Page 90 of Reluctantly You

“Shut the fuck up.”

I grin at him as I press my finger in deeper, making his hole clench around me. I feel my dick harden, and hell, I want in. I want to slide inside that tight, wet hole and make him beg for it.

But not yet.

Not fucking yet.

“You’re going to take three of my fingers,” I tell him as I twist my wrist slightly, making him gasp when I hit his prostate. I continue to work him until he’s fucking back against my fingers, his chin on his chest, his hands clenched into fists. It’s then that I add a second finger, scissoring him open, alternating between watching his face as he moans and watching his hole open for me.

“Look at you, my little slut,” I say as I peg his prostate again. He’s groaning now, full on, not even trying to hide it. “You’re feral for it, desperate. I bet you’d like me to replace my fingers with my cock. I bet you’d take me so good.”

His hands are clasped on the edge of the vanity now, thrusting back on me, fucking himself on my fingers. I add a third, making him cry out, his head thrown back, his spine arched.

“Tell me how good it feels. Tell me.”

He shakes his head, trying to fight back, but his body won’t let him. He wants this too much. His orgasm comes quickly, barreling through him as his cock explodes across the cabinets. I feel his hole clench around my fingers in a vise-like grip, keeping me inside of him for a few seconds longer.

When his body slumps forward, his cheek against the marble, I slip out of him and press my cock to his slippery crack. It would be so easy to push inside of him, but I don’t. I just squeeze his cheeks together and fuck along the crease of him, my own dick pulsing from the sensation. I come quickly—fingering Mitchell my foreplay. My cum splashes across his lower back, dripping down his ass, and I can’t help but push some inside of him.

A feral, possessive moment, but he lets me do it all the same.

“You’re so good for me, so hot.” I lean forward and press my lips against his back, tasting the sweat of his skin.

“Thought I wasn’t your type,” he murmurs, and I reach around and grab him by the throat and chest. I lift him up against me, so his bare back is against my chest. I can feel the mess I made smear across my skin as I hold him to me.

“You’re more than my type,” I tell him, our eyes clashing in the mirror. “I hate that I want you, but I do. You’ve consumed me.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the palm of my hand.

“I want to own you.”

“You’ll never have me.”

My lips turn up into a smile. “Oh, but Mitchell, I already do.”

We crawl into bed shortly after wiping our bodies down. I went to clean his ass, but Mitchell held my wrist and pushed me away.

He wanted to keep a part of me there.

It’s all I think about when I pull him into my arms under the covers.

“Don’t fight me on this,” I whisper, and a moment later, he softens in my grasp, the two of us falling asleep in tandem.

Chapter Sixteen

Mitch

I’m awoken by a whimper, a thrash of limbs. I sit up, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness around me, and see Gideon’s face twisted as if in some kind of pain.

My hands reach out and I grab on to him, shaking him slightly. Another whimper, a plea, and then his eyes shoot open, his gaze disoriented.

“You’re okay,” I tell him, and he swallows, running a shaky hand over his face.

“Fuck.”

I’m silent, unsure if that dream was based on reality or just something his brain conjured up.

“I…that hasn’t happened in ages.”

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