Page 542 of End Game

Soon his fingers are between my thighs.

Then grazing my pussy lightly.

Then harder.

And harder still.

But they stay outside—perfect pressure without giving me what I really want yet.

When pleasure starts building, my body tries to chase it on habit.

His hand stills. “No.”

The word slides directly through me.

I stop.

“Good girl.”

My eyes sting beneath the blindfold in relief.

Nothing is mine to manage.

Not even this.

“Again.”

His touch resumes.

Slow.

Measured.

I follow.

When he finally lets me come, there is no dramatic command.

Just his mouth close to my ear.

“You want to come? Show me.”

So I do.

The release rolls through me, warm rather than violent, every muscle tightening and then slowly unspooling against the table.

My mind goes beautifully blank.

No arguments.

No defense.

No version of myself I need anyone to understand.

He pushes me over the edge a few more blissful times before he fucks me.

And when he does, he fucks me hard.

His hands on my thighs are tight.