Page 614 of End Game

My next breath comes out shaking.

Ronan says nothing.

Doesn't ask what I thought about.

He just keeps his hand against my chest until my heartbeat stops trying to punch through it.

When he moves it again, I miss the pressure enough that my body shifts toward him before I make the decision.

Ronan adjusts his arm around me and lets me.

No commentary.

Thank fuck.

Coming back happens slowly enough that I notice pieces of myself returning.

My left foot starts tingling first. Pins and needles spread from my heel toward my toes, annoying enough that I move my leg and immediately regret it when the motion stretches skin that would prefer not to be stretched.

I hiss.

Ronan's attention sharpens instantly. “Pain from the marks or something wrong?”

“Marks.”

“Sharp?”

“No. Just…”

I shift again more carefully.

The ache spreads over my ass and upper thighs, deep and hot, and a shiver runs through me that has absolutely nothing to do with discomfort.

Ronan watches my face. “Just what?”

I look at him. “Good.”

One corner of his mouth lifts.

Apparently that is sufficient medical information.

The next thing I notice is hunger.

Not vague hunger either. The kind that makes my stomach hollow out and contract hard enough that Ronan probably feels it where I'm leaning against him. But then my stomach growls.

“Food?” he asks.

I look down. “Did my stomach answer for me?”

“Yes.”

“That was rude.”

“Your stomach lacks discretion.”

That sounds enough like Ronan that I smile.

He reaches toward the cabinet beside the table, still keeping one arm loosely around me, and comes back with crackers and one of those protein bars Cami buys by the case because she seems convinced the rest of us will develop scurvy if she doesn't leave food in every room of the house.