Page 59 of End Game

Fuck, she does.

I watch her come apart for a second time without laying a single finger on her, and something hot and possessive settles beneath my ribs.

Because now we both undoubtedly know.

This isn’t just luck.

When her breathing finally begins to slow, I move beside her.

“Color?”

“Green.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s there.

And for the first time since we started, I put my hand on her.

Nothing intimate. My palm settles against her side.

She fucking jumps.

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, but it comes out low and quiet—a dark chuckle—and I leave my hand exactly where it is.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “That’s what I thought.”

Her skin is impossibly warm beneath my palm.

I still don’t regret our first night together, but this would have been one hell of a first experience, too.

I’ve spent months imagining her like this. Imagining what she’d sound like, how she’d react, whether reality could possibly match what I’d built in my mind.

It doesn’t.

It’s better and far more dangerous than I planned for.

This isn’t about rushing—so I let her have the weight of my hand.

The certainty of it.

“That’s real,” I whisper near her ear.

I move my hand slowly.

Her breathing changes immediately.

“And when it’s time to come for me again, you’ll show me how real it is.”

She reacts to the words again.

Fuck, it’s better than I thought it would be, and it’s interesting.

Very fucking interesting.

I lean closer, keeping my hand against her while my voice drops into the cadence she’s already learned to follow.

“Stay with me, sweetheart. We’re going to find out what happens when I give you both my hands and my voice.”

She trembles and whimpers.

I smile against her ear.