Page 107 of Endgame
Him and me. My nipples pull tight, I almost cry again in shame.
Now he knows more of my secrets.
“Pick a job,” I plead. His heated attention won’t distract me. “Any other job, and I’ll go. I’ll work any hours. You’ll never hear me complain. I promise.”
In the face of my shameless begging, Everett’s the picture of calm. And in my desperate, panicked state, I wonder if this is a good sign. If he might change his mind.
Until that happens, I stay exactly as I am. Docile and obedient as he removes my collar.
I bend my knees, spread my legs, and give him access to the butt plug he forgot or didn’t want to remove last night. I’m silent, clutching the sheets as he twists the plug and slides out of me.
I don’t tell him how wet I am for him. I don’t dare admit how strange it feels, to be one moment full, the next empty.
Besides, he’s already down there on his knees between my legs, seeing all of me anyway.
What I do tell him is the same desperate plea: “I’m not going, Everett.”
His stormy eyes are all the warning I get.
“The hard way it is.” In a split second, I’m ripped out of bed. Screaming in Everett’s arms as he carries me to the bathroom. “Remember, wife, that you’re the one who started this.”
“I’m not going!” I say again, screaming it so loud my lungs burn, “I’m not going!”
“Shut up.”
We’re inside his bathroom. Without breaking his stride, Everett turns on the hot water in the shower.
“You can’t make me!” The black hole in my chest turns me into this wild, unhinged animal. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t. Put me down.”
I’m fighting for my life, my sanity, as I tug his hair.
My husband doesn’t so much as blink.
He simply puts me down, right under the showerhead.
Water cascades down my face and his. Down our bodies, soaking through his pants.
My curiosity is a force as powerful as Everett, and goddamn him—I look down.
Both heat and awareness set me on fire. He’s harder than before, his dick pushing against the wet cloth.
I’m overwhelmed by this need. I almost forget that Everett is the enemy.
I have to clench my fists; otherwise, I’d do something really stupid like cup him. Pleasure him.
How I wish the circumstances were different for us.
When I finally ready myself to run off and lock myself up somewhere, I make a huge mistake. I stare back up at him.
Then I’m being hit with the full weight of his attention.
“You’re my wife.” His hand squeezes my throat. Locking me in place. “You’ll be where I tell you. Go where I tell you to go. You’ll spread your legs, warm my bed, and take a shower because I own you. Do we have an understanding?”
Water drips down his handsome face. Heavy drops on dark eyelids. On full lips.
And his voice, it’s hoarse. Rugged. Strained.
Because of me. It pains him to hurt me, I’m sure of it.
