Page 383 of End Game

Micah's fingers in my hair.

Griffin touching my face like he can't decide whether this is filthy or beautiful.

Probably both.

“That's it,” Micah murmurs.

Griffin exhales roughly. “Fuck, baby.”

Another sound comes from the bed.

Ronan.

I look up.

Mistake.

Huge fucking mistake.

Because he's still watching.

Except now one hand is stroking his own cock—his control considerably less pristine than it was five minutes ago.

Our eyes meet.

His jaw tightens. “Don't stop.”

It’s not an order.

It’s almost wrecked.

Which somehow affects me more.

My pulse jumps.

Micah notices my reaction immediately. “Do you like Ronan doing that?”

I glare up at him without letting him fall from my mouth.

His smile deepens. “Thought so.”

Griffin laughs breathlessly. “She's got all three of us fucked up.”

Ronan's gaze never leaves mine. “She's aware.”

Oh, I am.

I am deliciously aware.

Every sound one of them makes rolls through me like feedback.

Every broken breath.

Every muttered curse.

Every piece of praise.

Micah telling me I'm doing so fucking well.