Page 72 of Bitter When He Begs

Roman is still running his mouth about something, hands gesturing as he floats near Sage, but neither of them notices meuntil I move closer, until I grab Sage by the waist, spin him, and press him against the pool wall close to the steps.

His eyes go wide, hands instinctively grabbing onto my shoulders, but I don’t let him push me away.

I crowd into his space, hands braced against the wall on either side of him, water dripping down my chest as I trap him right where I want him.

Sage blinks up at me, mouth slightly parted, chest rising and falling a little too quickly, and fuck, I’m done pretending.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I murmur, voice low, cutting through the sounds of the party like a blade.

Sage swallows. “Can’t do what?”

I lean in, letting my mouth brush the shell of his ear, my breath warm against his skin. “Pretend,” I whisper. “Pretend you don’t make my heart beat faster and my cock hard at the same fucking time.”

He shudders; his fingers dig into my shoulders, but I don’t give him a chance to process. I press closer, my thigh sliding between his under the water, my hands gripping the edge of the pool, keeping him right where I want him.

“You drive me crazy, Sunshine,” I confess. “You and your smart mouth. You and your fucking freckles. You and that goddamn tattoo that’s just begging to be traced with my tongue.”

He swallows, throat bobbing, pupils blown wide, and cheeks flushed even redder than before. “Luca,” he breathes.

But it’s not a protest, it’s a fuckingprayer.

And that’s when I lose the last bit of my self-control.

I slide my hand up to his jaw, tilt his head just enough, and then I kiss him.

It’s not soft or polite. It’s everything I’ve been holding back—every late night thought, every filthy daydream, every time I’ve caught myself watching him and had to force my hands into fists just to stop from grabbing him the way I want to.

He kisses me back, shaky at first, but when he lets out a breathless moan, it’s game over. My hand slides from his jaw to his hair and I tighten my grip, my body pressed against his, and everything else disappears.

I don’t care who’s watching. All I care about is the way he melts against me, the way he’s gasping into my mouth like I’m air and he’s been holding his breath for months. I angle my head, swallowing the small sound he makes when I suck his bottom lip between my teeth.

He tastes like my new addiction, and I groan against his mouth. I don’t know how long we stay like that. Could be seconds, could be minutes, could be forever.

But then—

“Oh, fuck.”

Someone whistles.

Someone else laughs.

A splash.

The sound of someone slapping the water.

“Pay up, Torres, I told you they’d do this eventually.”

My brain catches up that people are watching. Fuck them, though. I kiss him again because this thing between us has been building for so long. Because I’ve spent too much time pretending it wasn’t there. Because Sage tastes too good and feels too fucking perfect pressed against me to stop now.

This time, he pulls me closer. His hands slip from my shoulders to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tugging slightly, just enough to make me groan against his mouth.

I tighten my grip on the pool ledge, keeping myself from losing it completely, because fuck, I could lose it. I want to lose it.

Instead, I slow down and let myself just feel it—his breath hitching, his tongue against mine, his body pressing just a little closer. I take in the way his fingers curl against my scalp, the wayhis chest rises and falls like he’s struggling to breathe, the way he’s kissing me like he’s starving for it but doesn’t know how to ask for more.

And I give it to him.

Kissing Sage Blackwell feels like a fucking drug in my veins, and I’ve already lost myself to worse things. At least this one tastes like something real.

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