Page 115 of Bitter When He Begs

I roll my hips once, grinding deep, and his moan rips out of him loud and gorgeous.

“You wanna keep playing?” I murmur, kissing the shell of his ear. “You think you’re in charge right now, baby?”

“Please,” he huffs, voice gone hoarse and ruined. “Ialwaysrun the show. That fat cock belongs tome.”

I pull out almost all the way, then slam back in hard enough to make him yell. His fingers go white around the edge of the mattress, and his head drops with a groan so thick it makes my cock throb inside him.

“More,” he chokes. “God, more.”

I give it to him. All of it. Deep, steady, dragging every sound I can from him like I’m tuning an instrument that only I’m allowed to play. And he does sing for me—gasps, moans, broken little whimpers that punch straight into my ribs. His body takes every inch, every grind of my hips, every filthy praise I mutter into his skin.

“That’s it, baby,” I rasp, biting the back of his neck. “You love being filled up, don’t you?”

He lets out a high, desperate sound. “Feels so—so full,f-fuck—”

“Yeah? That what you wanted?” I thrust deeper, dragging a guttural groan out of him. “That what you were thinking about when you put that plug? Me fucking you open like this?”

“Y-yes,” he gasps. “Wanted it all day.”

I don’t pull back. I stay deep, grinding my hips into his ass, keeping him right on the edge. He writhes beneath me, eyes wide, breath stuttering out of him as he tries to move—but I don’t let him. I keep him right there. Stretched. Claimed. Owned.

“Please,” he whines.

“Please what?”

“You know what—fuck—you know.”

I drag my teeth along the curve of his shoulder, tasting the sweat already beading there. “I want to hear you beg. You sound so bitter when you beg—but fuck, I live for it.”

He growls in frustration, slamming a fist into the mattress. “You’re such a dick.”

I thrust again, deep enough that he loses the insult on a gasp, fingers clutching the sheets like he’s hanging on for dear life. “Please. I want your cock harder, King. I want it deep. I want to be wrecked. I want to come with your teeth in my shoulder and your name the only fucking word I remember.”

I hum. “Better,” I say and fuck him harder, dragging him back into every thrust. The headboard knocks against the wall. The music downstairs drowns out most of it, but I hope they hear him.

He pushes back into every thrust, greedy and obscene and so fucking cocky with it that I have to reach around and grab his cock again—jerking him hard and fast in rhythm with the slam of my hips. He groans, loud and shameless, rutting into my fist.

Sage shatters with a moan that tears from his throat like it’s been waiting all fucking night for me to give him permission.

And I don’t stop.

I fuck him through it, harder, faster, chasing my own release now, grunting into his back as my cock throbs deep inside him. When I come, I swear I black out, body locking, breath caught, teeth in his skin.

We collapse together—sweaty, flushed, and ruined for each other. He groans as I kiss the back of his neck, still trying to catch my breath.

“I think,” he pants, voice half-muffled, “I deserve that plug back in. For good behavior.”

I laugh into his skin, completely gone for him. “You’re getting stuffed every game night from now on.”

He hums. “Perfect. That way you’ll actually play better.”

This little fucker, I swear.

Sage

Thesun’sjuststartingto slide west when Nate and I cut across the quad, our bags slung low over our shoulders, the kind of late afternoon lull that makes everything feel a little too quiet between lectures.

He’s flipping through his sports med notes while I unwrap a peppermint with my teeth, letting the sugar calm the leftover jitter in my spine from our last class.