Page 85 of End Game

His hand cups my face as I open my eyes. Those hazel eyes meet mine and hold long enough—I know he is making sure I’m good, that we’re good.

Smiling softly at him, I reach up and put one of my hands on his face. But then Ronan’s fingers curl perfectly, causing my body to arch and gasp.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Griffin whispers just before his mouth meets mine.

The kiss is soft and gentle. A dramatic contrast to everything else so far.

It’s only when he pulls back that I realize my fingers are tangled in his hair tightly and pulling him closer.

My mouth chases his, and he presses one more soft kiss to my lips before his mouth dips to my ear. His voice is a low whisper, quiet enough that I know Ronan won’t be able to hear his words.

“I love you, Cami,” he begins. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

A kiss presses to my neck and then stays there as my body begins to break again. One hand still tangled into his hair, the other digs into the muscles of his upper arm.

As my body stills, Griffin leans up, meeting my eyes again.

Ronan begins trailing kisses slowly up my body, leaving heat in their wake.

Griffin’s voice is just a little louder as he says, “Try to keep your hands on me, okay?”

My heart tightens in a way that almost competes with what Ronan is doing between my thighs.

Griffin isn’t just enduring this.

He wants to be here.

He wants to keep Ronan’s needs in the forefront, too.

I nod softly.

Ronan grunts some kind of approval.

Griffin adds, “I’ll help you, but I don’t really want to restrain you…” he pauses, a slight evil lilt added to his tone when he continues, “at least not this time.”

Ronan laughs lightly against my skin.

Somehow I find my sass, my eyes locked on my husband. “You’re doing surprisingly well.”

“I’m doing more than well, baby.” He kisses me then deeply.

Ronan’s mouth reaches one of my hardened nipples. And again, without communication, Griffin’s hand finds the other one.

The sensations that flood me as they work together are intense. My breasts start to feel heavier as my thighs clench together under Ronan’s weight. Grinding and flexing with the little movement I’m allowed, I help work my body toward the edge.

One of my hands is still tangled in Griffin’s hair, but when I begin to fall over that edge, my other one reaches toward Ronan—his shoulder, his hair—I just need to grip something.

Griffin’s hand is on my wrist, pushing it into the mattress before I even fully register I’m moving.

His mouth trails down to my ear again. “You testing me, baby?”

A shake of my head is the only answer I am able to give.

“Be good,” he adds before releasing my wrist.

I whimper at the words.

Suddenly Ronan’s eyes are on mine.