Reluctantly You (Our Exception Book 3)

Gideon

Hours later, he enters the bedroom, fingers dark from paint, his hair a mess.

“Did you finish?” I ask, and he nods, swallowing roughly.

“Let me see,” I say as I make my way toward the door.

But he stops me, his fingers grasping my shirt roughly, sheer strength stopping me in my tracks.

“Don’t fucking move. Don’t fucking leave.”

“I just want to see what you did. I want to see what you created.”

His breath comes out in a heave. “I can’t have this. I can’t.”

I don’t know what he means, what he’s referring to. My hand moves up to his neck, squeezing tightly.

“I have clawed my way up from nothing. I’ve fought for everything I have. Let me tell you this one thing I’ve learned, Mitchell. You take happiness where you can get it. You take it, hold it, and never let go.”

“I can’t have it.”

“You can. You already have it, it’s right there. Every goddamn opportunity. Now all you have to do is not let it slip through your fingers.”

His eyes are watery, shining with something I recognize. Hope, excitement.

I want to burn his parents for tampering with him, for pushing him down, for making him doubt himself.

“Take it,” I whisper, and his lips slam down on mine. I slant my mouth against his, licking my tongue into him, tasting him, devouring.

He moans, the paint on his fingertips smearing into my cheeks as he holds me against him.

“Why do you make me want it all? Why? I can’t have it. I can’t.”

“You can. You can have anything you want.”

He moans lowly into my mouth, the vibration sliding down into me, lingering between my legs. Fuck, I’m hard. I want him. I want to fuck him, to slide my cock inside of his tight hole and make him scream.

Not yet. Not fucking yet.

I’ve never moved so fucking slow in my entire goddamn life.

But he’s worth it.

He has to be worth it.

When did this change? Even I don’t know. Just that it did, a slow gradual thing.

He pants against me, his hips grinding up into mine, movements almost frantic.

My hands slide down and roughly grab onto his ass, wanting more than I think he’s ready to give. His fingers slide down my neck to my bare chest, curling into my pecs.

My own hands rip at his shirt, the buttons falling onto the floor.

He growls and I meet the sound, hissing into his neck as I bite down on his pulse point.

“I hate this,” he says desperately.

I know what that means, the denial, the venom that seeps from his lips.

He fucking loves this. He just can’t say it.

One day he will.

One day those words will slip from his lips, and I’m going to savor it.

My hands drag his pants down, divesting him of all his clothes, his bare cock slapping against his stomach as he kicks his clothes to the side. I spin him around and press him against my chest, my eyes meeting his in the floor length mirror on the opposite wall.

“Look at you,” I say as I stroke his cock, my hand wrapping around his dick tightly.

His eyelids flutter and he cocks his head, allowing my teeth to graze over the sensitive skin.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want—” His words fall away, and he reaches down, tightening my grip on his cock. “I want it rough.”

My own cock pulses, pressed against his bare ass cheeks, straining through the fabric of my boxers.

“You want it rough?” I ask as I start to stroke him harder, my fist shuttling up and down his shaft as he bucks his hips forward. “How rough?”

He groans when I reach down with my free hand and tug at his balls.

“This?” I ask as I bite down on his shoulder, making him cry out. “Do you want to feel?”

He nods, his throat clicking as I suck a mark into his skin—my mark, my man.

My hands drag up his stomach and chest, my fingernails leaving marks in his skin as I tweak his nipple.

He gasps as I do it again.

“Such pretty tits,” I whisper into his ear, and his cheeks flame, his cock jumping in my hand. “Who do they belong to?”

He gasps when I tweak the other one.

“You. You.”

“Say my fucking name, Mitchell,” I growl as I trail my hands down his torso.

He groans when I press roughly on the slit of his cock. “Gideon. Gideon.”

The way he says my name, like a prayer, makes me want to fall to my knees and worship him, but I don’t. I just stand there, holding him up, my hand working his dick, my other sliding into his mouth and forcing him to suck.

He does it eagerly, wantonly.

And I give him all the fucking praise, tell him how good he is.

Such a good boy.

He bites down on my knuckles, my fingertips in his throat, as he comes.

He sags against me, his body weak and tired.

I continue to touch him roughly, making him grunt in displeasure, but he still doesn’t ask me to stop.

