Reluctantly You (Our Exception Book 3)

Mitch

I try not to think of him, how his hand felt in mine, the way I wanted to kiss him again.

Makes me all sorts of confused, I don’t even know how to speak about it, so I cancel therapy the following day because I don’t have the words. Fucking Gideon, making me feel things.

But then after work, he messages me, a simple note inviting me to an art show tonight, and I start to feel the dull, lifeless colors change around me, rust to honey, warm and sweet.

Fuck.

I should say no, but I don’t. I type out a message, telling him I can meet him there before flopping onto my sofa and staring at my phone. Everything is confusing, a mess of emotions.

I’m flailing.

I don’t know what I want.

My phone chimes and I peer at it, expecting it to be Gideon, but it’s not. It’s Magnus.

Magnus

So I’m bored. Tell me about your life. What have I missed?

Me

Didn’t think you’d care to know.

Magnus

Like I said, bored.

I snort at that. It’s well deserved. He doesn’t need a valid reason to ask. He can do and say whatever he wants with the way I treated him in the past.

I was a bully, an asshole. Hating myself for what I wanted and then projecting it onto him.

Or at least that’s what my psychologist said.

Me

Just been busy with work and working out.

Magnus

Still a gym bro?

Me

Yep. Met someone there you’d really like.

I fiddle with my phone and tap it on my chest. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t, but I’m feeling chaotic, a swirl of red and black.

Me

Also found out that our dad isn’t my bio dad.

I wait. And wait, the bomb already having been dropped, the seconds ticking like a death knell. For a moment, I consider deleting the comment, but I don’t. I can’t. He’s probably already seen.

Suddenly, the phone rings, Magnus’s name flashing across the screen.

I don’t want to answer, don’t want to talk. So I ignore it. But he was always a persistent fucker and he calls back three times until I finally pick up.

“Honestly, you asshole. Don’t drop that and then not answer.”

I sigh and run a hand across my jaw.

“Yeah.”

“So what is this? How did you find out? What has he said? Oh my god, does Mom know you know? Does he?”

“Um, yeah. So it was kind of a fluke. Did one of the stupid ancestry kits. You know how dad is always bragging about how he’s English and Scottish.”

“God, yeah, he’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have any of that. Actually I’m mostly Russian and Spanish.”

“Holy shit.”

“Didn’t think much of it, but then I got an itch so I got a DNA test, secretly, and found out we’re not a match. Mom knows. He knows somehow. And I have a bio dad who I haven’t met yet.”

“Holy shit. That’s crazy, Mitch. Do Max and Matt know?”

I let out a shaky breath. “Haven’t told them.”

“You need to tell them.”

“Maybe. I just…I don’t want them to hate me even more.”

Magnus is quiet for a moment. “And what about me?”

“You’re a safe space. You already hate me.”

Magnus sighs loudly, and I close my eyes, my mind swirling unpredictably.

“Maybe years ago I did. What you said was horrible and mean. How you treated me growing up was downright bullying. But space has given me some clarity and Max and Matt’s paths back to me have helped me open back up. If you’re open to change, I can accept that.” He pauses and inhales deeply. “I could accept you.”

I feel my throat start to sting, and I swallow. “I won’t change. I am who I am.”

I can’t change now, not really. It almost seems impossible.

“I know, but look, you’re talking to me again. We’re talking, Mitch. That’s a nice step forward.”

I let out a small snort and he does as well.

“But you should tell Max and Matt. I can’t believe this. I really can’t. Mom kept this secret all these years. Who would have thought?”

Could I tell them? I guess that I treated Magnus the worst. And he’s still speaking to me. So perhaps this will all be okay. I just don’t know. I can’t fucking think too hard about it or I start to crack and bleed.

“Yeah.”

“Has she tried to explain?”

“No. She showed up at work, but I don’t feel like talking right now. I have her number blocked. I really don’t want to hear it. And as soon as dad found out, he abandoned me. He sold the company to someone else and hasn’t called me or anything.”

Magnus gasps. “But that company was supposed to be yours.”

