Reluctantly You (Our Exception Book 3)

Mitch

“Do you want to talk about why you canceled last week?” my therapist, Paul, asks. I shift in my seat and shake my head.

“Dunno. Just didn’t wanna talk about it.”

I sound like a frat boy on booze. I can’t articulate how afraid I am. How deep down, I worry that perhaps there’s something in me that just can’t be fixed.

“I just wanted to give you the option to talk about it, Mitch. I know that sometimes a therapist isn’t a good fit and we could talk about a transition, if that’s what you’d like.”

My heart clenches in my chest. “I don’t want a transition. I just…I freaked out. About a lot. About the shit I was doing with…another guy and you know, the shit with my dad.”

Paul just nods his head. I fucking hate how nonjudgmental he is. I grew up my entire life with people staring at me, watching me, commenting on every single thing I did, and here he is…unbothered by it all.

Fuck him.

“I don’t want to start over with someone else. This is working just fine.”

He nods, his perfect hair unmoving in the frame of my phone.

“That’s great, Mitch. I think we’re making progress.”

I huff and turn my gaze away. If he means progress in avoiding Gideon, then yeah. I’ve been a goddamn master at that.

Since he hung my painting on his wall, I’ve been a ninja. Sneaking into work and avoiding him during the work day.

Only to reappear in his office after everyone has left for the day.

My hole clenches when I think about him.

His mouth around my cock as I clung to the end of his desk. The way he sucked me, the way he looked when he swallowed my cum.

He owns me, the entirety of me.

And it makes me shake with fear.

I shudder and stare back at Paul, trying to keep my thoughts pure while speaking to him. I need to keep it together.

I need to behave.

Paul doesn’t want to know the thoughts my cock is having.

“Yeah, I think so too. I uh, I’m also thinking about telling my brothers about my…dad. Their dad. You know?”

“Oh, that’s a big step. How do you feel about that?”

I scoff. How do I feel? Like shit. Like I might lose the one thing I still love, still care about. What if they reject me? What if this is their excuse to discard me for good?

“I dunno. Shitty? Worried they’re gonna use this as an excuse to cut things off with me.”

“That’s a scary thought.”

“Yeah, it fucking is.”

I shift my gaze out to the parking lot and let my mind reel. What would I do if they left me? If they decided I wasn’t worth it?

I’m not sure I’m worth fighting for.

“What’s that look? What are you thinking?” Paul asks, always so perceptive, even though we’re only in virtual therapy. I wish he had less insight into me. But he can read me like a fucking book. Perhaps I’m not as closed off as I think.

“Just worried. That when I tell them…it’s all over. I’ve always been a dickhead. This could be the final straw. The reason they discard me once and for all.”

He nods and then runs a hand across his jaw. “Why don’t you message them now while we’re together? See about setting something up. Maybe this weekend? Let them know then.”

I huff and consider it.

“Yeah, I could. It could be casual. Like a barbecue.”

“Yes, whatever you’re most comfortable with. This is your life, Mitch. Yours. You get to dictate what happens.”

I nod and we finish off our session, my mind trying to process everything I’ve done and have yet to do. I log off with a tremor in my heart. I can do this. I will. With a flick of my fingers, I send a message to Matt and Max, inviting them and their partners—fuck, husbands—over on Friday night.

For a barbecue.

A roasting of their older brother.

It could be the end of me. Of us.

I stare down at my phone and see their immediate responses.

They’re coming.

I shoot a message to Magnus, letting him know about the get-together. I doubt he can come because of the kids and how far away he lives, but wanted to invite him all the same.

Magnus

Shame. I’d love to be there but we’re away this weekend on a camping trip. I’m with you in spirit. Sem says he hopes you burn.

I let out a loud laugh and shake my head.

Me

I deserve that.

Magnus

You do, but we all deserve a second chance. Let me know how it goes.

I stare at his message and shove my phone in my pocket.

This is fucking terrifying.

I don’t know if I want to tell anyone how it ends.

I stare at the ticking clock, waiting for the last person to leave the office. When I hear their muttered voices retreat, I make my way toward Gideon’s office, my lungs holding in air. Anticipation. Greed.

I shouldn’t.

I really shouldn’t, but god, my body wants him.

Pushing his office door open, I see him on his computer, his eyes lifting to meet mine. Dark, deep pools of longing stare back at me, his tongue peeking out and wetting his lips.

“Lock the door,” he says lowly, and I do as he says, flicking my fingers against the door handle.

It’s just us. Alone.

He leans back in his chair and beckons me forward, his long legs stretched out before him.

“Look at you. Been avoiding me all damn day. All damn week. Thought maybe you wouldn’t show.”

I huff and step closer to him, my body humming with need.

“Been showing up just fine every day after work.”

“You have. Now, bend over the desk,” he commands, and my already-hard cock twitches in my slacks.

I come to a stop between his outstretched legs and turn around, my elbows on the cool desk, my ass and hips arched out.

