Page 23 of Reluctantly You

“Kyle.”

“Kyle. Do you want to get off?”

He glances at Mitchell and then nods. “Um…sure?”

I move toward him, kicking Mitchell’s feet apart, guiding Kyle to stand between his legs. My body squeezes behind Kyle, pulling his back against my chest, and reaching around to palm his hard cock.

“It’s so rude of you, Mr. Morris, to not do your best.”

He glowers up at me, still perched in his chair in front of us. He could leave, could get up and walk away, and yet he doesn’t fucking move. He just sits there and stares.

“You telling me this as my boss?” he snaps back.

“Yes,” I say as I unzip Kyle’s pants and pull out his dick. It’s long and thick and my fingers wrap around it tightly.

Kyle gasps and pants as I stroke him, his head falling back against my shoulder.

“I’m not going to watch this freak show,” Mitchell mutters.

But he still doesn’t move.

“You’ll stay and you’ll watch or you’re fired.”

His lips purse, his hands tightening on the arms of his chair as I continue to get Kyle off.

And the man in my arms isn’t opposed to any of this. He actually seems to like it, being on display in front of us. He groans and whimpers, his body starting to tremble as I stroke him. A few moments later, his cock erupts almost violently, some splattering onto Mitchell’s pants, soaking into the fabric of his pressed slacks.

Kyle is heaving against me, his body shuddering as I gently tuck him away. I wipe my hand on a tissue and then reach into my pocket and give him a small bit of cash in case he needs a ride home, before escorting him out of the office and to the elevator.

This entire thing was unexpected. When I walked into Mitchell’s office, I didn’t expect to see him with a man between his legs.

But what’s more annoying is that when I make my way back to his office, Mitchell is scrambling to leave.

Fuck no.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I ask, his eyes slamming into mine.

“I’m off work.”

“You aren’t yet.”

“Yes. I fucking am.”

Something inside of me snaps, a crack that I swear even he can hear. He tries to move past me, but I reach out and grabahold of his throat, shoving him against the wall and making him gasp.

I’m bigger than him, stronger. He may be bulky, but I have moves that he can’t compete with. I can take him down, make him heel.

“I said. We’re not. Done.”

I can feel his pulse quicken and his breath come out in short, restrained pants.

“Fuck you.”

“Is that all you can say? Fuck. Fuck you?” I ask, my fingers flexing against his throat. “Not great vocabulary for someone who went to Stanford.”

His cheeks are red, his eyes drooping slightly.

He’s clearly furious, but another part of him almost looks…blissful.

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