“They are. I’d like to say that’s why I am the way I am, but some of that is my fault. I could have…” he clears his throat and looks away. “…I could have not just blindly followed.”

“It’s hard when you’re a child and under their influence and worldview. I know. My childhood wasn’t ideal. I spent most of it in foster care. The only reason I’m as open-minded as I am is because of the staff at the group homes and a few of the foster homes I ended up in.”

“So it wasn’t all bad?”

“Oh, it was, but there were a few gems in there. They helped me figure out who I was, what I wanted. And, after several years of introspection, it wasn’t aligned at all with my dad.”

Mitchell turns and watches me intently. “What about your mom?”

“She was an addict and I never really knew her. She took off early on.”

“And where’s your dad?”

I meet his gaze. “He was an addict too. But he stuck around for a while. Until he died when I was twelve. Suicide.”

He shakes his head and then leans back slightly. “Well, shit.”

“Yep.”

We’re silent for a moment and then he blurts, “I could find out who my biological dad is. The PI I hired knows. I just…” his words trail off and he clears his throat. “…I don’t know if I want to know.”

I stare at him for a moment, and then nod in understanding. “That’s fair. He could be an asshole, too.”

“Yeah. Can’t be worse than my not-dad.”

He sighs and finishes off his wine, and holds it out for another pour. He’s a big guy and he did eat, but I also don’t want him drunk for any of this. I want him sober as he confesses his secrets. I want everything to be consensual.

“One more, Mitchell, and then that’s it.”

“Fine.”

I pour him half a cup and he stares at it, swirling it around and watching as the red wine clings to the glass.

“If you want to meet your bio dad, I can be there with you. Or at least bring your brothers…”

“They don’t know. They know nothing.”

“Fuck, Mitchell. You should tell them.”

“They already dislike me. I’m hanging on by a thread with them. This…” he finishes off the glass and swipes a hand across his mouth. “…this would give them an excuse to never see me again.”

“It won’t be like that.”

“It would be. We were never taught how to love. We just learned how to hate.”

“Mitchell.”

“This is too much,” he says, standing abruptly and wobbling slightly.

I move to meet him, my arms wrapping around him and pulling his body into mine.

“You’re not leaving. We talk about it,” I say, and he grumbles, moving to push into me. His face falls to the crook of my neck, and I feel his lips brush against my skin.

But before anything can go further, he pushes away, running a hand down his face.

“No. No.”

I nod, swallowing, pushing my hands into my pockets. “I won’t push you.”

“You’ve pushed me far enough tonight.”

I have. He’s opened up. I want more. I’m salivating for it.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” I suggest, and he scoffs.

“What’s with you and walks?”

“I just like the summer evenings.”

He nods. “Fine, but I need to take a water bottle with me.”

I grab one from the kitchen, slip on some shoes, and then we’re out, our arms brushing as we make our way down the driveway.

“You live in a fancy-as-fuck place.”

“It was an impulse buy,” I admit, giving him some of my truths since he divulged so many of his.

“Yeah, well, it’s nice as fuck.”

“It is. Except for the random golf balls that end up through my window.”

Mitchell turns to look at me, his eyes sparkling slightly. “That’s what you get for living on a golf course.”

“Indeed.”

We walk in silence, Mitchell’s body drifting toward me every few feet until he’s nearly on top of me. My hand sneaks out and drags across his wrist before our fingers link.

He grunts, his gaze turning down toward where our hands are interlocked but he doesn’t pull away. He just lets us stay connected as we make our way onto the golf cart path that leads slightly into the hills surrounding us. It’s dark now, the purples and pinks of the sunset fading into darkness. The coyotes will come out soon, howling as they search for food.

But honestly, nothing worries me more than Mitchell pulling his hand away from mine.

“So, tell me something about you,” I say, my voice abnormally loud in the fading light.

“I’m not interesting.”

“You are. In your own way. But tell me something about you that not many know.”

He rolls his lips between his teeth and considers my question for a moment.

“I like art. For a year in high school, I thought about majoring in it.”

My heart stutters at this information. Art? Fucking art? What the hell? That was not at all what I was expecting.

“And why didn’t you go into it?”

“Why do you think?” he asks and his hand leaves mine to rub across his chest.

I fucking hate that the absence of his palm in mine makes me itchy.

“Because of your family?”

“Yeah, because of my parents. My brothers didn’t give a shit. Magnus might have not cared, probably would have supported it, but Max and Matt… Yeah, I didn’t say anything. Just once in passing to my dad and he shut it down. So I never pursued it.”

“You should. Pursue it.”

“Fuck off,” he says, turning his head to stare at the shadows darkening the hills. “Stop being so goddamn nice to me. I hate it. I don’t need it.”

I stop him, pulling him against me with a tug of my hand. His chest meets mine and I cup his cheek roughly, wanting him to hear this.

“I’ve learned that you have to take what you want, Mitchell. You take it and you make no apologies for it.”

He swallows, his gaze sliding down to my moving lips. His tongue peeks out and wets his mouth.

“You do what you want. Life is short. Fuck your dad, fuck your mom. Live for yourself.”

My fingers dig into his cheeks and he lets out a shaky breath.

And then his lips meet mine, just a brush of our mouths before he pulls away and stalks forward.

“Yeah, fuck off, asshole.”

I huff a small laugh and trail after him, my hand sliding against his. I’ll take it. It was small, but I’ll take it.