Page 113 of Reluctantly You

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?

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