“Yeah, but I’m not his, so I guess it’s not mine.”

Magnus grumbles under his breath and then exhales loudly. “Well, he’s an asshole. Always was. I don’t know if you deserved better, but I’m going to go with my gut and say you’ve been beaten down enough. Karma and all that. And now I can really feel sorry for you.”

My lips curl up at the corners, his brazen words making my chest constrict slightly. “Sounds fair.”

“It is fair.” His voice lowers and I can hear the softness in him. “I’m sorry about this, Mitch. It’s really shitty and not right. And I’m here for you, if you need to talk about it more. I can be a very good listener.”

“Thanks, but…I’m seeing a therapist.”

Magnus gasps, choking slightly and then lets out a laugh. “Oh my god. Good for you. I know it can’t be easy, not with how much it was drilled in us growing up to never talk about our feelings.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m proud of you, Mitch. You’re trying. That’s all anyone can really do.”

My cheeks are wet and I swipe at them.

“Yeah. It’s all I can do. For now.”

Messaging Max and Matt is not something I want to do right away. Part of me is scared they’ll reject me. I know I need to, eventually, but not right now.

Magnus said he’d keep this a secret. For now.

I unbutton the top two buttons of my white shirt and slip on my jacket, staring at myself in the mirror. Little Pants meows at me and I pick her up, pressing a soft kiss to her orange head.

“Apparently orange cats only have one brain cell. Is that you, Little Pants?”

She meows at me and claws at my jacket, obviously done being held. She just wants a treat. I move into the kitchen, rolling my jacket free of the hair she got on me as I go. I set a few treats on the ground, then glance at my reflection in the window.

“I’ll be back late,” I tell her, smoothing a hand through my neatly coifed hair. “Don’t make a mess of anything.”

She ignores me, her little cinnamon roll tail twitching in happiness. I grab my keys and stride out, feeling my heart flutter in anticipation.

Is this a date?

Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t want it to be. I don’t want anything of the sort.

And yet, the entire way to the art gallery, I feel my stomach flutter, pink and red butterflies taking flight inside of me.

When I finally make my way inside, my skin is warm and flushed, my eyes taking in the swirls of color all around me. It’s almost overwhelming, the hues, shades, and tints splashed across the walls. God, what would it be like to live in a place like this, open and honest?

What would it be like to create?

“You made it,” a familiar voice says beside me.

I swallow and turn my gaze to Gideon, who looks impeccable in his black suit and gray tie. He stands in stark contrast to the bright colors around us.

Of course he does. He’s always stood out. Even when I knew nothing but his name, he was a force to be reckoned with.

“I did,” I finally manage to say, my eyes peeling away from the tantalizing shade of his lips.

His hand trails along my arm and I can feel his touch all the way through my jacket.

“Come on. Rory is excited to talk your ear off about all of this.”

I eye him and his finger crooks against my own, pulling me forward.

We find Rory standing in front of an abstract painting of a woman in a field of flowers. His hair is braided once more, his body clad in a pale purple body suit, a belt cinched around his narrow waist. When his violet eyes meet mine, his lips move up into a soft grin.

“Hi, Mitch. Gideon said you were coming.” He moves toward me and reaches out, squeezing my arm. “He said you were a fan of art as well.”

“Yeah, something like that,” I say, shifting uneasily on my feet.

He sighs and then turns his gaze back to the canvas before us. “What do you think?”

What do I think? I don’t fucking know. It’s abstract, subjective. I just know that the colors seem to exude happiness and joy, warmth even.

When I don’t answer right away, Rory pulls his lips between his teeth and cocks his head. “I think it looks happy, don’t you?”

“Guess so,” I murmur, even as my eyes track across the flowers a shapely woman is surrounded by. “Seems she’s surrounded by a lot of beautiful things.”

“Yeah, she is,” Rory replies and then links his arm with mine. Gideon is staring at me intently, and I feel myself blush, hoping no one notices through the bright lights above us.

“Gideon says I can talk your ear off about the artwork. Is that okay?” he asks me.

