Page 12 of End Game

“I need you to remember you can stop this anytime,” he reminds me as he starts to wrap one of the neckties around my wrists.

He’s quick and practiced as he knots them together. It’s not too tight, but tight enough I can’t slip out of them.

“I remember,” I assure him.

Then he grabs the other tie and wraps it around the first one and secures it to the opening at the top of his headboard.

I should feel ridiculous lying here naked with my hands secured over my head while he’s almost completely dressed.

Instead, the way he looks at me makes my skin burn.

The way he looks at me turns the vulnerability into something else—like every inch of me deserves his full attention.

I watch him as he undoes the top few buttons on his shirt and then pulls it over his head, draping it on the back of his desk chair.

My eyes take him in.

I’ve never seen this man in less than three-quarter sleeves, much less shirtless, and apparently that has been a fucking crime against me and everyone else living in this house.

The chest hair doesn’t surprise me. Neither does the softer strength of him—broad without being carved into ridiculous proportions, solid in a way that is so completely Ronan it almost makes me laugh.

Instead, I bite my bottom lip.

His quiet, uncomfortable laugh tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

It’s almost ceremonial—the way he steps out of his khakis, drapes them over the chair with his shirt, then removes his socks.

Of fucking course Ronan still handles his clothes properly while I’m naked and tied to his bed.

The boxer briefs stay on as he climbs on the bed with me.

More lightning ignites my body as his hand grazes from my hip, up my side, his thumb brushing the side of my breast before he cups my neck and kisses me deeply again.

“Still green?” he asks quietly as he pulls back and meets my eyes.

“Very,” I reply quickly.

He smiles before he kisses down my neck. When he reaches my very hardened nipples, he looks up at me and checks with his eyes before he takes one in his mouth.

And fuck.

He doesn’t just play with the nipple—he latches on to my breast in a sensation I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. Tingles go down my spine as he rhythmically sucks the whole peak of my breast in his mouth.

I writhe under him.

My pelvis rises as my needy cunt chases friction.

He pins my hips to the bed with one hand, and I whimper.

There’s a dark chuckle that escapes him as he releases one breast and moves to the other. He does the same thing there, and I don’t think anyone playing with my nipples or breasts has ever felt like this.

Maybe I just want him that much.

Pressure gathers low and fast, building with every pull of his mouth. I can’t move my hips, but I can flex, so I chase it.

“Ronan, fuck, don’t stop,” I manage to rasp seconds before my body convulses under him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps against my skin, and then his mouth travels further down my body.