Page 212 of End Game

At some point his are too.

I know those things happened.

I could probably reconstruct the order if I had to—I don't particularly want to.

Ronan's hand closes around my cock.

My whole body jerks.

“Easy.”

“Fuck.”

He strokes me once.

Slow.

Then stops.

I stare at him.

His eyes are fixed on my face.

“Color?”

“Green.”

Another stroke.

Then another.

Not enough rhythm to chase a climax.

Just enough to keep every nerve awake.

I pull slightly against the cuffs.

Ronan looks at my hands. “Do you want them off?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Fuck that word.

He keeps touching me.

Like he's learning exactly how much pressure changes my breathing and where my hips start lifting without permission.

I close my eyes.

“Open.”

They open.

His hand stops.

I make a sound I'm going to deny later.