Page 134 of Reluctantly You

He scoffs and his cheeks flame. “I dunno. That’s…that’s a little too gay, you know?”

“Mitchell. You beg for my cock in your ass,” I whisper, making his breathing come out a little less steady. “I think dinner with me isn’t too gay. Plus, you admitted it the other night. Own it. Own yourself.”

He frowns at me as I link a finger with his, leading him to the elevator. He follows along, his footsteps unsteady. I know I’m pushing him, that this may be one step too far, but god, the way he caves. The way he wants it all but just can’t ask for it.

One day. One day he’ll tell me exactly what is in that head of his, but for now, I’m going to take it. Take and take until he tells me to stop. Only then will I give him his space.

“Where are we going?” he asks when I pull out of the parking lot and head toward a favorite restaurant of mine.

“An Italian restaurant. I made reservations.”

“Hm,” he says, peering out the window, his hands fisted in his lap. I pull one into mine, lacing our fingers together. His eyes fall to where we’re connected and his lips roll between his teeth.

A slight squeeze and the way his thumb brushes against mine makes me realize that he wants this just as much as I do.

“How was work?” I ask, wanting to fill the silence.

“Good.”

“You satisfied?”

His eyes turn out the window and I can see the blush creep up his neck and cheeks. “Yeah, mostly.”

I’m not sure what that means, but I let it go. I want to spend the evening with him, getting to know him better. I want to date him.

God, how things have changed for me.

A month ago I wanted nothing to do with him and now here I am. Obsessed.

We stride inside the dimly lit romantic restaurant, side by side, and the hostess leads us to our table. I pull his chair out, and he grumbles in annoyance, but still sits down, letting me tuck him under the table.

The waitress comes over and hands us our menus and asks us why we’re here, if we’re celebrating anything. I glance over at Mitchell and then answer for him.

“A date. After work.”

She beams at us and Mitchell’s cheeks flame.

“Fuck off, you did that on purpose.”

“I don’t want you ashamed of us, of this.”

I pick up the glass of water and sip at it, tugging on my tie.

He shifts in his seat. “I’m not ashamed.”

“Hm, you’re definitely not ashamed when I’m fucking that wet hole.”

He chokes on his water just as the waitress returns with a bottle of wine.

“We didn’t order this,” I say but she shakes her head.

“It’s from the gentleman over there,” she replies, and I turn to stare, taking in the sight of Jack Morris glowering at us.

That fucker. Does he have nothing better to do than eat out all the time?

I turn my gaze and see the two men next to him. Neither of them notice me, but Jack does.

That fucker knows why I’m here.

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