Page 96 of Reluctantly You

“I’ll fucking wait here.”

He scoffs at me, his tongue snaking across his front teeth.

“Okay. If you say so.”

I shift on my feet and watch his ass as he goes, those thighs bunching and flexing as he walks.Goddamn it, I think as I adjust my hard cock, pulling it up beneath the waistband of my shorts again… I need a fucking reality check. I need a fucking punch to the head. A smack back to reality.

My hand squeezes my dick.

I need to come.

I need a distraction.

My eyes take in the airy space, the expensive cabinetry, the sleek leather couches. The money he spent on this place. It’s so goddamn nice. When I bought my house, in that artsy neighborhood, I told myself it was because it was cheap, but really, I think I liked the color, the eccentricity.

I liked the freedom I’ve never felt a day in my life.

The freedom to possibly, one day, be me.

The time ticks down, an endless wait while Gideon packs, my foot starting to tap anxiously on the floor as I huff in frustration.

What the fuck is he doing? Why the hell is he taking so long?

“Gideon,” I grunt as I start forward, walking down a hallway toward the bedrooms. There have to be at least five, a sprawling mansion on a golf course, a show of wealth and means.

I hear shuffling, a clink of metal as I round the corner into his bedroom. He’s crouched on the floor, his hands attaching something to the base of his bed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, my eyebrows rising, and he grins slyly up at me.

“Preparing.”

“For what?” I ask, already feeling my cock start to leak. I fucking hate that he’s reduced me to this, a needy, desperate mess. But my whole life I’ve walked around in the dark, my hands grazing along the rough walls, trying to find my way out of the shadows.

And then suddenly there’s a light.

Warmth.

Desire.

I can’t turn away and go back to the way things were. Not when I finally see it, finally understand.

“For you,” he says, standing up and moving toward me. I back away, trying to fight him even though my body aches for whatever he has planned.

His hand reaches out and grasps onto my wrist, pulling me toward him, my chest hitting his, his mouth meeting mine. His hands fist in my hair as his mouth devours mine and I’m left limp in his arms, my dick straining against him. Needing this more than I need air.

I need him tolive.

“The things I want to do to you,” he murmurs as he nips his way across my cheek to my ear. “The things I want to show you.”

I arch my hips up against him, feeling his own dick hard and straining.

He wants me. He wants me too.

But I can’t.I can’t.

I rip my mouth away from him, trying to move backward, but he stops me with a tug of his arm. Suddenly, within a blink, I’m flailing forward, my chest against the bed, my hands moving up to catch myself. They fist in the sheets and I try to move myself up, but he pushes me down once more, something clasping around my left ankle.

I grunt, trying to pull my leg free, but before I can, my other is spread wide and clasped tightly. I can’t move. I’m spread against the end of the bed, a willing sacrifice.

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