Reluctantly You (Our Exception Book 3)

Gideon

“Are you going to freak out?” I ask, my eyes staring intently at Mitchell. He’s still naked, lying on the bed next to me, his face and body flushed, his pupils still blown out.

“Maybe in a bit.”

My finger drags up his arm, following the vein that’s popping out on his forearm.

“You’ll talk to me about it, if you do.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

That’s good enough for me. I just want him to try.

“How about we hang out here for a bit?”

“You did cut my shorts off.”

“Worth it,” I say as my tongue slides across my bottom lip. “Fucking delicious.”

Mitch’s cheeks darken, and I see his cock twitch between his legs.

“How about we go in the jacuzzi, or the pool? It’s warm out and we did work up a sweat.”

“Yeah, guess so. Whatever.”

I shift up and then stand, kicking off my clothes entirely. Mitchell’s gaze tracks down my body, and I flex, letting him see the ridges of muscles that I’ve carefully cultivated. I know he can’t take his eyes off me.

“Let’s go. Up.”

He rolls sideways and follows me toward the kitchen, but before we enter the main area, I hand him a towel.

“We go in naked, but until we get there, wear this.”

“What about your neighbors?”

“You’ll see,” I say and then grab two drinks from the fridge and lead him outside. Mitchell quickly wraps the towel around his waist and follows me, the sun almost stifling. By afternoon it’ll be sweltering. Good thing the jacuzzi isn’t hot. Just a lukewarm that will cool us down and be slightly refreshing.

“Right here,” I say as I lead Mitchell past a covered patio and toward the large in-ground pool, with a waterfall, a grotto, and a water slide. I bought the house with this backyard entirely done. A grandparent built this for his grandchildren. But the kids moved away right after it was finished, so they sold the house and moved as well.

It’s perfect and yet, far too large for me. It would be perfect for children.

One day.

“In you go,” I say, and he steps past me into the grotto. He ducks down, the ceiling a little too low for us to stand upright, and steps into the water, his towel flung to the side.

His shoulders are tense, his body rigid. My eyes can’t help but settle on his round ass and I bite my bottom lip to keep the moan at bay.

I want him again.

Fuck me for thinking he wasn’t my type.

He’s entirely my type. Built and broken, a man needing something only I can give.

I don’t let him think too hard about what’s about to happen. I want to show him how good this can be, that feeling this for another man isn’t wrong.

I crowd him, setting our drinks down on the ground and turning him into me. My mouth slants over his and I thrust my tongue against his, his naked body leaning into mine.

“I’m going to enjoy having you naked all day,” I say, and he pants against me, his fingers curling into my sides.

“I’m not staying naked with you.”

“You fucking are,” I reply and then bring him down onto my lap, his thighs straddling mine. No one can see us in here, a secret little sex cave. Mitchell’s cock is hard against mine, and he ruts up against me, the water pulsing around us in lazy, soft waves.

“So horny, so fucking needy for it.”

“No. Just…just hormones,” he grumbles, but I reach around him and cup his ass, dragging his body into mine. Over and over, the waves growing, pummeling the sides like the ocean during a storm.

“No. It’s you, discovering what you want, what you like. And you know what you like?”

“Fuck off.”

“You like cock. My cock. And I’m going to give it to you, my little slut. Soon. But not yet.”

His mouth crashes into mine, his movements frantic, his body trembling with a lifetime’s worth of pent-up need. We work ourselves toward the edge, my finger swirling around his clenching hole, before I pull away from him, nodding to the side of the jacuzzi.

“Sit on the edge. I’m going to suck your cock.”

He’s panting, his chest heaving. But he doesn’t fight it, just pulls himself up, his legs still in the water, his abdomen and cock dripping wet and waiting for me. My fingers scratch up his thighs and I spread them wider, sitting between them. I inhale the salt on his skin and then engulf him, bringing him into the back of my throat and gagging on his cockhead before hollowing out my cheeks and pulling off him.

I glance up and see his lips parted, his eyes lowered in lust. His fingers are curled up against the side of the jacuzzi and I reach out and grab them, placing them on my head.

“Fuck my face, Mitchell. Use me like one of your toys.”

His fingers tighten into fists and he shakes his head.

“No.”

“No? Hm, seems you want me to use you. I can do that.”

I lick up his cock, and he groans. And then I suck him down again as his hands fall to his sides. He’s shifting his hips up into me as my mouth continues to work him over the edge. The way our combined sounds are echoing off the rock walls, the taste of his precum on my tongue, it’s almost too much. I’m heady with lust, with desire. I want to bring him over the edge with my name on his lips.

With my free hand, I cup his balls and roll them in my palm, tugging on them lightly.

“Who’s sucking your cock, Mitchell?” I ask as I slick my tongue across his slit. “Who’s making your scream?”

