Page 180 of End Game

“Good girl.”

Within moments, she comes hard enough that I bury my face against her neck and lose any chance of lasting much longer.

A few more thrusts and I’m done too.

Completely fucking done.

Cami runs her fingers lazily through my hair while both of us catch our breath.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers.

I laugh into her neck.

“Merry fucking Christmas.”

We make the mistake of believing we can look normal.

Dex destroys that illusion the second Cami and I walk into the kitchen after the fastest shower either of us has ever taken.

He’s sitting on the counter wearing red-and-green plaid pajama pants and a T-shirt that says “Sleigh my name,” drinking coffee from one of my mugs.

His eyes got to Cami, then to me, then back to Cami.

Her hair is damp, but her cheeks are still pink, and mine probably aren’t doing much better.

Dex’s smile becomes horrifying.

“Oh my God.”

“No,” I tell him immediately.

At the stove, Micah glances over his shoulder while Ronan looks up from what appears to be a chemistry experiment masquerading as coffee.

Dex points between us—his finger then stays pointing at me. “This Santa came early.”

Cami chokes.

Micah nearly drops the spatula.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

Dex looks delighted. “You’re welcome.”

Cami kisses my cheek on her way toward the oven. “Ignore him.”

I point at his shirt. “You bought that separately.”

“It spoke to me.”

Cami puts her cinnamon rolls in the oven while Micah works eggs on one burner and bacon on another. All of us are wearing the almost matching pajama pants she bought.

I finally fully register Ronan’s complete setup—the digital scale, gooseneck kettle, fresh-ground beans, and glass contraption.

“Are you making pour-over coffee for all five of us?” I ask Ronan.

He looks at me as if the answer should be obvious. “Yes, because it’s Christmas.”

Micah shrugs while turning the eggs. “I’m not questioning it.”