Page 179 of End Game

I stop.

She whimpers, but smiles.

“You checked the app?” Something warm punches straight through the heat in my chest.

“I missed you.”

That does it.

I kiss her again while she starts working at my belt, and neither of us seem interested in drawing this out.

A few minutes later, she’s on her back beneath me with her legs around my hips and my hands braced beside her.

I stop before I push inside her—I need one more second to look at her.

Sleep-mussed hair. Red lace. My pillow under her head.

Cami cups my face and says my name.

I push inside her.

There is nothing particularly slow about what follows.

We’ve had work schedules and family obligations and dinners and Christmas planning. She’s spent enough time downstairs with Ronan lately that I’ve deliberately avoided asking for details I don’t need, even when the marks on her body supplied some of them for me.

I’ve been very emotionally mature about all of it.

I can be emotionally mature and still fuck my wife into the mattress on Christmas morning.

Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Harder.”

I look down at her. “Yeah?”

“Yes, please.”

I give her what she asks for.

The headboard hits the wall once, then again and again.

Somewhere in the useful part of my brain, I remember three other adults are elsewhere in this house.

I care significantly less than I probably should.

My hand returns to her throat.

“You’re mine right now?”

The words matter, and she knows it.

Right now.

Not mine instead of theirs.

Not mine more than theirs.

This room. This moment. This choice.

Cami’s smile is breathless. “Yours.”