Page 31 of Bitter When He Begs

Winningfeelsfuckinggood.

The adrenaline is still in my veins, my muscles loose, my body humming with the aftershocks of another victory. The game was brutal, the crowd was electric, and I played like a goddamn machine. The moment we walked onto that field, it was over; the other team never stood a chance, and now, neither does the party.

I’m in a good mood. A great fucking mood, actually. The kind that makes me laugh a little too loud, smirk a little too wide, and move through the crowd like I own every single room I step into.

The off-campus frat house is packed, bodies moving, music pounding through the floors, alcohol flowing like water. It’s fucking perfect. They threw this party just for us and fuck, this is what I live for.

This is why I push myself harder than anyone else. This is why I play the way I do. Because there’s nothing like the high of a win,of knowing I carried that victory on my back, of knowing that every person in this house would kill to be me.

I toss back the rest of my drink, grinning as some chick I barely know presses up against me, giggling in my ear. There’s a guy with her—built, handsome, cocky smirk in place, and I already know how tonight’s gonna end.

I’ve got plans. A little celebration lined up. The three of us, upstairs, somewhere private, where I can sink into something good and warm and easy. No expectations, no complications, just hands and lips and heat.

And the best part?

I haven’t thought about him once.

Not since I had him up against his car and marked him with my mouth. I stayed the fuck away because that shit was going nowhere good.

And maybe it’s because I took a couple pills earlier just to smooth things out, to keep the high going, to make sure nothing could ruin my night. Maybe that’s why I feel so fucking good right now, why I’m floating, why everything feels light and easy and perfect.

So, I slide a hand down the girl’s waist, feel the heat of her body against mine, smirk at the guy watching me with a darkened gaze, knowing exactly what we’re about to do, and I tip my head toward the stairs.

“Let’s go.”

We barely make it three steps before I see him, and just like that, my high shatters.

Sage is standing across the room, his fingers twisted into Damien Moore’s shirt, his tongue down his fucking throat.

I stop moving, my muscles locking up so fast it makes my breath hitch. My pulse slams through my veins in a way that has nothing to do with the pills or the alcohol, and nothing to do with the fucking win.

Damien’s hands are on him, gripping his waist, and pulling him in. His fingers dips under the hem of Sage’s hoodie like he’s allowed to touch him, and Sage isn’t pushing him away, he’s leaning into it and letting it happen.

Damien lives in the house with us, and we’ve hooked up a few times, so I know he’s about to fuck Sage until he forgets all about me.

I can’t let that happen, so I fucking move.

The chick calls after me, confused, but I don’t turn back. I don’t give a single fuck about anything except the way my body is already burning, the way my hands ache to grab, to tear him away from Damien and remind him who the fuck he belongs to.

Sage doesn’t see me coming. He doesn’t realize how fucking close he is to making a huge mistake.

Damien’s hand is still half-raised, fingers curled slightly like he’s about to pull Sage back toward him when I rip him away, shoving just hard enough to put some space between them, just enough to make it clear that whatever was happening is done.

Except Damien doesn’t take the fucking hint. Instead, he stares at me, jaw tight, brows furrowing, and I can already see the question forming before it even leaves his mouth.

“The fuck is your problem, Devereaux?”

He’s not pissed yet, but he’s getting there, and fuck, so am I. Because I know I can’t just clock him right here in the middle of the party. I know I can’t start some stupid shit with one of my best friends over a brat who isn’t supposed to mean a goddamn thing to me.

I know that.

But my fists are already curling, my whole body wired too tight, my muscles coiled with the kind of tension that makes me feel feral. Like I need to hurt something just to make the heat in my chest go away, just to shut off the roaringfuck nothat’s been screaming in my head since the second I saw them together.

Damien’s still watching me, his stance widening enough to say that if I want to start shit, he’s not backing down. And normally, I’d welcome that. Normally, I’d fucking love the excuse.

But then Sage speaks, and it’s like he’s daring me to lose it. “What’s the matter, King? Seeing something you can’t have?”

I snap my gaze to him, my breath slamming through my chest, my heart beating too loud, too wild.