Page 173 of The Last Good Man

And why?

Because I just found out how elusive that good, perfect manreallyis.

Who knows what dark secrets Jax London really has?

The good thing is that he kisses me like the sex god that he is, fucking my mouth with his tongue and moving his hand up my skirt.

I could rip his clothes off, but I only untuck his top, slink my hands inside, and move them up his abs.

I shudder when he puts his fingers into my panties and pulls them down.

“You missed me…” he says, looking down.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” I say, afraid that so many people could catch us.

But my voice trails off when he cups my slit and rubs my clit.

“It isn’t up to you,” he rasps, watching my chest moving up and down in quiet desperation.

He is punishing me, after all.

“Who is that woman…?” I ask, my hands latched onto his body, my head tilted back as he shamelessly drags me to a peak of pleasure without even fingering me.

It’s like dying a slow, delicious death.

He ignores my question, not looking at me, not kissing me.

When he slides his fingers into me and feels me clenching around him like I’m about to come, he brings his eyes to me.

“No questions, all right?” he saysseriously, and I become a hostage of compulsion, my morality destroyed by my sultry dark desires.

He’s not even fucking me.And he’s not even giving me anything.Only a new shot of pleasure to fuel my addiction.

He moves his hand while I rock my hips because we have our little thing, and we’ve gotten good at this.

I enjoy it tremendously, although I’m still an unreliable skittish squirrel.

If sex is all we have, I want this to last for a while.

A very long while.

And now I need him between my legs, despite being scared that it would ruin it for us.

My hands curl around his shoulders as my skirt is pushed up past my hips. His hand is in my underwear, ravishing my clit and center.

He kisses me while fucking me with his fingers, and I come, feverishly running my hands through his hair, the pleasure threatening to never end.

Voices echo around the corner, and he freezes with his hand between my legs, my arousal on his fingers.

He gently removes his fingers from between my thighs and slides my skirt down.

Emile and Joanna talk about me not far from us.

He asks her whether she’s seen me, and she has no answers.

Tucking his top in and sliding a hand over his fly to adjust his hard-on, Jax shoots me a stern look.

“Get rid of him, or I will,” he says.

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