Page 66 of Reluctantly You

After the events of the week and Mitchell avoiding me even more, I find myself at a rowdy gay club on Friday night, my mind firmly fixed on fucking someone to get over Mr. Morris and his hold on me.

Seems I can’t quite will myself out of this one. Last night, I reminded myself why I hate him, how he’s so crass and rude, how he loathes me even more than I do him, and still, the vision of him sprawled out beneath me, the taste of him, the way he moaned when he came… I jacked myself off to thoughts of it.

Over and over. So much so that my dick almost hurts to touch.

Not that I’m going to let that stop me from finding a nice, petite, polite bottom tonight.

Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do. That’s totally my type.

Ordering a drink from the bar, I lean back and watch the gyrating crowd, picking out a few people who’ve caught my interest while I wait. My eyes skim over Rory, who is dancing between two buff guys, his eyes closed, skin lined in a sheen of sweat, before my gaze roams around a little more.

I wasn’t lying when I told Mitchell that Rory and I don’t have that kind of connection. Everything about him should be what I want, the way he looks, the way he acts, and yet, he holds no appeal. It’s just not there.

But I digress.

My eyes settle on a few more seemingly unattached people on the dancefloor. One catches my eye—a slim body, a saucy grin, and my lips turn up at them knowingly.

They throw me a wink.

Good. I just want someone whose name I don’t know. Someone pliable and meek. Someone I can bend over and take without dealing with the emotional turmoil later on.

Suddenly, my eyes snag on someone familiar, a ball cap pulled low over their head.

“What the fuck?” I murmur as the bartender hands me my drink.

My eyes slide across the man, who is now leaning against the opposite wall, his arms folded across his broad chest.

Hell. Mitchell is here.

I know that body, have rubbed against it, felt the tightness of his muscles as they bunched and flexed beneath me.

My cock twitches between my legs.

I take a long sip, the liquid burning my throat, as he continues to peruse the crowd, obviously looking for someone. Someone to kneel before him.

It makes me irrationally angry, a tidal wave of rage rolling through me.

He hates this, and yet here he is, looking for someone once again.

He should be at home. He should be far, far away from this place.

I gulp down the rest of my drink, my eyes watering from the strength of the alcohol hitting my throat. Fuck. Me. I need it to get through this night because that asshole is here, ruining my well-laid plans.

Ruining my fucking life.

As I watch him intently, his gaze finally snags on mine and he falters, his hands moving up to his hat and pulling it lower around his eyes. As if that would hide him from me. As if he could hide at all.

He nervously glances around and suddenly seems to land on a target, but I’m moving too fast to let him get any farther than that. Oh hell no.

My hand wraps around his biceps, and I feel him tremble at my touch.

“Hello, Mr. Morris,” I say and then lean forward so he can hear me over the thump of the bass reverberating. “What are you doing here?”

His head tilts slightly and his eyes meet mine under the shadow of his hat. I can see the flush on his cheeks, andfuck, I’m so damn tempted to lean down and push my mouth to his. To taste him once again.

“None of your business,” he says, and I grab on to him tighter, not letting him step aside.

“No,” I say, my lips brushing his ear. “Itismy business. You coming to get your cock sucked?”

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