Page 405 of End Game

Not even the control.

The certainty.

Cami has spent so much of our relationship learning how to ask for things.

Tonight she doesn't ask.

She tells me.

And I fucking love giving them to her.

When she finally comes apart above me, she is still the one setting the pace.

Still the one deciding where my hands go.

Still praising me between broken breaths like I did something heroic by following instructions while naked.

I am apparently extremely talented.

Then she looks down at me.

Breathing hard.

Hair everywhere.

Absolutely wrecked.

And somehow still in charge. “My turn to take care of you.”

Fuck.

“Dollface—”

“Nope.”

I close my mouth.

She smiles. “Good.”

She rides me like I don’t think she ever has before.

I feel like she got a boost to her stamina while I was gone.

My orgasm hits harder than it has any business hitting after four weeks of hotel rooms, phone sex, and enough pent-up longing to qualify as a medical condition.

I swear.

Cami laughs.

Then praises me right through it.

Which is unfair.

Probably illegal.

Possibly addictive.

When I can think again, she's collapsed against my chest.