He doesn’t say a fucking word.

“Now, you’re gonna show me that painting.”

He turns his face into my neck as I slide my cum-soaked hand up his chest, smearing his mess into his skin.

“Bring it in here.”

He hesitates just a moment before pushing off me and disappearing from view. I watch the way his ass bounces as he walks, my eyes savoring every detail of this man.

How did I think he wasn’t my fucking type?

He’s my everything.

He appears a moment later, the canvas turned toward him, his face a mixture of anger and shyness.

I perch on the end of the bed, my hands curled into the comforter as he stops in front of me.

“Show. Me.”

He hesitates a second before turning it around, and my breath comes out in short, confused breaths.

Fuck. This is even better than the last one.

It’s just a simple picture of some fruit in a bowl, but it’s…

“Beautiful.”

His cheeks redden, and he shifts on his feet. He moves, as if to hide it from view, but I’m grabbing it from him, setting it on his dresser so I can stare at it a little longer.

“Get in bed, ass up.”

He stares at me, and I point to the mattress, my eyes narrowing.

“Ass up, face down.”

“You gonna make me?”

I grin at him and then start to walk toward him. Always so fucking feisty, always pushing back.

My hands shove him backward onto the bed and I straddle his hips as I flip him over, smashing his face into the pillow, my knees pushing his up until his ass is out.

My palm flattens against his cheek and I press down against it as I free my cock from my boxers. I slot it against his crack, sliding through it, the lack of lube doing a number on me, but then again, I’m so fucking hot for this guy I don’t even care.

“I want you to say these words,” I grunt as I cant my hips back and forth, pretending like I’m fucking into him, like he’s open and waiting for me.

“I want you to say, I deserve it. I deserve everything.”

He groans as I smash his face further into the mattress, feeling his warm breath hit my skin.

“Say it.”

“I deserve it. I deserve…you.”

It’s a whisper, a call, and I explode across his back, my dick emptying almost painfully as I shake and shudder above him.

“That’s right. All the good things. All the good things,” I repeat, leaning forward and kissing the middle of his spine gently. My hand moves from his face and he turns to stare up at me.

“I want you to be there when I tell my brothers…”

I pull off him and flop to my side. “Come here.”

He rolls his eyes, my mess seeping down his back, but he makes no move to wipe it up. Just leaves it there. My eyes move to his neck and I see the bite mark, the hickey I placed on his skin.

Fuck yes.

Mine.

He crawls between my legs and I wrap my arms around him, pulling his face into my neck, letting him just breathe.

“But how the fuck do I explain you?”

“Like I said before. Friend? Your boss? A boyfriend?”

He tenses in my arms. “You’re not my fucking boyfriend.”

I grin and stroke my fingers through his hair. “Fair enough. How about you tell them you’re my little slut?”

He coughs and tries to shove away, but I keep him against me, not letting him run. Not this time. Not ever.

“I can be there in any capacity. You don’t need to do this alone.”

He seems to go limp in my arms, his tired, weary soul giving up for the night.

“Yeah. I guess so. I’ll…think about it…what to tell them.”

I nod and press a kiss to the top of his head, just as a scratching noise comes from the door.

“That’s Little Pants,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t have locked her out. She gets offended.”

“What happened to Little Shit Pants?”

“Little Pants seemed more fitting.”

He slides from between my legs and lets her in, that feisty little ball of orange hopping onto the bed and nestling into my side. A moment later, I can feel her purrs settle against my skin.

If only Mitchell could be this content.

If only he could let himself be so happy.

“Hey, guys! Hey!” I hear Emmy shout, nearly stumbling over his feet as he barrels toward us. “I haven’t seen you both in ages. It’s been like years, man.”

“It’s been two days,” Mitchell says dryly.

Emmy snorts and then shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. I was lonely here. Yesterday, I just ended up getting a smoothie and leaving. Had no motivation to do anything else. So now I’m pumped you’re both here. Although, you’re both here later than normal…”

Mitchell shifts on his feet. We are late. Much later. Because I ate his ass over my desk just twenty minutes ago. My tongue peeks out and wets my lips. I can still taste him there.

Fuck. He’s good. He’s so fucking good for me.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Emmy says with a wave of his hand. “What are we doing tonight, boys? Some weights? Hitting those hard bag things that make me feel like I’m going to break my fingers? Throw balls like real men?”