“You, Gideon. You,” he breathes, and I grin as I take him once more, sucking and gurgling, my throat contracting when I drag him into the back of my throat. And he comes on a shout, his cock exploding right into my stomach. I continue to contract my throat around him as he shakes and shudders, his body slowly growing limp and loose. In a swift movement, I stand and jack myself, my own release coming just seconds later, my cum coating his softening cock and his chiseled abs. He watches it all, the way I mark him. He knows what this means.

Mine.

“Never had this much sex in my life,” he wheezes as he slumps back, his elbows on the ground, his eyes closing.

“Well, it’s good that I have amazing stamina,” I say as I reach back and grab a towel, wiping him up and then dragging him back in the water. He sits on my lap, protesting only slightly before his back hits my chest as my hand snakes around his waist, toying with his cock and balls.

I love how he melts into me. One of my favorite things about him.

“Grab the drinks and pop them open,” I say, and he does as I ask, handing me one. The bubbly liquid is cool on our tongues and we drink in silence, listening to the water gurgle around us as my hands continue to explore his strong body, always returning to his dick.

Fondling it.

It’s hard again.

I knew it.

I fucking knew it.

He wants this. To be owned.

My own dick responds, settled in between his cheeks, rocking against it slightly.

He’s not pushing me away, almost seems to be arching into it.

He wants me to push inside him, to split him open.

My slutty little bottom.

“You getting too hot?” I ask, and he nods, his cheeks flushed.

“Want to go inside?”

“Yeah, but we really should get back to Little Pants. She gets really hangry.”

“Hm, yes. We can do that. I’m packed and I have some clothes you can wear home. Although, if you’d like to go naked, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m not going home naked.”

“Shame, but I’ll like you in my clothes.”

“I’ll change as soon as I get home,” he murmurs, trying to push back. But I won’t let him.

I reach down between his legs and cup his cock roughly. His gaze dips to my lips and I pull him closer.

“You’ll wear my clothes until I pull them off you.”

His chest heaves as I pull him in for a rough kiss and then grab my towel and make my way back to the house. His feet hitting the stone beneath our feet is the only indication that he’s following me.

We make it back to his place and Little Pants is not happy at the delay, meowing loudly at Mitchell.

I watch him as he works on getting her fed. God, this guy. We still haven’t talked about what this is between us. Perhaps it’s my job to show him what it would be like to be with me, another man. I’m not sure. All I know is I don’t want to scare him away. While I set my bags in his bedroom, she screams at him until he pops open some wet food and sets it in her dish. I can hear her lapping at it as he scoops out the litter box and dumps it in the trash.

“She’s a bitch,” he murmurs, but I can hear the adoration in his voice.

“Dogs are easy. They so easily love you. You have to earn the love of a cat,” I say, and Mitch’s eyes slam into mine. “It’s so much better when it’s earned.”

He swallows and I take him in—those tight shorts, accentuating his big dick and those thick thighs. The tight shirt I gave him, a size too small.

Like I said, he’s not taking those off until I peel them off his body.

Or perhaps I’ll rip them off.

“Stop staring at me,” he grumbles, a flush to his face. He almost looks shy.

“I’ll stare all I want.”

He huffs and then folds his arms across his chest. “Now what the fuck are we supposed to do all day?”

“You could sit on my face.” His cheeks darken, and I smirk at him. “Or we could just hang out. Chill. Be…friendly.”

“We’ve never been friendly.”

“We can learn to be,” I say and then take a step toward him. “But I never did have many friends.”

“More than me.”

“True. But Shiloh and Rory don’t count. They’re more like…brothers.”

Mitch shifts before me. “Yeah.”

“Have you spoken to yours again?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“Yeah, I mean, we had dinner. Probably should call them and…you know, tell them shit.”

I cock my head, and he peers over at me. “Told Magnus about our dad. But he doesn’t count since he hates me, anyway.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t.”

“Yeah, I dunno.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell the others until you’re ready.”

“Yeah, I know, but fuck.” He runs a hand down his face. “I think it will make me feel better. I should just send a text message. Get it out there.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know if that’s the best way. It would be better in person, where you can answer questions.”

“I don’t know the answers. Still haven’t talked to my mom…or my…Jack.”

“Jack. Yes. Jack Morris.”

I roll that name around my mouth before spitting it out. He doesn’t deserve the air I breathe.

“I could call them this week and see…my brothers I mean. Maybe I could have them over.”

“That’s a good start.”

I move a little closer to him, offering him my support all while pulling out my phone to check on Rory and Shiloh. Should have done it sooner, but I was so distracted with Mitchell that it slipped my mind.

Shiloh answers, a hushed whisper pulsing through the phone.

“Hey, he’s okay. Just sleeping.”

“Still?” I ask, and I can hear Shiloh hum.

“Yeah, it really took it out of him, but if you want to see him tonight, feel free to stop by.”

I peer over at Mitchell and nod. “We’ll be there.”

“Who’s we? Is it Mitchell? I know Rory wants to thank him for what he did.”

“Yes. But for now, let him rest.”

“I will,” Shiloh says and after a quick goodbye, hangs up.

I set my phone down and scrub my hand over my face, Mitchell eyeing me curiously.