“Sure. I guess.”

He grins at me and then pulls me forward, his arm linked through mine as we move to the next piece on the wall, a picture of what looks like a dark green willow tree hanging down into a cobalt blue river. Calmness, tranquility, and depth seem to punch from the canvas and I hold my breath, trying to calm my heart.

“I love this one, don’t you?” Rory asks.

“Yeah, it’s peaceful.”

“It is. I’ve always wanted to sit under a weeping willow, read a book, and watch the water trickle by.”

“Yeah. Same.”

Gideon’s eyes are still on me and I peer over at him under my lashes, trying like hell to keep my thoughts at bay. But the more we move around the room, the more thoughts Rory pulls from me. I’m opening up, letting my feelings about the artwork on the walls spill from my mouth.

Rory just nods, encouraging me in that gentle way of his, and by the time we make our way through most of the canvases, my throat hurts from talking. Gideon is quiet the entire time, taking it all in, continuing to watch me closely. I don’t know what he thinks of me, if this has changed how he perceives me, and suddenly I’m nervous.

Maybe this isn’t what he wants.

Why do I fucking care what he thinks?

“I’m going to get a drink,” I murmur, as I make my way over to the open bar, needing some liquid courage. Gideon and Rory have their heads tilted together as if speaking secrets to one another, and it makes my chest constrict.

What the fuck are they saying? Are they talking about me? Making fun of my thoughts and feelings that they so carelessly pulled from me?

I don’t fucking know.

“Whiskey neat,” I demand, and the bartender arches an eyebrow at me.

“Long night?”

“Something like that,” I grumble as he hands me a cup. I swallow the amber liquid down and set it on the bar top, tapping it slightly. “One more.”

He nods, pouring me another as I glance around the room. Gideon is no longer chatting with Rory, moving away to speak with an older gentleman. My eyes take Gideon in, the curve of his ass, the span of his shoulders, before I force my gaze around to find Rory.

I swallow my next pour down as my eyes settle on him. Something’s not right.

He looks pale, his body tense. My gaze tracks to a man across the room, making his way toward him. He’s a bit older but smarmy, an air about him that oozes black smoke and gray wisps of evil.

My fists clench when he stops in front of Rory and reaches out to grab him. My gaze flicks to Gideon, but he doesn’t notice, too focused on the man he’s currently speaking with. There’s no time.

No fucking time.

I move without another thought, my feet leading me to Rory. The closer I get, the more I realize he’s shaking, a nervous tremble that smells of fear.

Reaching out, I pull him into me, removing the man’s hands from him.

Rory sinks into me, and I narrow my gaze at the man, brimstone seeping from me.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” I growl, my voice low and threatening.

Rory turns his face into my chest, his hands clasping my sides.

“And who are you?” the man asks, his lip curled up in a sneer.

“No one. Now fuck off.”

He smirks at me, his teeth far too white. “Rory and I have business to discuss.”

“No. You don’t,” I reply, and when he tries to reach out and take Rory from me, my arms tighten around him. I don’t even like the man’s eyes on him, they make my skin crawl, so I move Rory behind me, sheltering him from his leering gaze. Something sinister moves through his lifeless gray eyes and I feel that brimstone turn to smoke.

“Please,” Rory whispers, his voice cracking and broken. I can infer so much from that one word.

I’m sick of this man before me, sick of him lingering, waiting, as if I’d ever give Rory up to him. I step forward, my hands moving to the jacket of his expensive suit. I lift him up, his toes practically dangling above the floor as I walk him backward, out of sight of the other guests. So I can pummel him in peace.

“What—let go of me,” he hisses but his command falls on deaf ears. I just carry him further back, his body light in my arms. Or perhaps that’s the adrenaline. I push him against an empty wall in a quiet corner and lift him even higher. My muscles ache, screaming at me. But for the first time in ages, I can feel. I fucking burn.

“I don’t know what you did to him, but don’t you ever touch him again.”

The man is afraid. I can smell it on him, but his lips turn up at the corners, a wobbly, ugly thing. “Are you his boyfriend?”

