Page 105 of Bitter When He Begs

He’s not trying to be soft, and fuck me, I want to see where he takes this.

His hand slips under my shirt and presses flat against my abs, hot and possessive, and so fucking confident. He traces the muscle like he’s the one who built it, like it’s his to claim. “You came running, didn’t you?”

“I should fuck you right in this stairwell.”

“You could,” he murmurs, that dangerous gleam in his eyes now. “Or you could let me show you why I call you King.”

Then he drops to his knees with no hesitation and no warning. Just that slow slide down until he’s on the floor, legs spread, head tilted like the most dangerous fucking thing I’ve ever seen in ripped jeans and smirking lips.

I don’t breathe. I can’t.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, palming me through my joggers, fingers teasing me slowly. “Already so hard for me. Didn’t even let your hair dry.”

“You little fucking—”

“Ah, ah,” he cuts in, dragging his palm up my length. “Don’t talk unless I say you can. Or is the big bad quarterback gonna cry when I suck his cock too good?”

My jaw clenches, and he smiles like he’s won. And maybe he has. Because then he hooks his fingers in my waistband and drags everything down.

My cock springs free, hard and aching, slapping against his cheek before he wraps a hand around the base and licks it. He shifts his knees wider and hums like he’s unwrapping a fucking gift.

“God,” he breathes, just to mess with me. “I fucking love that you’re uncut.”

I glare down at him, chest heaving. “You gonna keep teasing, Sunshine?”

His lips twitch and his fingers tighten, pushing the foreskin back slowly, revealing the flushed, aching head underneath. The whole thing’s slick now, leaking and throbbing from how long he’s been teasing, and he doesn’t fucking rush.

No, my brat takes his time, stroking the exposed crown with the flat of his tongue and taking one long disrespectful drag of his tongue up the side while making a goddamn meal out of me.

“Holyfuck,” I groan, one hand hitting the wall for balance, the other already tangled in his hair.

He kisses the head of my cock, tongue teasing the slit, and hums like I’m a favorite song.

“You gonna make that pretty noise for me again, Luca?” he murmurs, licking a stripe underneath. “The one you made when I moaned into your mouth?”

“Get it in your throat, slut,” I rasp. “Now.”

“Oh, we’re commanding now?” Sage snickers, his hand jerking me slowly. “Didn’t sound so in control a minute ago.”

When he wraps his lips around the head, finally taking it into his mouth, he closes his eyes like he’s been starving for it. He doesn’t dive in like he’s rushing. No, he builds it. Holds my gaze when he slides forward, working that tight stretch of skin with his tongue until I’m gripping the wall behind me just to stay standing.

The foreskin drags with each slow suck, sliding forward again as he pulls back, and I swear it’s enough to kill me right there.

“Sage—fuck—”

He moans around me.

That sound? That fucking vibration? It hits every nerve I didn’t know I had.

His lips seal tight, his throat opening just enough to take the head, to let me nudge the back of it before pulling off again with a slick, filthy pop; saliva shining across the head as he lets it sit against his tongue. The sight alone is damn near pornographic.

“You taste like you know you’re mine,” he says, his voice all breathy. Another lick. Another moan. “King of Blackthorne is so fucking easy for me.”

I growl, grabbing his hair, and forcing his mouth back down. “Open up. Be good.”

He grins around my cock, and my knees nearly give out when he takes me to the base and gags. I hiss through clenched teeth as he bobs his head, faster now, his lips dragging, tongue swirling, throat working every time I pulse on his tongue. His spit’s everywhere—down his chin, across his hand, wet and messy, and so fucking hot.

My hips twitch, my breath’s gone, and I’m barely holding back.