Page 92 of Endgame

I lift my gaze, meeting his dark one head-on.

In my periphery, I catch him rolling down his fly with one large, skillful hand. My cheeks heat as my gaze lowers. Everett is confident and painfully hot, cupping his hard cock over his black boxers.

Keeping himself covered feels less intimate than it does like a warning.

“Thank you for this.” His voice steals my attention away from the alluring sight.

“For what?”

“For this idea you’ve given me.” He shrugs. “You get off, I get off.”

“You’re too far for that,” I groan. “For us to have sex.”

“I’m right where I’m supposed to be.” The corner of his lips quirks up. A smirk has never looked this diabolical on anyone. This sensual. “Since you haven’t figured it out by now, here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to fuck yourself with the spoon.”

“What?” He can’t be serious. I can’t be considering this either.

“While your mouth will be busy sucking my cock.”

“No. Not like this.” On impulse, I push myself off him.

His hand laces in my hair, keeping me right where I am.

Right where he wants me. “I wasn’t asking, wife.”

As I tremble in front of him, tears spring from my eyes. My shame pushes them out faster than before. Rivers of it.

Sucking him, really sucking, instead of just having him in my mouth.

It’s a turn-on.

The spoon in my pussy though. That’s—I can’t be into it. That’s vile. Unhinged.

This isn’t normal.

The fact that my thighs squeeze is equally insane.

“No.” I bare my teeth at him.

“No, what?” he challenges.

“You can’t force me.”

A cold expression settles over his face.

The fire. The hate. The lust.

Gone.

He’s closed himself off to me.

“Try me.”

I whimper. I did try him. He did end up forcing me. More than once.

And I didn’t hate it. I don’t hate it now. His threats. The power play. The attention and release he promises overpower the shame.

I’m taking it. If only to be able to think straight later.