“You stay away from him.”

When he just laughs, dismissing me, I drop him and my hand goes around his throat, tightening slightly with each intake of breath.

“Do you know who I am?” he hisses, my fingers tightening on his neck.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are.”

“I’ll ruin you.”

“I have nothing,” I say and then lean toward him, cutting off his air entirely. His fingers claw at my hands, the seriousness of my words settling in him. But, still, I don’t let up. “You can’t take away what I don’t have.”

His eyes widen as I let go before I snap my arm back and land a blow across his cheek. His glasses are knocked sideways and his lip splits. Blood trickles from his mouth and his tongue peeks out, lapping it up.

I want to punch him again, want to see his nose crack, but before I can, Gideon moves up beside me, his arms moving around my waist, pulling me into him.

“We’re done here. Let’s go.”

I scoff, narrowing my gaze at the creep before me.

“Don’t ever look his way again,” I warn as Gideon moves me out of the building, security guards converging on us as we exit.

“Don’t worry, they’re just happy we’re leaving,” he explains as he comes to a stop beside Rory who looks pale, like he’s about to crumble into a thousand pieces. Gideon shakes his head and then pulls Rory into his side.

“Go home, Mitch,” he bites out. I pause. Wait, is he angry with me? He looks back over his shoulder and gives me a small, appreciative nod. Relief fills me. It shouldn’t. I shouldn’t give a fuck what Gideon thinks…but for some reason, I do.

He turns and carefully leads Rory away, leaving me standing there in the warm summer night air, trying to pull myself together. My knuckles throb, but what’s worse is it feels unfinished.

I want to go back in there and rip that man apart.

He hurt Rory. He took something from him and is unrepentant. This must be who Gideon was talking about at the club that night. I stare intently through the glass doors into the showroom, watching as that man wipes away the blood from his split lip with a handkerchief. Men like that don’t care that they stole something that wasn’t theirs. They never care who they hurt.

Shit, was I like that? Will I end up like him one day if I don’t fix myself?

My hand slides across my jaw, and I stare out into the night sky.

God, give me hope. I can’t be that evil.

I can’t be like that.

I can’t.

I’m sitting in my house, trying to calm myself down, telling myself over and over that I’m not like him, that I’m trying to be better. The ice on my knuckles is a nice distraction when the doorbell rings.

I stand up, dropping Little Pants onto the floor. She skitters over to her cat tree and peers at me, unenthused at the interruption.

“Yeah, yeah,” I murmur at her as I wrench the door open and see Gideon standing before me, his tie loosened, his hair askew.

“Hey.”

He nods and swallows, his eyes boring into mine. It makes everything inside of me light up.

“Where’s Rory?” I manage to ask.

“With Shiloh.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine. He’s a survivor.”

His hands flex next to his sides, a pause and then suddenly, he’s moving, pressing into me, those long fingers sliding through my hair, his mouth on mine in an almost violent kiss.

My entire body explodes into an array of colors as our tongues tangle, my hands moving around his back and clutching him to me.

I hear the door close behind us as he walks us back, soft grunts escaping our mouths as we crash into the wall.

“You…” he says as his lips part from mine. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks red. “Mitchell…”

His mouth crashes back onto mine and his cock grinds against mine, his kisses growing desperate.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs as he grabs onto my hair tighter, angling my head just the way he wants. “You make me crazy.”

I groan when his lips move down my jaw to my neck, sucking roughly on my skin.

My fingers fist his wrinkled shirt and I push him away, but he doesn’t leave. He just wrestles my hands away from him and presses them above me, my wrists captured in his grasp.

“Don’t push me away. Not tonight,” he hisses and then bites down on my bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth, the pain making my cock leak.

“Let me make you feel good. Please,” he whispers and then kisses me once more, our teeth clashing as our tongues slide against each other.

His free hand drags down my chest and stomach to my dick, and he cups it, squeezing it roughly.

“Let me make us come. Say you want it,” he rasps. “Say you want it, Mitchell.”

