Page 85 of Endgame

They’ll ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve.

I can’t have it.

My fist clenches on the table.

My free hand snatches the remote from my lap.

Zap.

“Ow.” Her hand flies to her collar, her legs shaking. “What was that for?”

“Hands and knees.” I place the remote on the table next to my coffee.

A silent threat. A reminder of what I’d do if she questions me again.

With round eyes and careful movements, she lowers to all fours.

“Crawl to me.” I wish I could mock her. I wish I’d sounded derisive. I’ll compensate for my failure in other ways. “Keep your eyes on the floor.”

Aurora’s cheeks flush red.

I meant to debase her. What’s really happening is, I’m giving myself time to recover. To pull myself together before I do something worse. Like falling for her.

Without her gaze on me, breathing is somewhat possible.

Next is taming the urge to thread my fingers through her silky hair, which is dragging across the floor.

Her cleavage. The sway of her ass in that dress. I keep telling myself she’s my enemy, nothing more—but fuck, convincing myself is getting impossible.

“Is anyone else here?” she asks once her hands are mere inches from my feet.

“Would that make you wet, wife?” As if she’s my pet, I pat the top of her head. I resent how soft her hair is. I’ve got to get my sick desires under control. “To have an audience? Princess not feeling dirty enough?”

“No, I—” A shaky breath. “Please. I feel dirty enough. I don’t want any more of that.”

Thatpleasewhispered from her mouth. My God.

“Since you beg so fucking pretty, I’ll have mercy on you. Just this once.” I doubt she believes that. Don’t give a fuck. “No one will be here to watch you being debased.”

“Thank—”

“I’m not that merciful.” I slide my hand down and grab a fistful of her hair. Tug on it until she’s looking at me. “You’ve kept me waiting.”

“I’m sorry,” she grinds out, her voice telling me she isn’t sorry in the slightest.

While crawling over here, her defiance snuck in. She’s pissed to have someone, anyone, demeaning her the way I do.

“I couldn’t get dressed as fast as I wanted,” she mutters through clenched teeth. “And that butt plug… I’m sore. That’s why it took me so damn long.”

Thinking about her fighting her butt plug. About her sore cunt. Herpain.

I’m possessed.

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Hiding my satisfaction, I release her hair, place a finger beneath her chin, and tip her face up. “You could’ve been up there, doing nothing. Avoiding me.”

“Because I’m not lying.”

The flicker of resistance in her eyes makes me lean in, searching for a lie. I test her with a hard glare until her cheeks flush and her chin trembles. Yeah, she’s being honest. But in this house, the truth won’t set her free.