Page 33 of End Game

He knows he has me.

And maybe that’s what makes my entire body light up again.

Because I know I have him, too.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t immediately start something else. Instead, he reaches for the neckties bracing my legs.

I blink at him. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you your legs and hands back.”

That probably shouldn’t sound filthy, but it does.

The first tie comes loose, then the second, then the shirt, and finally my arms are free. The Ronan who just spent however long dismantling my nervous system disappears into the same careful man who checks every place the fabric held me before he does anything else.

I roll my shoulders carefully while Ronan watches me.

His expression is expectant.

And suddenly I understand.

Earlier tonight, he had to tell me not to touch him.

Then he taught me how.

Now he’s giving me the choice.

My hand rises between us slowly enough that he can follow every inch of the movement.

His eyes flick toward it, then return to mine.

I place my palm against his chest.

Nothing changes in his expression, but he exhales.

I slide my hand higher to his shoulder and then the side of his neck.

His eyes never leave mine.

When my palm finally cups his cheek, Ronan turns his face into it—just slightly, but he does.

Something inside my chest fucking aches.

“There you are,” I whisper.

His eyes darken. “Careful, Cameron.”

I smile and brush my thumb over his cheek. “What? I’m following the rules.”

“Parameters.”

A laugh escapes me. “Definitely rules.”

He kisses me before I can say anything else.

And this time, when he pulls me closer, I don’t have to fully think about where my hands belong.

I know how to touch him.