I feel his hands cup my cheeks through the fabric of my pants as he kneads them in his palms.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, making my skin on my face flush red.

His fingertips skim around to the front of my thighs and cup my cock. I groan lowly and he chuckles at my response.

I tried so damn hard to keep it all inside, to pretend he doesn’t have this effect on me, but he does.

He so fucking does.

It’s a wonder everyone doesn’t already know what’s happening behind his closed door after hours.

It’s as clear as fucking day.

He’s getting me off, and I’m letting him.

I’m begging for it.

His fingers slip to the button on my pants and deftly undoes it, tugging them down my thighs, baring my ass to him. He leans forward and blows a warm breath across my skin before he bites down on my ass cheek. I gasp at the sensation of his mouth on me.

“So fucking delicious,” he murmurs, and I let out a long breath, half groan, half wheeze.

The things he makes me do. The things I never thought I’d let myself want.

And now I have them.

Almost all of them.

I see him reach into his drawer and pull out a bottle of lube, dribbling some onto his fingertips and bringing it to my ass. He massages the lube around my hole and I feel it open slightly, wanting to be filled.

“Oh fuck,” I moan.

I want him to fuck me.

God, he should fuck me. Put me out of my misery.

Not that I’ll tell him that. It’s something I can’t admit. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“So fucking pretty,” he says as he pushes two fingers inside of me. My eyes close and I feel every sting, every stretch as he opens me up.

“Look how needy you are,” he adds as he continues to fuck into me. “You’d look so pretty with my cock stretching you open. You want that, Mitchell?” he asks as he sinks to his knees and pulls my balls into his mouth.

An ugly, desperate moan escapes my lips and I arch back, fucking myself onto his fingers. It’s not enough, not nearly enough.

He chuckles, the vibration pulsing through me making my cock leak.

He reaches around and tugs me further away from the desk, my cock no longer trapped against the wood.

He wraps a hand around my stiff length and starts to pump me as he adds a third finger to my eager hole.

I press my forehead into my forearms and let out a slew of grunts as he pegs my prostate. Sensation swirls inside of me, reds and blues mixing together to create a fog of need. Of lust.

“Please. Please,” I chant as he continues to pump my cock and fuck me with those fingers.

“What is it you want, my little slut?”

“Ngggh,” I reply, trying to form words, but I can’t. It’s too hard. I’ve been reduced to this pleading nonsense.

“Hm, want me to stuff my cock into your tight, virgin hole? Is that what you want?”

I gasp when he adds a fourth finger and I feel my balls draw up, my release so damn close. God, the way I’d come with him stuffing me full.

“Fuck. Please,” I whisper.

He chuckles and tightens his hand on my dick, shuttling it up and down my shaft until I come with a low, keening cry.

My body shakes and trembles, my fingers clawing at his desk until he slowly pulls out of me and stands. I turn around on shaking legs and he pushes me to my knees.

“You…fuck you,” I say even though my words are no longer biting, just lined with a desperate sheen.

Pathetic.

“Open that pretty, slut mouth,” he says, and I hesitate only a moment before I do as he says.

“Show me your tongue.”

I narrow my gaze but still my tongue slips from between my lips and his dark eyes sparkle.

“Look the fuck at you,” he murmurs as he pushes his cock into my mouth, all the way back until I’m nearly gagging on him. His fingers curl into my hair as he plugs me and then pulls out, letting me gasp for air before shoving back into me.

The feel of his hands on me, his cockhead tunneling down my throat makes me feel…alive.

My dick twitches between my legs, and I grab on to it, trying to stifle the urge to get off again as he continues to use my mouth. He’s so rough and yet, at the same time, gentle, taking his time with me, seeming to savor it.

“Fuck yourself, Mitchell. Show me how much you love this.”

I gurgle around him and let myself wait just a moment before trailing my fingers down to my slackened and wet hole.

A low moan escapes me as he continues to fuck into my mouth, his cock heavy and warm on my tongue.

“Harder. Think of this, of my dick inside of you while you moan my name.”

I gasp as his movements grow frantic, his words affecting not only me, but him as well.

He likes the idea of bending me over and taking me.

Just like he’s taken every other part of me.

Oh god. Oh fuck.

My fingers hit my prostate and I start to shake once more. His fingernails dig into my scalp as he ruts into my mouth, and I unload onto the floor between his legs as he does the same into my throat. I swallow him down, every bitter drop.

I want more.

How can I want more?

As soon as it’s over, my orgasm receding, shame washes over me. I sag to the floor and he pets my head.

“Such a good boy,” he says softly as he tilts my chin up, wiping some of his cum from my cheek. “And none of this sulking. Allow yourself to enjoy it, Mitchell. What you want…there’s no shame in that.”

I swallow and let him gingerly touch my cheek.

“And you’re so good at it. So fucking good.”

I scoff, but let that praise sit inside of me, welling into something terrifying.

“Come here,” he says, lowering himself into his chair and pointing to his lap.

