Page 172 of Endgame

“Tell me,” he demands, his expression sobering.

“I want to, but…” Though no one’s standing close to us, it’s still possible that they’ll overhear me.

“But?”

“Okay, so…” I lower my voice. “Tonight, before we do all ofthat?—”

“You mean, before we fuck?” Nothing has ever sounded viler, hotter, than the wordfuckon his lips.

“Yes.” His eyes lock on my lips the second time I lick them. “Before that.”

I’m burning up by the time he looks into my eyes. My cheeks must be as red as my lipstick.

“I thought we could—we need to talk.”

“We need to talk.” He’s mocking me, furrowing his brow. “This isn’t some kind of romcom, princess. You don’t get to break up with me. I won’t give you a divorce. Never.”

“Uh, news flash.” I stand up straighter. He levels me with a wicked glare. “I’m a free woman. I don’t want a divorce, but nothing’s stopping me from getting one if I did.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Keep it up.” Spankings. Electro play. Orgasm denial. These punishments are there, in the tone of his voice. In the tilt of his head. “Try me, and see where it gets you.”

Suppressing a moan is a struggle. The inside of my cheek burns from biting it so hard.

Good thing no one sees my peaked nipples. My ruined panties.

As soon as I catch my breath, I whisper, “You’re the worst.”

“You flatter me.” He smirks, tightening his grip on my chin. “Especially since you’ve barely had a taste of what I’m capable of.”

Someone’s walking toward us. I can’t tell who he is—can’t look anywhere but Everett’s handsome face. I sense him though. Hear the sound of a man’s shoes on marble floors.

“I said I don’t want a divorce,” I blurt out. “I want to talk. That’s what I’m asking for. You’ve been mostly quiet, which is fine. I get it. You have secrets. We don’t know each other all that well. Thing is?—”

“Everett.” Although I haven’t attended these meetings often, I recognize the voice.

Stafford Hale.

“Please.” As challenging as it is in these heels, I rise higher while pulling on Everett’s jacket. My lips find his ear to continue this important, private conversation. I’d wait longer for him, but I feel like we’re almost there, like he wants me to push it. “We have to start somewhere. Zap me, hurt me, call me a slut. But for fuck’s sake, talk to me.”

Stafford clears his throat. I could punch him right now.

“We’ll talk at home.” Everett trails his hand lower, squeezing my throat. A show of power to the rest. Of his dominance. “Be good. Don’t leave my side.”

“Yes, master.”

My mocking tone gets me what I was aiming for. A tighter squeeze and Everett’s low growl.

“Be. Good.” He rests both hands on my shoulders, putting some distance between us. Then he turns to his only friend. “Stafford.”

“Hey.” Green eyes glimmer as he looks at Everett and me. Stafford runs his hand through his short red hair. It’s as immaculate as his light gray suit. “I see you two are in the middle of something. I just came here to say hello to the newlyweds.”

Everett’s lips pinch into a tight line. “You can stay.”

I watch as the two launch into a conversation about work, the stock markets, clients, and any other clandestine matters.