Page 372 of End Game

Apparently that's another thing I like.

Micah is quieter with Ronan than he is with Dex or me. Not less intense. Just different.

Ronan cups his jaw and Micah lets him set the angle.

Then Micah’s hand closes around Ronan's wrist—holding him there while he kisses him back.

My stomach drops.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

Griffin laughs against my neck. “You like watching them?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His hand slips beneath my shirt.

Micah hears the exchange and his eyes open, finding mine immediately.

Something in his expression changes as his kiss with Ronan ends.

Then he's coming toward me.

Griffin doesn't move away.

Micah doesn't expect him to.

I am apparently in the middle of a sandwich again, which I find I like very much.

For a few minutes, I lose track of whose hands are where.

Griffin pulls my shirt over my head.

Micah removes my bra.

Ronan's mouth finds the side of my neck while Griffin kisses the other side.

Micah's palms slide down my ribs.

Everywhere.

They're fucking everywhere.

And nobody seems particularly interested in competing or proving they know what they're doing.

There isn't competition.

There isn't even much choreography.

Hands bump.

Someone laughs.

Griffin catches Micah's wrist once when they both reach for my hip at the same time.

They look at each other.

“Sorry,” Griffin says.