Page 208 of Endgame

Even a man as powerful as Everett is just a blip on the universe’s radar.

But I know my husband. I’ve learned his pain, about his bottomless guilt, the hate that’s eaten at him for years. It runs deep, roots sunk inside him.

Words alone will never be enough to heal the wound in his heart.

“Use me.” I arch my back, lifting my chin. “Use me to make your pain go away. Use me as an outlet. Take it all out on me. I”—dammit with these tears—“I’m yourwife. I love you, you asshole. Use. Me.”

His breath is labored as he studies me.

Waiting for his verdict, I do the same.

He’s gorgeous, even when furious.

His chest muscles are tight with tension, abs accentuated while he holds himself very still.

I yearn to lick the tattoos on his body.

His clenched fist. The hard line of his cock. Both make my mouth water.

He slips his hand into his pajama pants pocket.

Where he hides his remote.

“You want me to hurt you?” One click and electricity radiates in a sharp pang from my neck straight to my toes.

My breath whooshes from my lungs. I’m vibrating and shocked at the force he’s used on me.

“Yes.” I keep my eyes locked on his. “I meant what I said. I won’t back out on my word. I won’t ask you to stop or go easier on—Jesus Christ,” I shout when he sends a second zap through me.

“Sure about that?”

He’s being mean. Nevertheless, I see a flash of the real him beneath the pain.

The man I’ve grown to love over my time here is still there. He’s there, and he needs this.

He needs me.

“I’m sure.” My teeth grind, no matter how hard I try to breathe through the pain. “Again. Again.”

Instead of shocking me, the remote crashes against the wall, and I bite down a surprised cry.

“So brave, aren’t you?” He grips my chin. “Resilient little thing. Taking the electricity so well. Except it doesn’t look like you’re in enough pain. When your nipples are pulled tight like this. When your cheeks darken. When I can smell your needy little cunt. How horny you are for this.”

I don’t have a chance to tell him that it hurts so fucking much. That I’m acting as if I’m okay so that he won’t stop.

I don’t tell him that I’m confident that degrading me isn’t about breaking me. It’s about his guilty conscience. The one he shouldn’t have. Not ever again.

Everett lifts one of my legs by the back of my thigh. Spreading me to him and then?—

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

My pussy is wet, making obscene sounds each time his hand cracks down on my sex.

“Please.” I wouldn’t shield myself from the pain if I could. As much as it hurts. “Please. Please.”