Page 78 of The Last Good Man

He offers me his cigarette again, and I pause, inhaling and exhaling smoke again while he flicks his gaze up, his free hand moving slowly up my thigh.

His fingers wrap around my hip just below my waist, his hand perfectly made for my body.

“You question my reasons?” he says, staring at me.

A silent laugh leaves his lips.

He takes a draghimself, puts out his cigarette, and disposes of it with a clipped gesture.

He brings his other hand to my waist and starts moving it slowly, testing my resolution.

“You’re so torn,” he says. “On the one hand, you want me to be serious about you. On the other hand, you think about me seriously and question my reasons or whether I’m good enough for you.”

I jerk back, but his hands have none of it, hardening around my waist and keeping me in place.

He pulls me toward him, and I lose my balance, so I prop my hands against his shoulders.

He is so close his breaths roll over my chest, and he could touch my breasts with his lips if he wanted to.

My thighs press into the sill while his hands go down over my butt. He gives my rear a good squeeze, and I feel thefull, perfect effect right between my legs.

Getting warm between my thighs, I have a hard time denying the sexual tension showing even in my voice.

“I didn’t say you weren’t good enough,” I reply, and his hands stop moving, parked on my butt.

His eyes seek mine.

“Honesty, baby. I want honesty from you. Don’t give me sweet things. I’m no kid. And I’m no fool. I know how life works. You are who you are. Have your work and money. If you think seriously about me, which I’m flattered you do, you must’ve already considered that. And, uh…” He smiles. “That’s why you insist on dating people like Thomas. People you don’t like––”

I open my mouth to argue, but he’s quick and presses his thumb to my lips.

“Shush, baby. Women who like the men they date don’t need a psychotherapist. We’ve already established that.”

“Not alwaysneed a therapist,” I point out.

His hands move again, a smile clinging to his lips.

“Not always,” he concedes. “Never, in my opinion,” he takes it back. “You won’t need a therapist with me,” he tosses at me in a tease, humor lining his voice.

“Should I remind you we are both seeing one now? And it’s the same one. I’m not even sure we are allowed to do that.”

“I’m sure we are. Besides, I know how to keep a secret, and you do too. I’m not seeingherfor the reason you are seeingher.”

His smile fades somewhat when he slides his hands up and down my back and does this tender thing with his fingers, igniting tiny fires along the way.

“Don’t worry about how or if we fit together. We’ll take care of that later.”

Said every man who wanted to get laid.

I see his point.

The attraction between us is undeniable, and honestly, why do I care if we fit or not?

I fit mighty fine with Thomas, but nothing came out of it. Still, I know myself. No matter which way things go with Jax, I’ll feel like shit, regardless.

“Why did youactuallycome all the way here?” I ask, softening beneath his touch and curling my fingers around his shoulders.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmurs, appreciating that I lean more into him. “You’re so tense…” he says, and it dawns on me he’s set to undress me by the end of the night.

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