Page 42 of Reluctantly You

“Oh fuck,” I murmur, running a hand down my sweating, flushed face.

What the fuck was that? Why did I dream of that?

I reach down between my legs and grasp my cock, squeezing it tightly. I positively ache. Rolling out of bed, I head toward the bathroom and shut the door, not wanting Little Shitty Pants coming in here and interrupting a very private, embarrassing moment.

I pull open a drawer and grab some lube, squirting it on my oversensitive cock and fisting it. My head falls back as I jack myself, my legs starting to shake immediately. My hole clenches open and closed and without thinking, I reach behind myself and slide my finger around my rim. It’s sensitive, forbidden, nothing I’ve ever done before.

I’ve never allowed myself to do this.

Never.

My mind shifts to the guys I’ve had between my legs, their wet mouths, their sloppy tongues and then, without warning…Gideon.

His strong body, the way he commands me. The feel of his hands on my throat, his body above mine.

I groan lowly at the thought of him, letting myself experience the sensation of being filled for the first time in my life.

I push my finger further inside, knuckle deep. I feel the sting of it, the pain of being breached, and my cock jerks roughly, spilling my mess across my hand. A groan escapes me, and I stand there, my softening cock in my hand and my finger up my butt.

Well, fuck.

Fuck.

Thank fuck it’s the weekend. I wouldn’t be able to look Gideon in the eye after what I did, how I envisioned him for a few seconds as I came. Even worse, every time I think of him, I wonder if he slept with his date, the happy little twink. Did that guy get to see Gideon’s big dick? Did he get to see what he looks like when he comes?

Shit, I should go cruising and find someone to suck my dick again, to set me back to the Mitch I used to be, to re-regulate my bent-as-fuck brain.

At the moment, though, those plans need to wait. I’m at the vet, getting Little Shit Pantaloons her shots. Apparently, it’s a girl.

The vet cracks a smile at me when he sees her name scrawled on a piece of paper.

“Interesting choice of name.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the truth. She is a little shit, and I never planned on having a cat.”

“Ah, the cat distribution system at work, I see.”

“Yeah,” I murmur as I hold her in my arms. She snuggles into me, and I absently pet her soft fur. I brought her to the vet in a cardboard box and she was not happy, screaming at me the entire way here. I really need to get a carrier.

“Well, let’s see, Little Shit,” the vet says, picking her up and checking her out. He’s gentle with her, but still I cringe when he gives her the necessary vaccinations and she meows sadly.

“Would you like her to be microchipped?”

I pause for just a moment. I really shouldn’t bother. “Yeah, guess I should.”

By the time we leave, I’m hundreds of dollars poorer.

“You better be nice to me,” I tell Little Pantaloon, who just meows forlornly in the cardboard box. “Yeah, meow it up. You cost me far too much. I should put you back in the bushes.”

When we get home, I grab the packages waiting for me on the porch, unpacking a new cat bed and cat tree, and of course Little Pantaloons is all over it, crawling and purring and scratching up a storm.

I’ll get rid of the shitty lady tomorrow.

Chapter Eight

Mitch

I’m fucking nervous as I park the car and meander down to the beach. It’s like I’m going on a first date.

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