Page 9 of Bitter When He Begs

I hum, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. “Then why are you here, Sage?”

That makes him freeze, just for a second, just long enough for me to see the truth flash across his face before he schools his features. But it’s too late. I already know.

I grin and drag my fingers over my jaw as I let the silence stretch. “That’s what I thought. You still belong to me.”

He tries to glare at me, but it just looks adorable. “I don’t belong to you, Luca.”

I turn in my seat so I’m facing him fully again, one arm slung over the back of his headrest. I let my eyes drop to his hands, to the way they’re trembling just slightly, then to his chest and the way it rises and falls like he’s barely keeping himself in check. Then, slowly, I pull my gaze back up, meeting his eyes dead-on, and letting him feel just how fucking serious I am.

“No matter how much you think you fit in here, no matter how many people you get to laugh at your jokes, no matter how manypretty boys you let put their hands on you.” I pause, tilting my head. “You’re mine.”

His jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscle jump. Then, suddenly, he’s pushing at my chest, shoving me back against the door.

“Get over yourself,” he spits, his eyes burning and voice close to panic. “You don’t own me.”

I can’t help but grin. That’s the thing about Sage—he’s different now, sure. He’s grown into himself, he’s found his footing, he’s standing on solid ground.

But not with me; with me, he still crumbles. With me, he still reacts even when he doesn’t want to.

I grip his wrist before he can pull away, my fingers tight around his pulse, and I feel it—erratic and fast as hell. But not with fear, though. Not with the way his pupils are dilated and his lips are parted.

Excitement licks through my veins, burning through the fog of withdrawal, cutting through the haze I’ve been drowning in for days.

“I make you nervous, don’t I?” My voice drops, amusement curling around the words, and I tighten my grip just enough to make him stay.

He yanks his wrist free, glaring at me. It’s almost convincing for a second, but I see past it. And when I lean in, when I get just close enough that he could push me away again if he really wanted to, he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t even breathe. He just waits and looks at me.

“Let me make this clear,” I say, grinning at him. “You were fucked the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

He swallows hard, but he doesn’t say anything, or argue with me… And that? That’s all the confirmation I fucking need.

Sage eventually scoffs and looks away, but I catch the way his hands tighten into fists like he’s trying to will himself not to react. “Go fuck yourself.”

I hum, amused, tipping my head like I’m thinking about it. “I could. But it’d be a lot more fun if I had a cute little brat like you under me.”

He sucks in a breath and pulls back like he’s trying to get some distance, but there’s nowhere for him to go—not in the confined space of my truck, not when I’ve got him right where I want him.

“Bet you make the prettiest sounds,” I murmur, not taking my eyes off of him. “Tell me, Sunshine, do you like it slow and sweet, or rough and messy?”

I press my elbow against the back of his seat, leaning in just a little more, watching the way his jaw tightens, and the way his blush deepens, creeping down his throat. He tries to look away from me, and all I can do is grin when I notice he’s squirming.

God, he’s fuckingsquirming.

“Bet you like it messy,” I tease, watching the way he shivers. “Bet you like being handled roughly. You want someone to pin you down, don’t you? To make you take it even when you fight them.”

Sage’s breath stutters, and fuck, it’s satisfying. Watching him fight to keep that sharp edge, watching him lose, watching him react to every filthy word like it’s something he can’t control.

I lean in closer, my mouth nearly brushing his ear. “You’d let me fuck you up, wouldn’t you?”

His breath catches again, sharp and shallow, and that’s when I know.

He fucking would.

No matter what he tells himself. No matter how many times he glares at me like he hates my guts. No matter how hard he tries to convince the world he’s not mine. His body betrays him.

Every. Damn. Time.