Page 213 of End Game

Ronan's mouth curves. “Stay with me.”

“I am.”

“Good.”

His thumb drags over the head of my cock.

My brain blanks for half a second.

Then comes back.

He does it again.

The room starts losing unnecessary detail.

I still know where I am.

Ronan's bedroom.

Ronan beside me.

Cuffs around my wrists.

Everything else gets less important.

The lamp.

The window.

Whatever time it is.

His voice stays.

His hand stays.

The weight of his thigh against mine stays.

That's enough.

I don't realize I've stopped talking until he asks again, “Color?”

It takes me a second.

Not because I don't know.

Because the word feels farther away than it should. “Green.”

Ronan's hand stills. “Micah.”

“Yeah.”

“Look at me.”

I am looking at him—I think.

His face is close.

Sharp around the edges and somehow soft in the middle.