Page 88 of Last Man Standing

I walk to the end of the bed and drag her legs apart. While Scarlett squeals, I kneel and bury my face in her ass, fisting the swells and holding her down when her laziness makes way for desire. “Oh God!” Panting and desperate, she smothers herself in my sheets and screams. “Sebastion!”

“So fuckin’ delicious.” I taste her. I taste me. I taste the magic of whatever we create together, and then I flip her to her back and feast on her wildly throbbing clit. “I’m not done with you yet, Princess.”

She drapes her legs over my shoulders and fists my hair, riding my face like she hasn’t already come seven or eight times today. “Not done with you yet, either,” she whimpers breathily. “Finish this before you go. Please.”

“No.” I pull away and earn her horrified cry. Her hips still move, searching, searching, searching, but her eyes whip open and lock onto mine.

She looks like I genuinely betrayed her.

“What the hell?”

Chuckling, I grab her ankle and yank her along the bed, her scream bouncing from the walls and knocking something loose in my chest. I rest her foot on my chest and stare down at her throbbing pussy. So responsive, so fucking needy.

You made a promise, Sebastion!

“Fuck’s sake.” As desperate for her as she is for me, I scoop her off the bed and toss her over my shoulder.

She yelps and bashes the sides of her fists against my back. “Sebastion!”

“I made a promise. I have to keep it.” But not before I cross my room and walk her straight into my shower. I turn the taps on and luxuriate in her squeal as icy cold water blasts her ass, then I pull her down again and pin her against the tile. She weighs so little, and her body is so fuckin’ pliable, I merely wrap her legs around my hips and slam my cock deep into her pussy.

First time hurts her. But now she greedily swallows me up.

“Fuck.” I bury my face in her hair and hammer my hips forward, fucking her with a violence she not only doesn’t seem to mind, but she clings to me, her nails digging deep into my back so tattoos and pen ink aren’t all that mark me now. “Fuck, Scarlett. I don’t ever wanna stop.”

“Don’t.” She throws her head back and groans, squeezing her eyes shut and circling my shoulders with her strong arms. She holds on with everything she’s got, and if her spine hurts from the way I crush her against the wall, she doesn’t complain. “I don’t want you to stop,” she moans. “Never.”

“I don’t want to go for a walk.” Twenty minutes later, with steam filling my bathroom and filtering out to my bedroom, Scarlett pulls on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweater from the messy pile still on the floor.

I’d rather she wore my hoodie.

Dragging her hair out of the fabric and running her fingers through the long, mahogany locks, she stares at me from the other side of my bed and flattens her lips. “I said no.”

“I don’t recall asking your opinion on the matter.” For the first time in a really long time, I feel relaxed. Even if the rest of the world is falling apart, the man I am right now, standing in front of the woman I want to protect forever, can’t seem to summon all that much enthusiasm for dread and the what ifs. So I step into a pair of pants and tug them up to my hips. Sitting on the edge of our mattress and snagging my boots and a fresh pair of socks, I pull them on left, left, then right, right.

I want to tease Scarlett. I want to taunt her, since fighting with her comes second only to fucking her. But in my peripherals, I watch her nervously mutilate her pinky nail.

Exhaling a deep sigh, I drop my teasing smile and choose a different track. Finishing with my laces, I push up again and grab a shirt, then I come around and stop in front of her and her pouty expression. “Relax. This isn’t a prison.”

“But—”

“Not only are you allowed to leave this room and explore, but we actually encourage it.” All except one person, that is. And that one person is gonna have to chill the fuck out soon, or else. “I’m going out for food before I die of starvation. I know for a fact you haven’t eaten much yet either. After that, I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” I drag her hand down, freeing her nail from the confines of her teeth. “I’m asking you to come with me.”

“You can go on your own.” She trembles all over, shaking from top to toe and forcing worry lines from the corners of her eyes. “L-like we’ve been doing. I don’t want to go to the chow hall while other people are there, and every time I go to the kitchen, your dad or your brothers catch me. I don’t dare step outside, because there are a hundred men out there, and I don’t want to⁠—”

“You’re allowed to go to the chow hall, Princess. Three meals a day and a midnight snack if you need it. You’re not sleeping in the barracks, you’re sleeping here, in my bed, which means you have express permission to go to the kitchen any damn time you want. And if you want to go into the yard, do it.”

“But the men⁠—”

“Know not to even breathe in your direction. They won’t hurt you. They might watch you. It’s human nature to study something new and interesting. Especially when that new, interesting thing is as beautiful as you. But that’s as bad as it’ll get.”

“And your mom?” she snaps. “I bet she’d be thrilled to share her kitchen table with me, Sebastion.” She wrenches her hand from mine and circles away. “Do you think I should offer to braid her hair and tell silly little secrets like we’re best friends?”

No. I don’t think Arabella Jameson wants you to braid her hair, Princess. Not today, anyway.

Frustrated, I scan my room for my phone and try to remember when I last saw it. Then I lower into a crouch and sweep it out from beneath my bed, where it fell from my pocket while I was way too fucking distracted with Scarlett’s delectable pussy squeezing me half to death to give a shit.

Straightening out again, I unlock the screen and tap on my brother’s name. Because if I’m not the one watching her, he is. Or my dad. Or, not so long ago, Uncle Bas.