Page 50 of Reluctantly You

His breath comes out in short pants as my fingers curl against his cut sides.

“Feet apart,” I say lowly, and then nudge my foot between his, kicking them out. I can feel the ripple of his muscles beneath my palms as I pull his back against my chest. I should let go, he’s not my type, not even remotely, but for some reason, I just can’t.

My hands slide up his sides to his shoulders, lifting his arms slightly, the ball clasped in his hands. My mouth moves toward his ear and I feel the brush of his lobe against my lips.

“You have terrible form. Bend your hips back.”

His ass gently hits my groin, and I feel sensation pool between my legs.

“Good,” I whisper as my hands slide up to his wrists, bringing his arms above his head.

This changed from showing him good form to something else completely. His muscular body is pressed against mine, and I can’t help but press into him a little firmer.

The ball slips from his fingers and falls behind us, bouncing loudly on the floor, but neither of us moves in the empty space. It’s just us and our rapid heartbeats.

I don’t like him, and yet here I am, holding him.

What the fuck am I doing?

His hands wrap around the back of my neck and mine can’t help but slide down to his stomach, feeling his muscles contract as I go. I can feel the slightest of trembles under his skin. Anticipation.

He’s holding his breath.

I want to do more, to see how far I can push him, but suddenly, the gym door opens with a bang and Mitchell jumps away from me, nearly stumbling as he jogs forward.

Fuck.Fuck!

I run my hands through my hair, trying to act normal, like I wasn’t just thinking about getting Mitchell off in the middle of a basketball court.

“Uh, didn’t see nothing. Just grabbing my cleaning cart,” a deep voice says and then a second later, I hear the door open and close. I don’t even look. Instead, my eyes are firmly on Mitchell who is bent forward, grabbing a drink from the water fountain. My eyes slide down the curve of his spine to his round ass.

Fuck. The way he behaved just now. The way he submits to my touch. I know he said he isn’t gay, but he does have men suck his cock. So…this makes me wonder, is Mitch a bottom? Would he let someone slide their cock inside that ass? Would he whine and beg while someone rutted into him?

The thought turns me on more than it should.

He’s my employee, and the guy I’m supposed to have it out for. And yet, for some reason, my body isn’t on board with any of it.

My body just wants to press against his again.

Mitchell finally stands up, swiping a hand across his mouth, his cheeks still red, his eyes diverted from mine.

“You done?” I ask, and he gives me a clipped nod. I grab the basketball from behind me and dribble it, shooting a basket with ease. Mitchell grabs it as it falls from the net and walks toward me.

“Don’t touch me again,” he says darkly as he shoots and finally makes a shot.

As he jogs forward and grabs the ball again, I can’t stop my mouth from saying, “No promises, Mr. Morris.”

We play a few games, our bodies sweating and sore by the time we’re done. I couldn’t help myself while we played, taunting him relentlessly as I pressed myself against him as often as possible. I loved the grunts and grumbles he gave as I did it.

The occasional “fuck off” only made me want to do it more.

By the time we’re done, he’s grumpier than normal.

“Good game. Let’s go shower,” I say at the end of our last match, and Mitchell’s eyes slide down my body quickly before he pushes past me. He pretends to hide behind aggressive shoves and nudges, but he sure as fuck makes sure to touch me as often as possible.

I bite back a smug grin as I follow him into the locker room and watch as he pulls his bag from his cubby, striding to the showers without even talking to me. Or looking at me.

Fuck, this man enrages me.

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