Page 57 of Bitter When He Begs

Luca Devereaux—the same arrogant, reckless, infuriating asshole who has made my life hell—actually fucking asked if he could kiss me. The same arrogant asshole who came on my cock and stuck his fingers down my throat just to hear me gag… asked me forpermission.

And because this fucker can make me melt faster than an ice cube thrown in a fire, I nod.

His fingers tighten against my jaw again while his other hand slips around my waist, pulling me flush against him. He leansdown and his lips brush against mine, just barely, just enough to make my stomach flip.

Then finally… he kisses me.

Slow.

Unhurried.

Almost as if he’s memorizing the way I taste, the way my lips move against his, and the way I’m reacting to him.

A quiet, desperate sound slips from my lips, and Luca groans against my mouth, his fingers press deeper into my skin, and he pushes me harder against the door.

My head is spinning, my pulse is racing, and I should probably be thinking about how stupid this is, about how I should stop and not want this as badly as I do, because this can’t end well. All he does is pull me in, make me drown, push me away, and drag me through this back-and-forth bullshit that never fucking ends.

… but I’m a stupid fuckingOliver Twist-type idiot, because all I can think isplease, sir, I want some more.

Luca breaks off the kiss, pulling back so fast it almost makes my head spin, and his hands drop from my body. He doesn’t meet my gaze for a second; his breathing is uneven, shoulders rising and falling as he’s pulling himself together.

Then his eyes flick back to mine, and shit… he looks pained.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, his voice low and fucking tortured. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I feel the words more than I hear them. They sink into my chest, settle in my ribs and carve themselves into my fucking bones. But I don’t react, I don’t let him see how it stings, or how I knew this would happen again.

Luca swallows hard, shaking his head and stepping back as if to put distance between us again. “I’m in recovery right now,” he admits, his voice cracking halfway through, and for the fiftieth time tonight, my heart wants to rip through my chest. “Gettinginto something right now would be the worst fucking thing I could do.”

I breathe in slow and steady, making sure my face doesn’t give anything away, making sure I don’t fucking break in front of him. He’s in recovery, he’s getting help for his problem, and I should be happy, but… fuck, I feel selfish because I want more of this soft Luca.

I nod once. “I get it. I won’t tell anyone.”

And I do get it. I fucking do. Luca is a mess. He’s unravelling at the seams, and anyone who knows him can see it. He’s trying to keep it together, trying to hold himself up, but I can tell all he wants to do is crumble.

I can see it in the way he holds tension in his shoulders, in the way his jaw locks, and in the way he just stopped our kiss before it could go anywhere else.

So, I get it. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking suck.

I turn toward the door, gripping the handle while already bracing myself to leave and shove this whole moment into a box so I don’t break down alone in bed tonight.

But before I can step out, before I can take a breath of air that isn’t filled with him, before I can fucking escape, Luca grabs my wrist again.

I glance back, expecting to see hesitation, second-guessing or weakness… but I don’t because Luca isn’t weak, he’s just fucking lost.

“I have to do this,” he says, his voice strained, eyes locking onto mine and I can finally see the exhaustion in them. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”

Fuck, that shouldn’t make my chest ache the way it does.

I swallow hard, cup his cheek and nod, not trusting myself to speak or stay here a second longer without doing or saying something I’ll regret.

And this time when I step through the door, Luca lets me walk away.

Luca

Thebassfromtheparty downstairs has long since faded out, laughter replaced by muffled goodbyes and the occasional door creaking shut.

My door’s locked. The room is dark except for the faint glow from the bedside lamp, and I’m just sitting here… processing.