Page 116 of Last Man Standing

Smirking, Sebastion ambles forward. One step. Two. Three.

Setting his hands on my hips and squeezing hard enough to make my heart tumble, he inches closer and presses a gentle kiss on my cheek, impossibly close to my ear. “Yes,” he breathes almost silently. “I do.”

“Scarlett?”

“You don’t have to hang up if you don’t wanna,” he whispers. Then he expertly slips a hand into my jeans and grins. “But he probably doesn’t wanna hear me express how I feel.”

“Scarlett? You there?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna call you back later, okay?”

“What?”

“Thank you for reminding me I’m not a junker, too.”

“Of course. But you…” Too suspicious, too instinctive, he searches for what changed. “You wanna hit up the Red Sox game when we meet up again?”

“Yep.” I pull the phone from my ear and slam it to the counter in the same instant Sebastion’s fingers slide past my panties and deep into my pussy. “Fuckkkkkk. Sebastion…”

“What was that about the Red Sox?”

“Code.” My word comes out on a whimper, made worse when he lowers to his knees and unsnaps my jeans. “He was basically asking if I was in a dangerous situation where I couldn’t speak.”

Thoughtful, he glances up at me through long lashes. “So you said yes? Am I to expect a war on my front doorstep, Princess?”

“I said yes, I’d catch a game with him, which meant I was free and safe and okay. Saying no would’ve started a war.”

“Oh, well…” Smug, he tugs my jeans down with a fast sweep of his hands, peels my underwear next until everything tangles at my ankles, then he picks me up and flips me over, laying my belly across the booth countertop and opening me up with a hand on each ass cheek.

Already, I feel myself dripping and desperate.

“I never wanna wake up without you in my bed ever again, Princess.” He dives forward and feasts. My pussy. My asshole. My entire friggin’ soul. “I’m sick of watching you sneak out and worrying you’re gonna fuck me over.” He digs his tongue deep inside me and turns my instinctive defensiveness into something else entirely. “So I’m not gonna worry anymore.” He drags the tips of his fingers from my pussy to my ass. Taunting. Teasing. Devastating. “I trust you, Princess. With my fucking life.” He abandons his work and leaves me crying for more. But then I feel him unfasten the button on his pants. Pull the zipper down. Without so much as talking me through it, he grabs my hips and impales my pussy with a savagery that makes me scream until my throat turns hoarse. But then he reaches past me and picks up the reassembled Glock. He presses the heavy weapon into my hand and slams inside me from behind. “I would let you point that between my eyes, and I would still trust you.” He winds his arm back, then he brings it down again and slaps my ass with a painful, resounding crack. “Now I want you to come. Loudly. I want you to scream it. Cause no one will hear you down here.”

Desperate, I drop the gun and clutch to the edge of the countertop. Panting, I simply fall into the sensations he buries deep inside my body.

“When we’re done, I’m gonna teach you anything you want. Any gun. Any distance. Any fucking thing you need to feel safe.” He pulls out, startling a cry I’m not even sure my consciousness ordered. But then he flips me to my back, drapes my legs over his shoulders, and buries his face between my legs. “So fucking tasty.” He peers up at me, his dark eyes pinning mine through the valley of my breasts. “I’m keeping you, Princess. I’m never gonna get enough.”

36

SEBASTION

REGULATE YOURSELF, MOTHERFUCKER

Istep out of the shower exactly twenty-one days after my return to my parents’ property, and snag a fresh towel from the rack. Wrapping it around my hips and tucking a corner of the fabric in to keep it up, I work through the pang of disappointment I feel in the base of my gut, because I made it the whole way through my shower and Scarlett didn’t think to join me.

What even is the point of knowing such a beautiful, vibrant, responsive woman is so near and so fucking mine, if I don’t even get to start my day with the taste of her lips on mine?

Either set. I don’t mind.

But then I catch the soft lilt of her laughing voice from the room. Her playful tone. Which means instead of chatting to me, she chose to chat to her brother.

Which is acceptable. I guess.

Fucking prick.

Shaking my head and the dumb grin curling across my lips, I move out of my bathroom and into the bedroom, all to find Scarlett lying on my bed. She rests on her belly, her feet swaying in the air and crossed at the ankles, while she braces herself on her elbow, one hand lifted to hold the phone to her ear, while the other caresses a pen and marks up one of her new notebooks.

Can’t have my girl running out.