Page 602 of End Game

I stand. “Dex knows?”

Micah follows me with his eyes. “He knows I was going to ask eventually.”

“Does he know tonight?”

“No. He's working.”

“Cami?”

“No.”

“Griffin?”

“No.”

“Do you want them told?”

“That's mine to tell.”

“Agreed.” I hold out my hand. “Come downstairs.”

Micah strips to his underwear without being asked.

I do not interpret that as permission for anything beyond what we have discussed.

While he folds his clothes onto the chair near the wall, I lay out what I intend to use.

Paddle.

Soft flogger.

Crop.

Strap.

His attention catches on the last one.

“Still want it?”

His pupils widen slightly. “Yes.”

I pick it up.

Leather, broad enough to distribute force rather than concentrate it into a narrow line.

“This will mark differently than the crop.”

“Okay.”

“Broad heat. Bruising is more likely with repeated impact.”

He nods.

I look at him.

He almost smiles.

Good.