Page 84 of Bitter When He Begs

Luca Devereaux, the most dangerous, possessive, emotionally unavailable asshole I’ve ever met—wants me. And not just to mess with. Not just to push around or grind against or make beg with his mouth and voice and body. He wants me in the real way. The terrifying way. The kind of way that means this isn’t a game anymore, and hasn’t been for a long time, and I’m just the last one to figure it out.

I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know if it was when he cornered me by my car and kissed me like he hated me. Or when he ruined me without touching me and made me say thank you while I was still shaking in his lap. Or when he whispered my name tonight like he couldn’t believe I was real. Maybe it was when he looked me in the eye and told me he couldn’t quit me like I was some kind of drug.

He begged me to stay.

Luca doesn’t beg.

But he did. His voice went soft. His eyes went hungry. He offered me a bed, a night, a break from everything. And for a second, I almost said yes. I almost caved. I almost let myself stay, even though I know we need time apart.

I almost gave in.

Now I’m lying in the dark, alone, staring at the ceiling like it might hold some answers.

I reach for my phone without thinking, needing a distraction, something to ground me that isn’t the memory of his voice saying my name in that rough, ruined whisper. I open Instagram without really thinking about it, ready to scroll past the usual boring shit, but then I see it.

Two hundred and eighteen follower requests.

And I know, before I even click it, that something happened. Something big. My heart stutters. My fingers shake. I tap the notification icon and it pulls up a list of usernames I don’t recognize, all attached to profile pictures of girls, guys, queer kids, athletes, and artists, all of them following me like they suddenly know who the hell I am.

And then I see it right at the top of my notifications—a new post tag from lucadevereaux17.

There’s no caption except for one word and a red heart.

Sunshine.??

The photo is one I didn’t know he even took. It’s me laid out on a pool floatie, one hand trailing the water, the sun hitting my face just right, a half-laugh frozen on my lips like I was grinning at something Roman said. I look soft and happy in a way I never let the camera catch.

And Luca posted it for everyone to see.

I die.

I actually fucking die.

My stomach does this weird lurch, half free-fall, half high-speed thrill that I don’t know how to contain. I stare at the screen like it might disappear if I blink too hard. I scroll down to the comments.

It’s blowing up.

There are fire emojis, heart eyes, stunned reactions, comments like “LUCA???” and “IS THIS REAL??” and “I KNEW IT” and “who tf is he???”

One of Roman’s burner accounts just commented: “Called it, you clingy bastard.”

Another one from Julian says: “Tell Sunshine I want his skincare routine and also he’s prettier than you, don’t get cocky.”

My face is on fire, my hands are shaking, and I don’t know if I want to scream or smile or throw up.

Luca just soft-launched me to the entire school.

No warning. No hesitation. Just one word. One photo. One fucking heart emoji.

I bury my face in my pillow, my heart racing like I just sprinted a mile, my thoughts spinning out of control. This is real now. He made it real. There’s no undoing it. There’s no pretending this was just about sex or control or obsession. He put it out there. He told the world.

I don’t know what that means for tomorrow or the next day, or what the hell we’re even doing anymore.

He didn’t have to post it.

He didn’t have to show them.

But apparently, he wants everyone to fucking know I’m his.

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