I can’t fucking breathe, my chest heaving as he works my pants open and puts his hand on my bare cock. It leaps against his palm, fingers smearing precum across my hard length.

“Fuck you,” I manage to say and his lips twitch, swollen and wet.

“Yes, my little slut. Let me fuck you.”

Those words make a groan slip from my mouth as he peels my pants down my legs, my cock appearing, red and angry, weeping for more.

“Look at you,” he says as his thumb brushes across my slit. My pulse jumps, the sight of him touching my cock like this so foreign and yet so…right.

I hate it.

I want more.

“I can feel your heart beating,” he says, his fingers around my wrists, pressing against my pulse point. “You want this. You want me.”

I don’t admit it. Can’t. I just let his other hand continue to stroke me, slowly, torturously.

Then he suddenly stops, his hand rummaging into his pocket, pulling out a small packet of lube.

“Asshole. I’m not fucking easy.”

“You are. Tell me you are.”

I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want this to end, so I give a slight dip of my chin, an acknowledgement without actually saying anything.

“Mmm, yes. God, after that little stunt you pulled—” His words are cut off when he pulls the package open with his teeth, squirting the lube on the tip of my cock and covering me with it. His hand moves to his pants and I watch as he unzips them, the thick length of him making an appearance as his trousers slide down his thighs.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to hear you moan,” he grunts, and I feel my heart jump in my chest.

“I’m not moaning for you,” I murmur as he brings our cocks together. The sight of it, both slick with lube, tips leaking, forces a moan to slide from me.

Gideon lets out a small, dark laugh and then his hand tightens on my wrists.

“I want you to say my name when you come—mine.”

I scoff, as best I can, and arch my hips forward, fucking into his fist.

“Try and make me.”

It’s a challenge, one he readily accepts, and before I realize what’s going on, his fist tightens around our combined cocks, and he’s stroking us roughly in tandem. My eyes roll back in my head before I snap them open, my chin hitting my chest as I watch him get us both off.

The sight of it is too much, too overwhelming.

And he only makes it worse by leaning forward and biting his way up my neck to my cheek and mouth, nibbling on my sore lips before kissing me roughly.

My cock pulses in his hand, my balls drawn up tight. I’m going to come embarrassingly fast.

I hate him for reducing me to this, to this trembling, heated mess.

“Say my name,” he says as he continues to stroke me, his movements faster, my skin alight with lust.

“Tell me who makes you moan like this, wanton and full of need.”

I shake my head, swallowing roughly as my eyes land on our cocks once more.

“Just say it, Mitchell. Fucking give in for once in your goddamn life.”

“No, this isn’t me. I don’t do this.”

“You do. You want it. You want this with me.”

My eyes slam into his, watching that sliver of iris disappear into his black pupils.

“Say it. Admit it.”

I can’t. I can’t, can I? I always treated my hookups like this, degrading them, calling them names. And here I am, letting Gideon do the same to me. Maybe this is what I wanted all along. Maybe this, right here, is what I need.

I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.

“Say it, Mitchell.”

His wrist twists against us and his teeth graze my ear, and I can’t help the way his name leaves my mouth on a moan.

I give in. In this moment, I admit it all.

“Fuck, yes. Fuck,” he groans and then I feel his cock pulse, his cum hitting my dick, warm and slippery. And then my own release barrels through me, his hand continuing to wring me until I’m empty, just a husk against the wall.

“Fuck. Goddamnit,” he murmurs as he holds us in his palm, our mess smeared between us, his lips pushing against mine. “You’re so fucking hot.”

I moan lowly as his tongue snakes lazily into my mouth, tasting me, my desperation, my need.

And when he’s finally done, he steps away, pulling his shirt off and wiping us up with it.

He kicks his pants off and helps me undress, gathering our clothes in his arms.

“Go turn on the shower,” he says, and I roll my eyes, trying to get my legs to work.

“Fuck off. I don’t want you here.”

He grins at me, his hand grabbing gently onto my jaw.

“Too fucking bad. I’m here and I’m staying the night.”