Page 231 of The Last Good Man

But even so, the beast in me murmuredstuffin my ear when I saw her. And it wasn’t pretty.

It was filthy, dirtystufflike having this woman pinned on the bed, on all fours, or on her knees in front of me.

She was ripe for me to take her, make her mine. Make her submit.

That’s how the beast in me had seen her.

It growled quietly in my ear, telling me to get her.

And I talked back and promised the beast that we would both have her. The beast would get to pound her while I’d get to have her.

I kept my promise, and now the beast is here, grunting and growling, anxious to have her body.

Shejerksagainst the mattress while pressing her cheek against the covers and closing her eyes, her lips parted, her tongue sticking out from time to time and sweeping her bottom lip.

She doesn’t say a word as I crush her clit and plunge into her ferociously.The more she lets me do it, the more vicious I become.

“Jax… “ she murmurs in a trance while I ram into her with force, threatening to break her open. “Jax…” she says again, her voice signaling fear, anticipation, and excitement.

“You’ll be fine,” I say, picking up the pace, knowing I can’t stop.

And then she suddenly jerks up, arches her spine, flicks her hair back, and extends her neck. A long moan leaves her lips, making me want to see her ride the crest of pleasure.

A shudder zips through her and then another one, and I destroy her pussy while fucking her fast.

She pushes up in the air, stiff like wood, while I break free, filling her up, grabbing and squeezing her tits as she mindlessly rocks her hips, proving me she wants me as much as Iwanther.

MELODY

“Yes. Okay,” I say before I end the call and place my phone on the counter.

“What was that?” he asks, unpacking our food.

It’s late, past lunchtime. I craved eggs and pancakes, so he called a local diner and ordered food for both of us.

We ate the spaghetti he brought last night in the morning before we fucked again.

I sit on a barstool with a towel around my chest while he plates the food. His eyes go to the hair framing my face before stalling on my face.

He likes what he seesdespite the dark circles around my eyes, chapped lips, and no makeup.

There are also secret things he likes.

How I have come into my own and submitted to him.

Hehas a way of pullingme out of my head, making me live in the moment.

He slides the plate in front of me. Eggs, buttered toasted English muffins, blueberry jam, and coffee.

“The phone call…” he insists.

“My real estate agent,” I say,taking a biteand brushing off a drop of melted butter from my chin.

He picks up his coffee and brings it to his lips, waiting for an answer.

“I’m buying a new place,” I say, not looking at him, my mouth full.

“What happened with your old place?” he asks, setting his coffee down.

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