Page 85 of Last Man Standing

SCARLETT

AFTERSHOCKS

Ilay with Sebastion in the middle of his bed, cuddled amongst the mess of my frenzied almost-escape while he trails the tips of his fingers along the sensitive skin of my arm. His pulse thrums steadily beneath my ear, his belly lifting and falling with slow, measured movements.

He draws patterns against my flesh the same way I draw patterns into paper.

“You okay?” Arching his neck, he presses a kiss to the crown of my head. “Did I hurt you?”

“Yeah.” I trace a swirling design across the breadth of his chest and hitch my leg higher on his thighs. “Hurt me.”

His heart stutters for a beat. “Bad?”

My lips curl into a satisfied grin, and because I have so many to choose from, I switch tracks amongst the swirling art and choose a new adventure. “Good.”

A happy grumble rolls along his throat, and his free hand comes down to grab onto my leg, hooking his fingers around the underside of my knee and tugging me higher. “The good hurt is the best kind.” He strokes the side of my thigh and hums. Satiated and relaxed; this is my favorite version of Sebastion Jameson.

“I’m sorry about the shit that went down earlier, Princess.”

And then he ruins it.

“My baby brother’s a menace. It wasn’t your fault he climbed the walls and scared my mom.”

I exhale a long sigh and feel it again, that sharp sting of rejection. Of hatred I’m not sure I earned. “I’m naked and kinda enjoying the buzz of what we just did.” Too tired to move, but doing it anyway, I push up to my elbow and perch my chin high on his chest until I’m treated to an unimpeded view of his eyes. “I’d rather not talk about your mom right now.”

He coughs out a throaty laugh and fists my jaw, too rough in how he handles me, and yet, unapologetic and exactly right.

I don’t want gentle hands.

He drags my face closer and slides his tongue across my lips. Nibbling and tasting. Soothing away the firm lines of a mood that could quickly turn sour. “She’s not the monster she’d have you believe she is.” He presses a kiss to my lips. Another to the peak of my cheekbone. “She’s human, just like the rest of us. But worse, she’s been in this constant state of militaristic survival her entire life.”

“Sebastion—”

“Do you know how it all began?” His eyes turn a little harder, the post-orgasm bliss fading away and revealing the militaristic survivalist I met on day one. “Do you know what she did thirty years ago?”

Frustrated, I push up to my hands. “I don’t want to discuss⁠—”

“One time.” He buckles my arm and pulls me down again, hitching my leg higher until my sensitive core rests against the coarse hairs on his legs. “I know Lincoln told you some stuff. Probably most of it was based around how much of a fuckin’ prick I am.”

I snicker and curl closer to his side, tilting my head back so I can study the hard lines of his face. “There was a heavy emphasis on that.”

He snorts. “There are so many versions of the same story out there, Princess. The version Nova knows. The version Richard believed to be true. The version each of the code keepers were given thirty years ago.” He exhales a sigh, uncharacteristically tender in the way he pinches a loose strand of hair and tucks it behind my ear. “The most widely told story was that of a girl, Arabella, who was essentially the gilded princess. She was destined to rise up the ranks and become her father’s successor. She was spoiled and rude. Bratty and sometimes a little mean. And then she fell in love with a soldier.”

I nibble on my bottom lip and follow the sharp line of his nose. “Your dad?”

A soft rumble in the back of his throat tells me I’m right. “My dad. Paul Jameson was a man on Richard’s payroll, tasked with watching Arabella closest of all. There had been attempts on Richard’s life. On Arabella’s. Living the kind of existence they did, there would always be enemies. Or competitors. Folks who wanted their slice of a really delicious pie. After a strike that hit a little too close to home, Richard set out to create his own army. What he received, though, were undercover soldiers technically on Uncle Sam’s payroll. Paul Jameson and Bastion Conroy, best friends even before they met Richard, stuck close together, so when Richard assigned my dad to become my mom’s head of security, it made sense that Bastion would be nearby.”

“Did your mom know your dad wasn’t actually on Richard’s side? He would’ve had to tell her eventually.”

“Mmm. Eventually.” He burrows a little deeper into the bed, inching lower and turning to his side so my leg remains high on his hip and my head is cushioned by his bicep. But now, I get to look into his eyes. “They fell in love, even when he was still working for the enemy, so to speak.”

“The enemy… being Richard?”

He nods. “She hated her father and everything he represented. Things didn’t start smooth for Paul and Arabella.” He breathes out a soft chuckle. “She gave him hell and made him wish to put a bullet between her eyes. Probably.”

Cute. I can relate.

Like he can read my thoughts, his eyes narrow playfully.