Page 626 of End Game

Trust shouldn't be visible.

Somehow it is.

I crawl closer carefully, mindful of my own sore skin, until my body fits against his.

Ronan takes my wrists.

For one disorienting second, memory flashes—the cuffs from our first night, his hands controlling mine.

Then he places my palms high on his thighs.

“Here.”

The muscle beneath my hands is warm and tense.

I curl my fingers slightly.

“Here.”

“I heard you.”

“I know. You can hold me there, or you can move to do what you need to do with yourself, but don’t touch me anywhere else.”

The restriction does not feel like distance.

It feels like access.

He is telling me precisely what he can give me so I don't have to guess.

I lean over and kiss him.

His body loosens incrementally beneath mine.

Ronan's hand moves between us as he coats me in lube, practical enough to make me smile against his mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Micah.”

“Very romantic.”

“We can either be romantic or comfortable.”

“I vote both.”

“So do I.”

The first push into him makes every stupid thought disappear.

Ronan's breath catches.

His eyes close.

I stop instantly.

His thighs tense beneath my hands.