You shake your head with a laugh, trying to sound casual even as your pulse skips. “The only time I ever want to see a guy on his knees in front of me, Mitch, is when he’s between my legs. So no—I don’t want you begging.”

His expression flickers, like he wasn’t expecting you to bite back, and for a moment you see the shift—amusement giving way to something darker. He pushes off the bed, closing the space until his hands are braced on either side of your head.

“You don’t hate me like you pretend to, do you?” His voice is low, steady, burning into you. “If you wanted me on my knees, I could make that happen.”

Your breath hitches, but you keep your chin high. “I’m not pretending.”

“Yes, you are,” he counters, leaning in until your noses nearly brush. His hazel eyes are heavy, his mouth so close you can feel the warmth of his words. “Ask me nicely. Let me show you how much you like it when I’m good.”

Your lips part, your voice sharper than you mean. “Why would I want that when I don’t even like you?”

But the tremor in your delivery betrays you, and Mitch notices—his grin curves, slow and sure. “You don’t have to like me to scream my name, sweetheart.”

He nudges his nose against your jawline, the feather-light touch making you shiver.

“You’re cocky,” you whisper, trying to sound unaffected.

He chuckles, grazing his lips at the corner of your mouth, not quite kissing. “I don’t need a map to figure you out. I already know exactly how to get you there.”