Page 30 of End Game

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His voice is low and seductive.

I slide my hand higher on his chest, watching his eyes track the movement.

“I might need you to fuck me again.”

“If it’s just ‘might,’ I don’t think I’m doing a good enough job,” he counters.

“I need you to fuck me again.”

One eyebrow lifts. “See? That’s much more convincing than might.”

The look in his eyes is so feral and full of sin, I’m suddenly not sure how I’m breathing.

“Think you can behave with your new touch privileges,” he asks, “or should I remove the temptation?”

I don’t even pretend to consider it. “Tie me up.”

“You telling me you can’t be a good girl, Cameron?”

Fuck me.

“I can.” I drag one finger up his chest, keeping the movement directly in his line of sight.

His body shudders under my fingertip, and I smile at the reaction.

“I’d just rather not be tempted.”

His eyes darken.

Apparently, I’ve made a tactical error.

Or an excellent decision.

He’s on me before I can decide whether my tactical error was intentional, guiding me back onto the mattress. He starts to take my shirt off, but doesn’t pull it completely off my arms—he pins them over my head.

A few efficient movements later, my arms are secured where he wants them—firm enough that testing the position gets me nowhere, but nothing pinches or pulls.

Fuck.

The man can apparently improvise bondage with laundry.

Then, he quickly pulls the rest of my clothes off.

My eyes track him as he walks away for a moment and comes back with the neckties again.

“Still green?” he asks.

“Still green,” I echo.

“You trust me?”

I hold his gaze. “You know I do.”

By the time he bends my first knee, I know exactly where this is going. I narrow my eyes at him as he wraps the first tie around my ankle.

Ronan’s smile is positively serene. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“You know there isn’t.”