Page 421 of End Game

“I wasn't—”

“You were thinking it.”

Fuck him.

Probably.

His fingers trail lower.

My breath catches.

“You're thinking again.”

“I am always thinking.”

“I know.”

His hand wraps around my dick.

My entire train of thought momentarily disappears.

Oh.

Okay.

That works.

He doesn't rush.

Doesn't give me enough to chase.

Just enough pressure to make my hips want to move.

Cuffs stop most of it.

“Stay still.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don't.”

His hand moves again.

Slow.

Then stops.

I groan.

“What did I say?”

“Stay still.”

“Good.”

Again.

My world contracts.