Page 113 of Bitter When He Begs

“Say please.”

“No.”

Fucking brat.

I yank my hand away, and he groans—loud, pissed off.

“Then you can wait,” I say, my voice low as I get up to kick off my shoes and strip off my jeans and briefs. “If you want to act like a little mouthy fuck, you don’t get what you want. You get what I give you.”

He glares. “And what’s that?”

I grip his hips hard enough to bruise, flipping him onto his stomach like he weighs nothing. He gasps, trying to twist, to look back at me, but I shove a hand between his shoulder blades and press him into the mattress.

“Stay down,” I growl.

“Make me,” he breathes.

Oh, he’s going to fucking regret that.

Sage grins against the pillow when I straddle his thighs, my hands dragging his jeans down the rest of the way. The second the denim slides past his thighs, I freeze.

“...what the fuck is this?”

A perfect little plug, snug between his cheeks, shiny and smug, and screaming “I did this for you.”

Black and gold. My fucking team colors.

Sage tilts his head back, smirking over his shoulder. “Surprise, King.”

I groan, palming his ass and spreading him open just to get a better look. He moans when I do, back arching, plug shifting slightly as he shudders.

“You wore this to the fucking party?” I rasp.

“Put it in just after the game,” he says, voice smug but shaky now. “You think I’d be able to sit in the stands with it pressing against me while you were out there looking like sex in a helmet? I would have come by the first touchdown.”

I stare at him before I slap his ass hard. He yelps, hips jolting forward, and the plug shifts again.

“You’re insane,” I say, grabbing his hips and grinding my cock against the curve of his ass. “You were sitting in the same room as my boys with your tight little hole stretched open like this? Plugged and primed, and just waiting for me to lose it?”

Sage groans, lifting his hips higher like an offering. “Only for you, King.”

That name slips from his lips like a taunt, but it lands like a claim. And I’m not proud of the way I moan under my breath, the way my hand tightens, or the way I nearly come just from hearing him say it again with that bratty edge to his voice.

I lean down, biting his shoulder again, tasting sweat and skin and mine. He squirms, breath catching when I nudge the plug, twisting it with two fingers and he moans, hands clutching the sheets.

I spread him open with both hands again, eyes locked on the glint of gold between his cheeks. My cock throbs at the sight of it, at the obscene shape of him—plugged and waiting—like he knew exactly how far I’d break.

“I should make you keep it in,” I mutter, my cock straining so hard it hurts. “Fuck you with it still inside. Remind you who you dressed up for.”

He moans, back arching.

“But then I wouldn’t get to see your face when I pull it out.”

His breath hitches when I grip the base of it between two fingers, and twist just enough for him to feel the pressure shift. He moans, muffled and raw, grinding back against my hand. “Luca—fuck—”

“That’s King to you tonight,” I growl, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear.

And then I pull the plug out slowly—inch by inch until it slips free with a slick, wet pop—and Sage gasps like I just punched the air out of him.

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