Page 151 of Bitter When He Begs

Goddamn it, he’s right. I do love it. I love that he’s so comfortable with me, that he’s so bold, so fucking shameless in wanting me.

And maybe I should make him work for it. Maybe I should make him beg. But when he leans in again, when his lips brush my jaw, and when his hands grip me just a little tighter—

I melt again.

“You’re such a cocky bastard,” I breathe, my fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

“And you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, kissing his way to my ear, his voice low, dripping with heat. “Especially when you blush for me.”

I blush harder, which just makes him chuckle. “You like getting me flustered, don’t you?” I mutter, trying to sound accusing, but it comes out breathy.

“I love it,” he admits shamelessly, pulling back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes dark, hungry, soft. “I love making you feel good. Love seeing you like this. Love that I’m theonly onewho gets to see you like this.”

My stomach flips, and for once, I don’t have anything smart to say, because Luca Devereaux just admitted something that makes my entire body buzz. Something that makes my heart skip, and for all his arrogance, all his teasing, all his relentless flirting, there’s something raw in the way he’s looking at me now.

So instead of answering, I kiss him. And just like that, Luca stops talking.

As soon as my lips leave his, I’m expecting something—anything. Some cocky remark, some teasing touch, some attempt to pull me right back in. But, instead, Luca pulls back and just grins, his blue eyes practically glowing with something smug and dangerous.

“You should get dressed,” he says and walks to my dresser like it’s a normal Friday and not a total assault on my cognitive function.

I blink at him, my brain doing its best impression of dial-up internet. “I am dressed.”

He turns, holding up one of my black button-downs, inspecting it. “No, I mean real clothes. Like—good shirt, pants that fit, maybe even brush your hair if you’re feeling wild.”

I frown. “Okay, what?”

“Get dressed, Sage.”

“I have things to do,” I protest, though my voice sounds weak, even to me. “I was going to finish editing my scene reel tonight. I need to update my academic calendar, and I’m, like, two lectures behind in comparative media frameworks.”

“Yeah, well, those things are canceled,” he cuts in, tossing a random hoodie onto the bed before rifling through another drawer. “Because I’m taking you out.”

I just stare. My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Out where?”

“Not telling.”

I stare at him, suspicious. “Why?”

“Because it’s a surprise.”

My brain fully short-circuits. I squint at him, trying to find the catch. “This is one of those surprise date things that ends with us at a Waffle House at midnight because you ‘felt like pancakes,’ isn’t it?”

The asshole laughs, deep and smug. “Nope. This is a real date, Sage. You know—planned, romantic, not immediately leading to public indecency.”

I cross my arms. “You planned a date?”

“I did.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Exactly. Because that’s how surprises work.”

I am not breathing.

“You don’t do dates,” I blurt out because my brain is still not computing.

“Yeah?” Luca just shrugs, completely unfazed, then he pulls me close and slaps my ass hard enough to make me jolt. “Guess I do now. Hurry up.”

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