Page 49 of Reluctantly You

I grab the lube from the drawer, pull my boxers down and squirt it onto my dick. My fingers flex around the throbbing length as I pump it in my fist, my chin hitting my chest. When that alone isn’t enough, I set my foot on the toilet lid and I squirt some more of the liquid onto my fingers, sliding it down my crack and pressing one gently into my hole.

My mouth parts on a gasp as I work it in, deeper anddeeper, as far as it can go. My hand on my cock is shuttling up and down faster as I start to finger myself, my body trembling with need. With disgust.

Oh fuck, this is disgustingly good.

My finger crooks and I hit something inside of me, making a revolting moan slip from my lips.

Oh fuck.Oh fuuuuuck.

I press against it again, my movements stuttering as I try to comprehend this.

I can’t…I can’t breathe.

My eyes roll back in my head and my entire body starts to shake, my thighs trembling as my release barrels through me. My balls tighten and draw up into me, my nostrils flaring as I try to draw breath. And then I feel my cock twitch and cum shoots from the tip, spraying across the counter in front of me. My finger is still inside me, pushing and pressing that tender spot over and over, drawing out the orgasm until I’m slumped forward, my elbows on the cool tile, my entire body shivering from bliss.

“Oh. Shit. Oh. Fuck,” I gasp as I lather and rinse my hands and then splash water on my face. The coolness helps me calm down slightly, but still.

What the fuck was that?

What the fuck did I just do?

What I did was irreversible. Now I know.

Chapter Nine

Gideon

Mitchell strides onto the basketball court late, looking rumpled and flushed. He can’t even meet my gaze, and it bothers me more than it should. I want him to meet my stare, I want him to come at me with all that pent-up aggression and anger.

“You’re late,” I say, tossing him the basketball.

He catches it, his eyes flicking up to meet mine and his cheeks grow an even darker red. What the fuck is that about?

“Are you sick or something?” I ask, watching as he dribbles the ball and shoots it. It bounces off the backboard and falls to the ground.

“No. Just tired.”

“You looked flushed.”

“Fuck off. I’m just tired and…hot.”

I move toward him and press a hand to his cheek to check for signs of fever. His eyelids flutter and he leans into it for just a second before wrenching his head away. “Don’t touch me. Your boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”

My eyebrows rise at that. “What boyfriend?”

His lips curl derisively. “Whatever.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say, for some reason needing him to understand that. It’s none of his business who I fuck or date, but I don’t want him to think I’m cheating. I never cheat. My mind filters through the reasons why he may have thought that, and they land on Rory. He did come to visit me the other day. Mitchell must have seen him throw himself into my arms.

“Rory isn’t my boyfriend or my casual fuck. He’s like a little brother to me.”

“I don’t know who that is,” he grumbles as he shoots another shot and misses.

“The guy you saw me with the other day at work.”

He ignores me, just jogs up to grab the ball and tries again, but misses. His form is off. He’s not the greatest ball player, but he’s usually not this shit.

“You’re sucking today,” I finally comment and then move up behind him, gripping his hips and steadying him.

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