Page 79 of The Last Good Man

He’s a smooth talker, and I can’t rely onanything he says. I let it pass despite the voiceinside my headscreaming at me not to do it.

“You said it wasn’t about sex,” I murmur, on the cusp of wanting him to lower his hand and run it up my skirt.

“It wasn’t,” he says, pushing his hands down the back of my thighs.

He lifts my hemline and grabs the back of my knees before seizing my eyes with a hungry gaze.

I see a one-night stand written all over his smile, and I am already considering moving my Thursday therapy session with Aretha Stenson to a different day.

That would be odd… Running intohimafter no longer wanting to have anything to do with one another, which I’m sure will happen.

Is it all worth it?At this point, thingswill probably get weirder whether we do it or not.

“What was it then?” I ask while he strokes the back of my thighs through my sheer tights.

My skin prickles underneath, a softly pulsing pleasure settling between my thighs.

Maybe it is worth it.

Maybe I’ll learn something about myself by being with this man, even if only for a night.

He seems distracted by how compliant I’ve become.I like his touch. I likehow it feels. And I likethat he’s successfully removed some of my inhibitions.

He has something else written all over his face.

‘He could end up being my biggest mistake.’

“Jax?” I call him softly, and his eyes glint with pleasure.

Maybe we canbe more than two strangers in a hotel room.

My memory leaps back to all the hotels I’d spent nights in, where men away from home felt emboldened to hit on me, and I said no to all of them because I was afraid.

And here I am with someone who has nothing to do with that world.

And I’m still afraid.

“Huh...?” he murmurs.

“What brought you here?” I say, insisting on getting a truthful answer.

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t meeting one of your loser boyfriends,” he jokes.

“Boyfriends?” I retort. “As in plural?”

He tips his chin down.

“Yeah. I’m sure there are others.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask, smiling.

Rolling his lip under his teeth, he parts my knees with his hand, his eyes locked with mine as he moves it up and nears the apex of my thighs.

He doesn’t touch me there and doesn’t need to.

The effect is just the same.

“You’re very technical about it…” he says, touching me between my legs with the back of his knuckles.

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