Page 54 of Reluctantly You

Come at me. Come at me and let me put you in your place.

“I’d never date you,” I reply, and his cheeks grow flushed with anger.

He steps in closer, his knees hitting mine and he thinks he has an advantage, but I have a few tricks up my sleeves.

“Yeah, well, it sure seems like you want to. Always fawning all over me.”

I let my lips slide up into a mean smile.

“Is that what you call fawning? Really? You have low standards, Mr. Morris.”

His knuckles crack and he leans forward, trying to intimidate me. He thinks that just because of his size he can do this, but hasn’t he learned?

He never fucking learns.

“Who says I have standards at all?” he mutters and then reaches forward to grab me, but I maneuver, grabbing on to his wrists and knocking him sideways. His chest hits my desk witha loud clatter, and I press myself against his back, my mouth moving to his ear.

“Mr. Morris. Are you trying to come at me? In my office?”

He murmurs something under his breath and tries to stand up, but I grab his arm and pull it behind his back. He grunts, and I watch as his flush works its way up from the collar of his shirt and bleeds across his face.

“Remember what I said. I always win. You have yet to best me, so why even try?”

I press up against the back of his thighs and feel his body shudder slightly.

Fuck, what is his deal? Getting sucked off by a guy in his office, but insisting he’s not gay. And yet here he is, bent over my desk, trembling for me. This man is so far in the closet, he’s in goddamn Narnia.

“Would you rather I just give up?” he hisses, and I press into him a little harder.

“You’d like that, me giving you permission to just quit. You won’t fucking quit, you won’t give up until I tell you you can.”

He lets out a puff of breath, his body trembling a little more, and I can’t help but lean against him, my cock hardening against his ass. I press my hand against the back of his neck and hold him down for a moment longer, admiring his large body under mine.

Fuck, what would it be like to control this man, to make him come. He’s not my usual type, but I can see the appeal.

A small, soft groan escapes his mouth and my entire body is lit on fire, but at the same time, I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do it. He’s not ready.

And I don’t want it. I really fucking don’t. My dick is wrong.

I don’t have time to baby someone, to carry them out of the closet. I don’t fucking have the patience for that shit.

And still, here I am, forcing him to submit and getting off on it.

“You ready to get up and behave like a fucking civilized person?” I ask, my lips hitting his earlobe once more, relishing in the fact that I’m pressed up against him, like I’m fucking his tight ass. His eyelids flutter, and he swallows.

“Get the fuck off me,” he murmurs, but his words are weak, needy. He doesn’t want me to move. He wants me to stay just like this.

I could probably peel his pants down his thighs and grab onto his cock and get him off. He’d let me.

But I won’t.

Without another word, I push off him and the arm that I’d been holding behind his back falls to the side. He pushes himself up but doesn’t turn around. Just stares at the ground for a moment, his chest heaving. I can see his back moving up and down with each intake of breath.

Then his hands move to the front of his body and I know for a fact that he’s adjusting his hard cock.

“Now, you done throwing a tantrum?” I ask, my voice low and strained. God, I want him. I want to fucking own him.

“I’m not a child.”

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