Page 73 of Reluctantly You

I could feel him sinking into me with every minute that passed. And I wanted to let him experience this just once before the night was through. The experience of being cared for.

So, my hands roamed his body, the bumps of his spine, the span of his shoulders, his narrow lower back. He grunted against my skin, the hat still pulled lower over his eyes as I sank my fingers into the globes of his ass. His cock was hard, pressedagainst mine, and I made sure he knew I felt it. I rubbed against it, my own lengthening in response.

I wanted to hear him come again.

But all too soon, it was over. Rory came bounding over again, ready to leave, and we had to pull apart.

Mitchell slipped from my arms, his cheeks flushed, hair mussed.

He wouldn’t meet my gaze, just fisted his hands by his sides and stared at the ground.

“Can I walk you out?” I asked him, and he shook his head.

“No, but I’m ready to go home.”

I wanted to fist my hands in his hair, pull his lips to mine and gorge on him, but hell, he wouldn’t let me.

He’s not ready.

He’s never going to be ready.

“We’ll walk you out,” I said, linking my arm with Rory’s, my other on the back of Mitchell’s warm neck. He tried to drift away, but I held him against me, making sure he made it to his car before I left with Rory.

And now we’re back at work and he’s avoiding me once more. When we have to interact, he snaps and grunts, like some kind of caged dog.

I want to peel back his layers and see what’s sitting right inside. I want toknowhim.

It doesn’t help that I’ve been staying awake at night and jerking off to thoughts of him, the feel of him, the scent of his sweat-soaked skin. The fact that he’s not beneath me as I get off only makes me grumpier and more stressed.

I’m a fucking walking, horny disaster.

“What are you looking at?” Shiloh asks, making me jerk upright. “Why are you peering outside with your secret binoculars?”

I huff and tuck them away, not wanting Shiloh to know what I’ve been doing.

I’ve lost my fucking mind and it’s not a pretty sight.

“Oh my god, you’re spying on someone,” he gasps as he moves up next to me and tries to take the binoculars away, but I’ve shoved them down the front of my pants.

He won’t touch me there.

“You’re an awful person,” he says when he sees the shape of them at my crotch. He turns his gaze to the window and peers down, trying to figure out what I was so intently looking at.

“It has to be Mitch,” he murmurs to himself. “It has to be. Where is he?”

When his eyes meet mine, searching, I refuse to tell him.

“Come on. Give me a clue,” he asks, putting his cupped hands up to his eyes.

“Only if you tell me why you’re really working at that scrapyard.”

His cheeks flush and he shakes his head. “Fine. I know it’s Mitch. You have it so bad.”

I scoff and run my hand across my face.

“Do you need something or are you just here to interfere with my lunch break?”

“I brought you food, you asshole,” he says with a small laugh and then points to the wrapped burrito on my desk. “Carbs again. To get you through this lovesick thing you have going on. I bet you burn a lot of calories stressing out about that guy.”

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