Page 431 of End Game

It means simple.

My entire purpose has been reduced to something I can actually hold in my head.

Be here.

Let him touch me.

Let him take what I've given.

Nothing else.

No career.

No Chicago.

No bar.

No next week.

No fucking cumin.

Click.

One.

Ronan exhales against my neck.

“Good toy.”

My body shudders.

The preparation becomes more deliberate after that.

Still slow.

Still enough checking that I never have to wonder whether he cares more about what he wants than what my body is telling him.

At some point he asks again.

Green.

Again.

Green.

Then he enters me.

Slowly.

Pressure becomes stretch.

Stretch becomes heat.

Then him.

Ronan.

Inside me.