Page 78 of Bitter When He Begs

“Look at you,” I spit, grinding in deep, just to feel the way he tightens up around me. “So fucking cock-drunk for me. Where’s that mouth now, huh?”

“Gone,” he gasps, voice ragged. “You fucked it out of me—please, Luca, don’t stop, I’ll be good, I’ll be so fucking good for you. Just don’t stop—”

I laugh, breathless and fucked out of my mind, and lean over him, chest pressed to his slick back, mouth at his ear. I slow just enough to torture him. Roll my hips like I want to own his soul.

“You were never that hard to break, baby,” I whisper, my tongue dragging up the sweat-drenched curve of his throat. My mouth hovers just long enough to feel him twitch. “You wanted to be ruined.”

And then I bite him right where it’ll bruise, where he’ll feel it every time he moves tomorrow. He cries out and fucks himself back against me, needy and raw, like he wants it to hurt.

Like he wants me to hurt him.

My hand finds his cock and I stroke him hard, matching each brutal snap of my hips with a twist of my wrist. Every thrust is deeper than the last, his breath catching on those perfect little sounds that have lived in my head since the first time I cornered him.

“You’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” I pant, my voice falling apart. “You close, baby? You gonna come all over my sheets like a good boy? Gonna make a fucking mess for me?”

He chokes on a moan, head dropping to the mattress. I feel him start to clench, his body spasming as he tries to hold back.

“Come for me,” I growl, my hand stroking him faster. “Come while I fuck every last bit of fight out of you.”

I hit that spot again—just right, just deep enough—and his entire body locks. He shatters for me, breaks beautifully, cock pulsing in my grip as he comes hard across my black sheets.

I don’t stop. I fuck him through it hard, almost vicious, chasing my own release while he’s beneath me, boneless and ruined and mine.

“Fuck, fuck—Sage—” I choke out, pulling out at the last second, barely managing to rip the condom off before I’m coming all over his back in hot, filthy ropes, groaning his name like it’s the only word I’ve ever known.

I’m dizzy.

Obliterated.

And still not fucking done.

Before he can even breathe, I lean down and drag my tongue up his spine—slow, dirty, claiming. I lick up every drop I left behind, tasting sweat, skin, and mine. His whole body twitches under me, and he lets out the prettiest, broken gasp.

“L-Luca—”

I hum against his skin, tongue flicking over the mess, shameless as I taste myself on him. He’s shaking andoverstimmed, but he doesn’t move. He just lies there with his ass still in the air and his cheek pressed to the sheets.

Then he turns his head and sticks out that pretty pink tongue like an offering, spine arched, thighs trembling.

And fuck if I don’t feel that right in my gut.

I grip his jaw and lean in, dragging my thumb across his bottom lip as I tilt his head the way I want it. I hover just above him, our mouths barely apart, his breath hitching as my fingers dig into his cheeks.

Then I spit my cum into his mouth and he swallows it without blinking or looking away. He stares up at me with fucked-out eyes and a mouth that still aches for more.

It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” I breathe, and it slips out before I can stop it. Not cocky or cruel. Just ruined and honest. “Good fucking boy.”

He bites his bottom lip almost bashfully, and I press my forehead to his shoulder blade, sweat dripping down my neck. I kiss a bruise I left there, slow and almost apologetic, even though I know I’d do it again.

The room’s quiet now, except for our breathing. Unsteady. Shaky. Heavy like the silence right before a storm breaks open again.

I press a kiss to his temple. “Mine,” I whisper, not even thinking about it. “You’re mine.”

He shivers like it lands somewhere deep.

I slide my hands down his sides slowly, anchoring myself with the contact. Then I shift him onto his back with a gentle touch that belies the heat still burning through me.

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