He flexes his arms, and I see the barest of muscles pop out. After all these years, he’s grown into a handsome young man, but he still has that slim, eager physique. All that bustling energy just burns those calories right away.

“How about we start with weights and then we can move to the treadmills?”

Mitchell arches an eyebrow at me, and I smirk at him.

“Oh, awesome,” Emmy says. “Although, I’m kinda intimidated lifting weights with you two. You’re like…massive. Like big boulders, and I’m like a pebble…” He flexes his arm once more and frowns. “Hm. Kinda sad, actually.”

Mitchell interjects before I can. “Everyone has to start somewhere. You’ll get there.”

He chucks him under the chin and Emmy beams like a little kid who’s just gotten an ice cream cone. Fuck, Mitchell keeps doing this shit that shows his softer side and I hate that I love it. Emmy pulls a lollipop from his pocket and pops it into his mouth.

“See you still have a penchant for sweet things,” I say to Emmy as we watch Mitchell pick out enormous weights and start to lift them, his muscles bulging under the strain.

“Duh. I mean, I’d marry a candy bar, but I think that’s illegal.”

“I doubt it’s illegal.”

His eyes widen. “Oh my god, seriously? I’ll have to tell August he’s going to have to find someone else. Me and a bag of Skittles.” He groans and stares off into the distance. “Although, I do love August and he’s very hot, way out of my league. I don’t think I could ever score like that again. They might realize who they married, so I better keep August.”

I elbow him gently. “No more talking down on yourself. Remember, we deserve the good things. All of them.”

He straightens his shoulders. “Yeah, you’re right. I deserve it. Skittles and August.”

“Exactly, and don’t forget it.”

He cocks his head at me, his eyes shining. “I mean, there’s a high percentage I will. I have a terrible memory. Except when it comes to our trauma. Then I can fucking remember it all.”

I snort and nod. “I know.”

He leans a little closer to me. “Still have the nightmares?”

“Yeah, at times.”

“Sucks, huh? If I’m ever a parent, I’m not gonna fuck them up. I’ll do better.”

I stare at Mitchell and nod, the shit he’s gone through because of his fucking parents. “Me too.”

“So, you and Mitchell…” He waggles his eyebrows again, and I bite my bottom lip.

“No comment.”

I move toward the weights and Emmy trails next to me, giggling.

“I knew it. I have the biggest brain. When I die, they’ll cut me open and be amazed.”

Mitchell eyes him and hands him two small weights. Emmy blushes and shakes his head. “I can do better, Mitchy. I can. Give me the five pounders.”

Mitchell’s lips twitch and he sets down the two-pound weights, handing him the size up.

I can’t help but admire Mitchell as he works out, his muscles flexing, the sweat beading on his skin. He looks just like this when he comes.

Fuck.

My dick lengthens in my athletic pants and I shift slightly to adjust myself.

Of course Emmy sees. He misses nothing and everything at the same time.

“I caught that.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes at him. That little shit.

“Not a fucking word.”

He pretends to zip his lips, just like he did when we were younger and I told him a secret. Not that he was ever able to keep one. His mouth leaks like a sieve.

“So when do I get to meet your man?” I ask him, and he grins widely.

“Oh, soon. I told August all about you and then meant to call and set something up, but forgot.”

“Does that mean he knows you’re working out then?” Mitchell asks, and Emmy sighs.

“I might have let it slip. He told me I didn’t need to because I’m beautiful just the way I am, but I really want to be hot. Oh and look!” He sets his weights down a little too aggressively and one rolls over to another guy trying to focus. Not that Emmy notices. He’s too busy barreling forward. He lifts his shirt and points to something on his stomach.

“Look!”

Mitchell and I both lean closer, my eyebrows meeting, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about.

He sighs. “Guys, this is… I mean you could at least pretend you see it.” He stabs at his abdomen. “I have a one pack! I did it.”

Mitchell stands up and rubs his hand over his mouth. “Nice. Looks good.”

“I know, right? Pretty soon, I’ll have two.”

I let out a small laugh, and Mitchell glowers at me. “We all have to start somewhere, Gideon.”

He’s damn right. Now if he’d only practice what he preaches.