Page 87 of Reluctantly You

“Was it good for you?” I ask, my eyes meeting his under wet lashes.

“It was okay,” he lies, and I grin at him, tugging roughly on his dick.

He grunts and shoves at me, but I always beat him at his own game. My arms wrap around him and I push him face first against the shower wall, his cheek pressed against the cool tiles, his ass against my dick.

“I could fuck you just like this. And you’d like it,” I whisper into his ear, feeling him shudder against me.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“You lie,” I say as I drag my dick up his crack and hear him whimper.

Oh god, he’s perfect. I hate that I want him so much.

I step back, trying to collect myself, not wanting to push him too far too fast, but he just stays there, his hands splayed across the tiles, his cheek still pressed up against the wall.

His ass out.

I grab more soap, lathering up my palms and dragging them down his back to his butt, running a finger right through his crease.

He moans, a low, needy thing. It echoes off the walls of the bathroom and my balls draw tight.

Yes. Yes.

More.

My finger finds his entrance and I swirl around it, feeling it pucker against me. Gently, I ease it in, just the tip, making Mitch gasp, his mouth open slightly.

“You’d love it. Me pushing inside of you, making you scream.”

“Fuck. You.”

It’s all he can say, I’ve scrambled his brain.

But I’m not going to give him more. Not until he asks for it.

My finger slips from him and I continue washing his body until he’s completely scrubbed clean.

“Now wash me,” I tell him as he stands under the water, the suds swirling down the drain.

“Wash yourself,” he says as he lathers up his palms and then roughly paws at me. I let out a loud laugh as his fingers drag down my body, cupping my dick roughly and then squeezing the globes of my ass.

I love it, how rough he is. Usually the men I fuck need me to be tender. But Mitch…

He needs to be owned. He’s so fucking lost.

I rinse and then we towel ourselves off, moving into his bedroom.

My eyes settle on his bed and he huffs, looking away from me. But I can see the flush on his skin, the needy tilt of his cock.

“Get in bed, Mitchell. I’m going to hold you.”

“I don’t want to be held.”

I step toward him. Closer. Closer, my hand moving up to his jaw and cupping it roughly.

“Do as I say.”

His eyelids flutter and he moves toward the bed, crawling between the covers and lying on his side. I follow, moving in behind him and pressing my hands against his chest.

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