Page 539 of End Game

His thumbs move once against my sides. “What do you want?”

My eyes burn again.

I am so fucking tired of crying.

“I want to stop thinking.”

His gaze sharpens.

Not sexually.

Assessing.

Listening to the sentence underneath the sentence.

“For how long?”

“I don't know.”

“That is not an answer.”

A weak laugh slips out.

Of course.

“An hour?”

“Better.”

I close my eyes.

“Make me stop making decisions for an hour.”

His hands tighten slightly.

“Do you want pain?”

“Not now.”

“Do you want sex?”

I hesitate. “Yes.”

His expression remains calm. “Do you want intensity or quiet?”

That question almost breaks me. “Quiet.”

The shift in him is subtle.

No performance.

No dramatic lowering of his voice.

Just attention narrowing until the rest of the room feels farther away.

“Color?”

“Green.”