Page 57 of End Game

“When it’s all of us,” I whisper, low and rough, “I’ll stretch you out on the table, head hanging off one end. I’ll have Micah on his knees between your legs, eyes dark, tongue slick, hands on your thighs to keep you open. He won’t stop until I tell him to, no matter how many times you come.”

She makes a sound—half-whimper, half-moan—and her knees weaken.

“Then, I’ll have Dex, thick and pierced, fighting not to spill in your throat while you swallow him down. He’ll beg me for permission, and I’ll decide if he gets it while you tremble and moan around his cock.”

My breath ghosts over the shell of her ear. “And Griffin…” I pause, letting anticipation build. “In the version in my head, Griffin waits for permission too. He will stand there, fists clenched, watching every filthy second until I give him permission. Only then will he touch you. Then he’ll need permission again to fuck you. And when he does it will be with Micah’s and Dex’s hands and mouths still on you, holding you still.”

Every word I speak is slow, deliberate, a thread of rope wound tighter around her body. My hand hovers a whisper from her breasts, a whisper from her throat, a whisper from the dripping wetness of her perfect, little cunt, but never touches.

“I’ll orchestrate it,” I go on, voice a rasp of velvet against her skin. “I’ll tell them when to take you, how deep, how slow. I’ll decide who touches you. I’ll decide when. And you’ll know exactly whose instructions they’re following.”

I weave the images together like rope, threading them through her until her body is shaking with each word.

Her thighs are trembling, muscles taut, nipples peaked so tight they must ache. Every sound she makes is a plea, a surrender. She’s shaking from nothing but my voice and the ghost of my fingers, her hips arching as if she grinds against a touch that isn’t there.

I can smell her arousal as she rubs her thighs together.

“You’re close,” I murmur, my lips hovering over the hollow of her throat. “Right on the edge, just because I’m telling you to be. That’s what I want. You helpless and perfect, coming apart while I direct it all. And right now you’re going to give me the first taste of it—you’ll come for me on nothing but my words.”

My hands hover over her most sensitive areas—one at her breast, the other at the apex of her thighs—she feels the charge, she arches toward them, but I don’t let her catch what she’s chasing.

“Come for me, Cami,” I order in a rasp. “Show me you’re mine. Show me.”

She arches, and her whole body shudders, a sharp cry ripping free. She jerks against the bindings, hips arching further, and her head tilting back as her orgasm crashes through her on nothing but my words and breath.

I still don’t touch her. I just let my voice be the chain.

“Good girl,” I whisper when the tremors fade, still an inch from her ear. “So fucking good for me. Remember this—remember how easily you show me, how easily you break when I decide you will.”

She’s still trembling from her release, little aftershocks moving through her while I stand close enough that she can feel the heat of me without knowing exactly where I am.

Her thighs are visibly slick and something primal in me ignites further, my body reacting as my cock gets impossibly harder.

I want another one from her.

Not just because I need the proof I can control her.

Because I want her to know she can let me.

“I’m not done with you, sweetheart.”

Her breath catches.

I move to the other side of her before I speak again, and her head turns instinctively.

She can feel me. Sense me.

“No. Focus on your body and my words. Don’t look for me.”

Her head immediately settles back.

Fuck.

“That’s my girl. Good girl.”

I let the silence stretch between us until I can see her listening to it.

Listening for me.