Page 331 of End Game

Well. That seems appropriately simple.

I unbuckle it slowly and pull it free.

Cami watches every movement.

When I hold it out to her, something uncomfortable moves through my chest.

Not fear exactly, but something close.

Vulnerability feels stupidly dramatic as a word for handing my wife a belt.

Except I'm also giving her the thing she'll use to make it so I can't touch her.

So maybe dramatic is fair.

She takes it. “Still green?”

The question hits differently coming from her.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to use our normal colors?”

“Yes.”

She nods, then looks at me for another long second. “Take your clothes off.”

My eyebrows rise.

Cami's cheeks turn pink.

Interesting.

“Was that an order?”

Her chin lifts. “Yes.”

Fuck.

Apparently we're doing this.

I obey.

There is a moment after she secures my wrists above my head where every muscle in my body reacts before my brain does.

I pull—hard.

Not because I'm trying to get free, but because it’s instinct.

The restraint holds.

My shoulders tighten, and my heart rate jumps.

Some ancient, deeply unhelpful part of my nervous system immediately offers the assessment that this is a bad idea.

Cami climbs onto the mattress beside me.

Her hand lands flat against my chest. “Griffin.”