Page 428 of End Game
Not gone.
Different.
Usually my brain is a tavern at closing time.
Everyone shouting.
Chairs scraping.
Someone lost a shoe.
Now it’s just one room.
One voice.
Ronan.
His fingers enter me again.
My body opens to it faster.
No joke.
No commentary.
Just sensation.
Warm.
Pressure.
Stretch.
His voice.
“That's it.”
Something else joins his fingers.
Small.
Controlled.
My body tightens.
Ronan stops.
“Green?”
Click.
One.
He waits anyway.
Then continues.
Eventually whatever he's using settles enough that I stop thinking about what it is.
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