“Is he okay?”

“Sleeping. He tends to do this when things get overwhelming. Not that I blame him.”

“I should have killed that fuck,” Mitchell murmurs, but I stop him.

“Perhaps, one day. I’ll contract out.” He grins at that. “But for now, we wait. And while we do, I know something that will occupy our time.”

His cheeks flush and I step toward him, brushing my knuckles across his cheeks.

“Not sex. Something else. Something…different.”

His gaze darkens, and I bite back a smile.

Yes, this is exactly what he needs. This confirms it. I can’t fucking wait.

Mitchell started out at the paint and sip class wary and jittery, but after gulping down an entire glass of red wine and staring at the canvas, he started to paint.

At first, it was tentative strokes and then he became more bold. Splashes of color, swirls of paint. My canvas looked like a child painted it, all awkward lines and mismatched colors, but Mitchell’s…

Fuck.

It’s good, abstract, full of life. A completely different take on the desert landscape the teacher was guiding us toward. There are swirls of purple, pink, and orange with the lone green and red Joshua tree in the distance, the silver moon almost too big for the sky.

If this is what he could do without practice, he’d be a force with classes. With a mentor. With someone who could appreciate his innate talent.

His eyes are glazed over as soon as the teacher wraps up, his hand shaking slightly as he turns to face me. Blue paint streaks across his cheek, his fingertips silver and green.

“I—” His words trail off and he swallows. “I wasn’t good company. I⁠—”

“Mitchell,” I reply with a small smile as I move toward him, people crowding around and staring at his masterpiece. “Look what you did. Look.”

He turns his watery gaze toward the canvas and shivers.

“I didn’t…I didn’t know I could do this.”

“Mm, but you did. You did know.”

He sets his paintbrush down and runs a hand down his face, the paint streaking across his cheeks, making even more of a mess. But he’s never looked so fucking perfect.

“I need some fucking air.”

He pushes past the people whispering, their eyes alight with wonder as they look at what he’s created, and steps outside.

“That’s amazing,” someone says.

“Beautiful.”

“Mine looks like shit compared to this.”

“Is he a professional artist?”

My heart swells and I shake my head. “No, he’s not. Just naturally talented and doesn’t realize it.”

I turn and stare at Mitchell standing outside as I swallow the rest of my wine before grabbing both of the canvases, handling his with far more care than my own, and striding outside into the warm summer air. Mitchell is lingering near the curb, staring blankly out into the horizon.

“Hey,” I say, coming to a stop near him. “You okay?”

“Mhm.”

I hand him his canvas and he doesn’t even look at it, his eyes landing everywhere but where they should.

“Let’s go check on Rory,” he says, striding toward my car and tapping on the trunk.

I pop it open and he tosses the canvas inside, not even giving it a second glance. But I do. I stare at it, the beautiful swirls of color sitting against the black carpet of my car.

So easily discarded.

It begs to be shown, to be seen.

“Let’s stop by my place first. I have something I need to do,” I say as I slide into the driver’s side.

He nods and I steer us toward my place, my mind awash with the man beside me. How can someone who behaves like him be so fucking intriguing? The man I thought was just a spoiled brat is so much more. There are layer upon layers I have yet to peel back.

That he has yet to discover himself.

“Will you be seeing your therapist again?” I ask.

He scoffs and turns his gaze out the window. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I am. Monday and Wednesday. I have shit to…say.”

I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. Good. That’s fucking good.

He needs to process all of this with someone other than me.

Not that I don’t want to hear it, but he needs a professional.

My car shuts off as soon as I pull into my driveway, and I step out, popping the trunk and grabbing the art that had been thrown in the back.

“What are you doing?” he asks as I make my way to my front door and unlock it.

“You’ll see,” I reply, making my way through to the laundry room. I pull out a hammer and a lone nail and walk toward the entrance of the house. Mitchell’s throat is bobbing as I set his piece of art on the floor and hammer a nail right into the wall.

My fingers gingerly pick up his art and hang it, straightening it out until it’s just right.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

“Why not? It’s beautiful. I want everyone to see it when they come into my house.”

He swipes at his eyes and stares at it. “I’m not a professional. I’m just…me.”

“And that’s why I want it here. I want a piece of you, Mitchell. I want the real you.”

His voice is a whisper. “I don’t know who that is anymore.”

I turn and stand behind him, reaching up and cupping his chin, forcing him to look at what he created.

“Look. Look at that. That’s you. And it’s fucking perfection.”

“It’s not perfect. It’s a mess.”

My fingers tighten on his chin. “No. That’s what you see. What everyone else sees… is something unique, something beautiful.”

“Shut up. Shut up,” he says as he turns into me and wraps his arms around my waist, just for a moment, before pulling away.

“What are you going to do with yours?” he asks, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

I stare at my ugly canvas and arch an eyebrow.

“Firewood?”

He grins and then picks it up, tucking it under his arm.

“No. I’ll find a place for it.”

“Might be more useful as kindling.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

My heart flutters in my chest.

Fair enough.