I stare at it and he points again, growing impatient with me.

“I’m not sitting in your fucking lap.”

“Yes, you are. Now stand up and come here. You’ve been ignoring me, avoiding me. I just want a moment to fucking hold you.”

I roll my eyes slightly, but still stand up, trying to pull my pants up to hide my soft cock and empty balls.

“No. Leave them around your ankles.”

I scoff. “Fuck you. You don’t own me.”

Even though he does. Oh god, he knows he does. The way he commands me and I come. Like a good dog.

“No, I don’t own you, but I’m going to. I want you bare so I can touch your pretty cock and balls.”

That makes my skin flame and I murmur a slew of curse words as I shuffle toward him, turning and lowering myself onto his lap and letting him run his hand up my shirt and across my chest, his free hand moving to my cum-soaked dick.

“You came twice. Such a filthy boy,” he says as he licks his way up my neck and nibbles on my ear.

“Yeah, it was a fluke.”

“I think it’s just you, Mitchell. I think you’re a bottom, through and through.”

I scoff at that, but let the idea settle in my head. It makes me shift on his lap and he chuckles against my neck.

“Don’t freak out. It’s good. You’re so damn good. Always.”

I let him hold me like that for a moment, relishing in it, savoring it.

“How is therapy going?” he asks, flicking my nipple slightly.

“This is what you want to talk about?”

“Of course. I want to know how your day’s gone. And now is as good a time as any.”

“Yeah. Fine. Gonna tell my brothers this Friday about…you know.”

He hums and shifts me on his lap. “Would you like me to be there?”

I turn to look at him and I see the way his eyes show how fucking proud he is of me. Makes me preen and I fucking hate it.

“And how will I explain you?”

He shrugs and then leans forward and kisses the corner of my lips. I melt, just a puddle of honey and butterscotch.

“You could say that I’m the man you’re fucking.”

“Fuck off.”

“Your friend then? Boyfriend?”

That words sits between us, and I shuffle off his lap once more.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Gideon. I’m not fucking…gay.”

That words falls off my lips, and I watch as he sighs.

“Of course not.”

I pull my pants up and fasten them, feeling my wet hole contract around nothing.

“I’m gonna go,” I murmur, feeling suddenly ashamed. Everything is wrong, nothing makes sense. Not anymore.

When I arrive home, I see a few packages sitting outside my door and I wonder what I ordered.

Can’t fucking remember.

I push the door open and drag everything inside as Little Pants meows angrily at me. I pick her up and press a kiss to her soft fur before she hops from my hands and starts to eat.

Asshole.

I scrub a hand down my face as I stare at the boxes lining my entryway. I don’t remember ordering anything this large.

With tired hands, I pry them open and feel my heart start to thunder in my chest.

An easel.

Paints.

Several canvases.

Gideon.

My fingers clench and I blink away unshed tears.

That asshole. Breaking me down, showing me things that I never let myself want and then telling me it’s okay.

It’s not fucking okay.

I pull out my phone with a shaking hand and stab at his name.

“Mitchell,” he says lowly, and I growl at him.

“Fuck you!”

He’s silent, and I let out a slow breath. “Fuck you, Gideon. Fuck you. You can’t just… you can’t…”

“But I can and I did.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and feel something shift inside of me. “Come over. Come the fuck over. Right. Now.”

He’s silent a moment longer and then I hear him murmur, “Be there in five.”

When he arrives, I’m fucking pissed, my chest heaving, my fists clenched. He can’t fucking do this. He can’t make me hope, make me dream.

Dreams only get crushed, destroyed. Spat and shit on.

Painting is for pussies.

“What the fuck is this?” I growl and stare at him as he strides inside my house, his eyes landing on the canvas he painted that I hung on my wall, near my entrance. Just like he did for me.

“You can’t just buy me shit,” I say and his eyes move from his painting to me once more.

“I can buy you whatever I want.”

I scoff and turn my head away, feeling my cheeks flame. This asshole. He can’t…he just can’t.

“I can. And I did. Now, let’s set it all up. I think in your living room would be a good place for the easel. Lots of light.”

I glower at him. “I’m not setting up shit.”

He smirks at me. “You are.” He loosens his tie and starts to unbutton his shirt.

“I’d like you to paint me first.”

“I’m not fucking painting you. I’m gonna start with a bowl of fruit or something.”

He chuckles lowly and pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “Fruit. Hm? A banana? A peach?”

I scowl. That asshole.

“I’ll arrange something. Hold on.”

My eyes follow him as he traipses into the kitchen and a moment later returns with a bowl stuffed with fruit. An apple, a banana, and a zucchini.

“Not all fucking fruit,” I murmur.

“It works.”

He sets it down on the table and then walks away, shucking his shirt off as he goes.

“I’m going to read in the bedroom. When you’re done, come join me.”

I watch him go, my heart thundering in my chest.

Fuck him. I’m not painting a thing. Not a fucking thing.