Page 88 of The Last Good Man

We’re still not dating.

We can’t be together––not in the traditional way, anyway––so I’m safe.

I’ll just have one steamy affair before going back to searching for a suitable partner.

With trust comes feeling these things with abandon.

And with abandon, moans roll off my lips, and my fingers move overhisneck and chest. And if my touch goes any lower, we won’t be able to stop.

The temptation is hard to resist, and I’m sure we’ll get there, but maybe not tonight.

I don’t want to rush things, although that seemsmore andmore improbable. Not rushing, I mean.

Establishing trust makes me lean into his touch, giving him more power over me.

My eyes are closed, so he can’t see how much I enjoy what he does to me, but the quickening of his breaths tells me I affect himgreatly.

Making me feel great while containing his pleasure is the greatest gift he can give me.

“Jax…” I say, my legs shaking, my center pulsing. “I’m right there,” I confess, a vortex of unimaginable pleasure ready to unfold and sweep through me.

He pushes his fingers deeper and crushes my clit under his thumb while sinking his teeth into my bottom lip.

I open my mouth, and we collide ferociously, the rhythm of his fingers only increasing.

My orgasm comes with guilt, my frame jolting against his chest, my nails buried in his back.

Panting, I open my eyes and give him a smile.

He looks at me contently when a phone rings in the room. It’s not mine, for sure, as mine is turned off.

He glances at his jacket yet doesn’t move while I fall back, still fleetingly happy.

His phone stops before starting to ring again, and I roll onto my side, prop myself up on an elbow again, and pay more attention.

“Who’s calling you?” I ask.

It’s late, and whoever that person is, they don’t care.

He shrugs a shoulder, seemingly more interested in my reaction than his phone.

The third time it rings, I give him a crooked eyebrow, and he smiles at me amusedly.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” I say.

“No.”

He extends his arm out and picks up his jacket.

“Just so you know, I’m not the jealous type.”

“Sure. As you say,”hemurmurs dismissively, not believing a word I say.

He retrieves his phone and answers the call.

“Yeah…” he says evenly, looking at me. “Mm-hmm. Where?”

A few moments pass before he glances out the window, a severe expression gliding over his face as the person at the other end of the line keeps talking.

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