Page 115 of End Game

“Can’t go back after this,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. “Once I’m inside you, Ever, you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I whisper, already knowing deep down that it’s true. I’m all his.

And he’s all mine.

He slowly slides inside my body, inch after exquisite inch, and I only exhale when he’s filling me completely. He pauses, holding himself still, letting me adjust to him, and I close my eyes, savoring the moment. He’s huge, and I’ve never felt so full before.

“Am I hurting you?” The strain in his voice is obvious.

I crack my eyes open, shaking my head. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” I wiggle my hips, causing him to go even deeper, making him groan.

He starts to move, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in, establishing a slow, steady rhythm that already has me seeing stars. Ducking his head, his mouth finds mine, kissing me deep, his tongue doing a thorough search of my mouth, and I lift my legs, wrapping them around his waist. Clinging to him like I never want to let him go.

This is what real connection feels like,I think as Nico rocks into me. I’m so attuned to this man, surrounded completely by him. Locked with him, our bodies melded together.

He’s all I could ever want.

I can feel my third orgasm of the night forming. My stomach clenches with every thrust, the tip of his erection nudging a spot inside me that creates a delicious friction I can’t get enough of. I slidemy hands down until they’re settled on his ass, pushing him deeper. Holding him there.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs close to my ear, his panting breaths making me shiver. “I can’t fucking get enough of you.”

I feel the same. The exact same.

“Don’t stop,” I tell him as he increases his speed, hitting the perfect spot over and over again. The very spot that’s going to send me tumbling over the edge. “Please.”

“Never,” he breathes out, fucking me harder. The steady pace is what eventually pushes me over the cresting wave, and my stomach clenches, tingles sweeping over my skin as the orgasm grips me. I’m moaning, my brain going blank as every single part of me shakes from the force of my climax.

I cling to him, riding out the orgasm as he continues to pound inside me, his breathing becoming more and more ragged, his groans louder. Our sweaty skin sticks together, his hips slapping against mine until he arches against me, a rough moan rumbling from deep in his throat. His hips jerk with one last, rough thrust, and I open my eyes, watching him come, fascinated by the look on his beautiful face. His lips are parted, his eyes half-closed, but they flash open when he catches me watching him.

And when he dips his head, his mouth finding mine once more, I kiss him with everything I’ve got, breathing him in. Trying my best to absorb him as much as I can.

When he eventually stops shaking, his breaths coming slower, his entire body squashing mine into the mattress—not that I mind—I whisper in his ear, “Can we do it again?”

His deep chuckle ripples along my nerve endings and settles right in between my legs. “What about my slight concussion?”

Oh, now he’s using my argument against me. “I think you can handle it.”

“Baby, I can fuck you endlessly, and I won’t ever stop if that’s what you want.” His mouth is on my neck, his hand on my breast. “I can guarantee that.”

“Prove it,” I say, with a laugh that turns into a moan when he gently squeezes me.

“I will,” he says, determination filling his voice. “I’m going to prove it to you all night long.”

And he does.

The next morning we exit Nico’s bedroom together on purpose, entering the kitchen looking like a couple as much as we possibly can. I’m in one of his old Dolphins football T-shirts, which swamps me, hanging just above my knees. He’s clad in a pair of gray sweats and nothing else. Both of us are barefoot, our hair is a mess, and we look, as Nico put it only a few minutes ago before he kissed me soundly, “freshly fucked.”

I can’t deny that I’m loving this look for us.

Coop is at the dining table eating a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, his favorite cereal. Frank is sitting across from him, sipping a cup of coffee with too much cream and sugar, a plate of toast crust in front of him. He loves sourdough toast but hates the crust like he’s four, but it’s also kind of cute? Maybe I’m just weird.

I love that I know these little details about these men. My roommates. My friends.

My family.

“Morning,” Nico announces when neither of them looks in our direction to acknowledge us. He sounds vaguely irritated, which almost makes me giggle, but I try my best to keep a straight face.

“Hey.” Frank doesn’t even turn around.

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