Page 82 of Bitter When He Begs

Sage laughs under his breath, and it’s not mean, just a little fond, a little exasperated. “You’re very persuasive when you want to be.”

I shrug. “I’m usually more effective when my mouth’s on your neck.”

His eyes narrow like he wants to glare at me, but he doesn’t quite manage it. “That’s exactly why I need to go home.”

That knocks the smirk off my face. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he says, and now he’s fully facing me, one leg curled up onto the seat. “Luca, what happened today, what we did, that wasn’t casual for me. I know it wasn’t for you either, so don’t start pretending it was.”

I clench my jaw because he’s right, and I hate that he’s always right when it counts. “I’m not pretending.”

“Then don’t act like we can just fall into bed again and ignore the rest of it.”

I shake my head, eyes locked on the dashboard. “I’m not ignoring it, Sage.”

He rests his hand on mine. His fingers are cold and soft against the scarred knuckles I’ve bloodied more times than I can count. “I want to stay,” he says, and the fact that he admits that without me having to drag it out of him nearly undoes me. “But I need space to think.”

I glance at him, and my voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “Think about what?”

“About what this is,” he says plainly, no games, no bitterness, just honesty that feels heavier than it should. “About how I feel. About howyoufeel. I can’t think straight when you’re touching me like that. I can’t think at all.”

I don’t like the idea of him not coming home with me. I don’t like the idea of going back to my room and not having him there. I don’t like the idea of sleeping without him warm beside me, his hair spilling over my pillow, his freckles visible in the low light.

I hate it, but I don’t say that. Instead, I sigh heavily, dragging my hand down my face before muttering, “Fine. But only because you want it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Wow, how kind of you,” he deadpans.

I smirk again, leaning in before he can pull away, before he can second-guess himself, before he can make some dumb excuse to run inside and pretend this night never happened. I kiss him slow and deep, my hand curling around the back of his neck, my fingers threading into his hair.

He melts instantly like I knew he would. I can feel it in the way he sighs into me, in the way his fingers tighten in my shirt, in the way his body leans closer before he seems to catch himself.

I pull back slightly, smirking against his lips. “Tell me you don’t want to come home with me.”

Sage groans. “Luca.”

“Say it,” I murmur, brushing my lips over his again, teasing, pressing just close enough that he can feel me but not close enough to actually give him what he wants.

He clenches his jaw, eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t want to come home with you.”

I grin. “Liar.”

He makes a noise of frustration but doesn’t argue, just shakes his head and reaches for the door handle. “Goodnight, Luca.”

“Night, Sunshine,” I whisper, hating that I miss him already.

I sigh, watching as he hops out of the truck and grabs his duffel from the back before turning toward the house. He hesitates for half a second—just long enough to make me think maybe he’ll change his mind, maybe he’ll come running back, maybe he wants this as badly as I do.

But then he shakes his head again and disappears inside.

I sit there for another few minutes, heart beating slower now, the absence of him like an echo in the cab. I should feel rejected. I should feel annoyed. But somehow, all I feel is calm.

I grip the steering wheel, take a breath that doesn’t taste like regret for once, and head home, windows cracked just enough to let the night in.

When I get back to the Sin Bin, it’s quiet and dark except for the under-glow from the kitchen and the flickering light from the living room TV. Eli and Damien are passed out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them. I walk past both and head straight upstairs, flipping Sage’s hoodie over my shoulder like it’s mine now—because it fucking is.

In my room, I toss it onto the foot of my bed and strip down to my briefs, collapsing onto the mattress with a groan. My body’s still sore in all the best ways. My neck smells like Sage, my mouth still remembers the shape of his. I stare up at the ceiling with a stupid, satisfied grin pulling at my lips and no energy left to hide it.

He could’ve stayed.

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