Page 207 of End Game

“I'm serious.”

“I know you are.”

He steps closer. “I know you like control.”

“So do you.”

“Yes.”

“Probably more than me.”

“Probably.”

I laugh softly.

His hand comes up, pausing before settling at the back of my neck.

The touch immediately lowers my guard.

Not all the way, but enough.

“I also think,” he continues, “that you like giving it up sometimes.”

My mouth goes dry. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to give me some tonight?”

There are probably better answers.

More articulate ones.

My brain finds none of them.

“Yes.”

His thumb moves slowly against my neck.

“Stoplight?”

“Green.”

“If that changes?”

“I tell you.”

“If you stop wanting this?”

“I tell you.”

His gaze sharpens. “And if you're not sure?”

“Yellow.”

“Good.”

The praise hits differently than it should.

Maybe because I usually give it.