Page 119 of Last Man Standing

“I sincerely hope not.” She presses a sweet kiss to the tips of my fingers. Another to the side of my hand. The side of my wrist. Folding closer, she kisses my thigh. Then my hipbone. Finally, with a saucy smirk and vixen’s eyes, she drags the flat of her tongue from the tip of my cock all the way to the base.

That’s it. I’m done.

I fall back and land against the bed with a thump.

“Don’t die,” she giggles playfully. But whatever kindness she intended with her words comes undone when she wraps her hand around my shaft and squeezes hard enough to make my lungs ineffectual.

“Fuckkkkkk.” Powerless to the magic she weaves, I lift just my head and watch her take me in her mouth. She cups my balls and swallows me all the way to the back of her throat, and all the while, her eyes remain torturously on mine. “Adelita.” I drop my head back and prepare for Valhalla. This is it for me. I’m ready.

“I love how good you taste.” She suckles on the tip and almost gives me the words we both feel. We both fucking want. “I love how gooey and pliable you get every time we’re in the same bed.” She lifts my cock and takes my balls in her mouth instead. “I love how, even when I feel weak, you convince me I’m not.”

For the rest of my life, Princess. I promise.

37

SCARLETT

YOU’RE OVERREACTING

Isit in Sebastion’s window hours after my phone call with Detective Mills and… the things that happened after. I scribble in my notebook in between texts with my brother, not even necessarily because I’m feeling anxious. Simply because drawing is something that brings me joy, even if my sketches would never impress anyone but myself and, once upon a time, my therapist.

At the vibration of another incoming text, I do as I’ve done for the last half hour and trade my pen for my phone. I set one down and pick the other up, while outside, I cast my gaze to the men exercising in the snow. Right there with them, Sebastion sweats and scowls. His clothes are soaked, his lips are a light shade of blue, and dammit, his eyes consistently stray back to mine.

Shaking my head and biting down on my smile before he realises I sit here specifically to watch him work, I drop my gaze and read Linc’s texts instead.

Lincoln:

I think I’ve got something over here. A lead, maybe.

Was I objectifying Sebastion Jameson in all his muscled glory just a second ago? It seems impossible in the face of my brother’s words and the wild gallop of my heart.

Frowning, I tap my screen and type out a fast response.

Me:

What lead? What did you figure out?

Lincoln:

Can’t tell you yet. Not over this line.

Me:

What the hell are you talking about? Can’t tell me, my ass! Tell me, Lincoln!

Lincoln:

Jesus, crazy. Relax. Everything’s okay. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I’m not nearly as useless as I seem lately.

Half of what I do when I’m searching for some asshole is sit in my car and hope to regain feeling in my ass someday.

I’ve eaten more drive-thru this month than I would normally eat in a year. And my girlfriend is about to disown me because apparently I’m annoying and grumpy after sitting for six consecutive hours.

I just wanted to let you know I met a guy yesterday who happens to be a CI for the local cops. The CI was willing to sell information to me for a tidy hundred bucks, which actually gave me a good reason to get out of my car and use my legs.

The CI said some stuff that tweaked my brain a little, but that stuff can’t be talked about via text.

Me: