Page 122 of Bitter When He Begs

I shrug, fighting a smile. “Obviously. You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Luca’s laugh is all satisfaction and sin wrapped in a sound that sends a thrill straight through me. His hands tighten on my hips, dragging me that last inch until we’re chest to chest, the morning air forgotten, replaced by the warmth of his body and the heat radiating off his skin.

He dips his head, lips brushing the shell of my ear as he murmurs, “You don’t even know how much I love it when you get like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, feigning innocence as I stand on my tiptoes to loop my arms loosely around his neck.

He doesn’t answer right away—just noses along my jaw, his stubble catching on my skin, a smirk pressed into the corner of my mouth. “Like you wanna climb me and bark at anyone who looks twice.”

I snort, but I’m definitely not pulling away. “That’s dramatic. Even for you.”

“I mean it,” he says, finally pulling back enough to meet my eyes, the early morning light catching the blue in his and making it clearer. “I spent months wanting you and I hated it. Hated not knowing what the fuck it was about you that got so deep under my skin I couldn’t breathe. And now?” He leans in again, his voice more intimate. “Now you show up wearing my hoodie with that look in your eye like you’d set fire to the entire stadium if someone touched me wrong—and all I can think is ‘thank fuck you’re mine.’”

My heart stumbles a little. Not that I’ll admit it. Not when he’s already so smug, his hands slipping under the hem of the hoodie like he’s checking I’m still real under there.

“Don’t get too cocky,” I mutter, pulling at his drawstring again. “It’s not like I’m gonna follow you onto the field and hiss at people.”

“Oh, no,” he grins, nipping at my jaw just once, enough to make me twitch. “You’ll just sit in the front row with Nate, judging every cheerleader who breathes in my direction like they just cursed your bloodline.”

I shrug one shoulder. “It’s not my fault your stupid face and stupid arms attract a bunch of thirsty people who think they have a shot with you.”

Luca barks out a laugh, full and bright, the sound cracking into the cold air and making more than a few players near the bus glance over. He doesn’t care. Not even a little. He leans back just enough to run his thumb along my bottom lip, slow and possessive, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me again.

“You realize you’re just as bad, right?” he says. “You act all cool and sarcastic, but then you wear my clothes and bite my neck, and give me looks like you wanna claim me on a leash.”

I raise a brow. “You’d probably like that.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Wouldn’tnotlike it.”

“Luca.”

“Kidding,” he says, then drops his hands to my ass and squeezes with absolutely no remorse. “Kind of.”

I try to glare, but I’m smiling too hard to sell it. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re possessive,” he says, kissing my face. “And hot. And mine.”

The way he says it—mine—gets under my skin, slow and sweet like honey warmed over heat. I feel it in my chest, in mystomach, in the way my fingers curl tighter around the fabric at his waist.

“You really don’t mind?” I ask, quieter now, the playfulness easing into something that feels a little too big for this parking lot.

“Mind what?” he asks, still close, but gentler now.

“That I… mark you. That people know.”

He exhales slowly, eyes locked on mine, serious now in the way he only gets when it’s just me and him and no audience to perform for. “Sage, I want people to know. I want them to look at me and know I’m yours. Every inch of me. Every hickey, every hoodie you steal, every fucking look we share from across a room—keep doing it. Keep claiming me.”

“Okay,” I nod, swallowing hard. “Because I’m not planning on stopping.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing mine, just once. “Because I wouldn’t let you.”

A whistle cuts through the air behind us, followed by someone yelling, “Save it for the hotel room, Devereaux!”

Luca flips them off without looking, and I bury my face in his shoulder, grinning like a fool. “Four fucking days,” he groans.

I swallow. “I know.”

His grip tightens. “Gonna miss me?”

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