Page 51 of Endgame

I return to gripping the edge of the vanity, breath caught in my throat. I think I’m going to die. The pressure, the shame, the unbearable awareness of my body, it’s too much.

“For the foreseeable future, I want you quiet.” While he speaks, all I can think of isOh, no. Oh, no. What’s this thing he’s doing with his hand?“I want you to be my wife. You have a role to play.”

The deft touch of this stranger, my fucking captor, shouldn’t send me over the edge. I shouldn’t orgasm on his hand.

I blame his thumb on my clit. His hard cock that’s pinned to the back of my thigh.

“I hate you.” My hips move on their own as my orgasm is forced out of me. I don’t want it, but I still come. “Hate. You.”

His eyes soften for a moment.

I might have imagined it.

Since,ouch, I’m pulled back up by my hair. Limbless, breathy. My reflection shows flushed cheeks and dilated pupils.

Everett looks back at me through the mirror.

The beast is here.

“Are you going to hold still?” His free hand is a manacle around my throat. I can feel his cock throbbing against my ass now.

“Or what?” I taunt. “You’re going to make mesomiserable with another orgasm?”

“Look at you,” he drawls, his hand leaving a hot trail down my body as he slides it lower. “Already begging for more. Didn’t take me long to bring you to your knees.”

His middle finger pushes between my swollen lips, pressing to my sensitive clit.

“Never. Never. Let go.” I jerk back from his touch, then realize my mistake as I push my body harder against him. I twist to the side, hoping to get away.

Another big, huge mistake.

“I said.” The roots of my hair burn at the vicious tug. My confidence shrivels at his furious expression. “Hold. Still.”

“Why?”

Why are you doing this to me? Why me? Why should I hold still if you’re just going to humiliate me further? If you’re going to make me feel things I don’t want to feel?

“I need to dry you off.” Waiting for my consent isn’t his thing. He walks forward until I’m jammed between the sink and him.

“Seriously?” That stupid orgasm. My voice is hoarse. My heart hasn’t stopped galloping. “To dry me off? So you can”—I start wriggling in his hold. His cock jerks against me—“electrocute me again?”

“No.” Everett reaches for a shelf to our right. His jaw tics as he grabs a charcoal-gray towel off it.

“Then?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he curses under his breath. The way he towels me off is meticulous and isn’t mean at all. Who is this man? “You have a wedding to prepare for. My wedding. That means you won’t embarrass me by showing up like you just got out of bed.”

My nipples peak as he runs the towel over me. Skin heating at his attention.

Everett ignores my body’s reaction to him. He ignores me altogether by pulling back and drying off the rest of me.

Shoulders. Back. Ass. He crouches to skim the towel over my legs, and I hold still for him. Partly because it turns me on.

Or maybe being good will earn me points with him. Maybe then he’ll give me answers—a clue on how not to end up like the last girl I think he kept here.

Poor woman didn’t even make it to her wedding day.

When he stands up again, he tosses the towel into the hamper.