Page 24 of Bitter When He Begs

I was. I was a whore for him, and for that fucking hour, he made all my filthiest fantasies come true.

He shoved his fingers into my mouth like I was nothing but a toy for him to play with. Gagged me. Felt my throat clench around him and moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever seen. Covered my cheek with spit and cum like he was claiming me.

And fuck, I let him. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t even want to try.

Even now, lying here in the dark, my body still remembers. Still aches. I can still feel the weight of him over me. His fingers around my wrists. His breath, hot on my skin. His voice in my fucking bones. That low, taunting growl when he said I was his.

My whole body shudders again, and I squeeze my eyes shut like that’ll make it stop.

It doesn’t… I can still taste his fucking spit, too.

My skin feels tight and raw, and every inch of me feels owned—not in some cute, romantic way, no. Claimed.Branded.Fucked, even though we didn’t fuck.

He didn’t need to.

He made me fall apart with nothing but pressure and his fucking mouth.

And then he made me go home covered in our cum; with the ghost of him still on my skin and my breath and my fucking tongue. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t talk. I just stumbled out of his room like a wreck and didn’t look back because I couldn’t.

I want to be angry. Iamangry. I want to hate him. I want to tell him off, shove him against the wall next time he smirks at me like he already knows he’ll win. But I won’t because I won’t even mean it. Because I’ll look at those blue eyes and forget how to breathe. Because the second he gets close again, I’ll feel it all over, and I’ll give in.

Like always.

Luca doesn’t ask, he takes. He never once asked if I wanted to be his; he just decided it. The most humiliating, pathetic, twisted part is that he’s not wrong. I’m still shaking, and I don’t know if it’s from shame or from how badly I want him to do it again.

I shake my head, trying to shove the thought away, but it won’t leave, sinking its claws in deeper, dragging up a scene I haven’t let myself think about since the night it all started.

“You had a fucking pharmacy in your system. How the hell do you expect—”

“I expect you to do your fucking job. You said you could make it go away. Make it go the fuck away.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering the tone of his voice, the way he had spoken like this wasn’t the first time, like this was something he’d dealt with before. Like this wasn’t new.

A pharmacy.

In his system.

And he needed it to go away.

… Does Luca have a drug addiction?

It makes sense, doesn’t it? The way he carries himself like he’s holding back, like there’s something coiled tight under his skin that he’s trying to keep from snapping. The way his moods shift too fast, the way his eyes go dark with not only anger but also desperation.

I swallow hard, my throat dry.

Fuck.

What does that mean?

What does that mean…for me? Because if he’s already this possessive, this fucking unrelenting—then what the fuck happens when the withdrawals hit? What happens when he needs a fix and can’t get it? What happens if I end up being the thing he uses instead?

I curl up tighter under the blanket, pressing my palms against my face, trying to force my brain to stop fucking spiraling. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to deal with this. All I know is that I should stay away. I should keep my fucking distance. I should walk away while I still can.

But Luca won’t let me go.

I’m still sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts tangled in a mess I can’t unravel when my bedroom door swings open without warning.

Nate Carter strides in like he owns the place—because, honestly, he basically does. He’s a Sigma Rho Alpha legacy just like me, only Nate carries it like a crown. He moves through the world like it’s his and everyone else is just lucky to be breathing his air.

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