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His tongue flattens against my skin and he drags it upward, getting closer to the warmth between my legs.

“I can’t fuck your pussy,” he says, “but I can taste it.” My breath hitches, and the first wet touch against my clit sends a shiver through my body. We’re somewhere between the exam room and those late nights with Lagan. Less clinical, definitely not as rough. His warm breath feels good, the way his tongue darts into the folds of my pussy. Everything down there feels different now, the sensations dulled in some places, enhanced in others.

One flick of his tongue against my clit has my nerves zinging.

“Gentle,” I tell him, thrusting my hands in his hair. His ministrations slow, languid to the point of driving me wild.

“That first night I had you on my exam table,” he begins, speaking the words directly into my core, “I remember thinking that you had the prettiest, most perfect pussy I’d ever seen.” Extending his tongue, he takes a long, languorous lick, his fingers digging into my thighs, holding them open for his searinggaze. “It’s still so fucking pretty, baby. If you could see what I see…” A tense, slow shudder travels through him, and I whine.

“I need it… a little more,” he sucks and my hips buck. A whine comes from my throat. “God, yes, like that.” The pacing is different for us, so much slower, and I take in Lex’s sweet, filthy words greedily, the tightness building deep in my belly. It’s not long before the heady rush cascades, rippling across my nerves in a blissful orgasm.

Lex rises, working his way up my body. He pointedly dotes on my belly, kissing every inch of soft skin, and then up my chest, until he shifts next to me, his erection pressing into my hip. His mouth finds mine, and I taste myself, the tang of my pussy—and more, the metallic edge of blood. I roll toward him and reach for him, stroking from the base to the tip, spreading precum over the head. I’m distracted by his cock, by his mouth, and suddenly the orgasm I had isn’t enough. I want to feel full.I miss it. “I want you inside.”

His eyebrows crash together. “Baby, it’s too soon.”

“Maybe,” I hedge, giving my wrist a twist, “forthathole.” The words hit him and he exhales like he’s been punched, his cock surging in my hand. I reason, “Pace and Wick won’t do it. They’re afraid. But you know my body better than anyone else.” I wet my lips, watching as his eyes dart to the motion. “You know what I can handle and what I need.”

He stares at me with parted lips, that dark glint of hunger filling his eyes. When he finally moves, it’s to roll over me, situating himself between my thighs. His breath comes hot and eager against my mouth. “If you want this, you need to understand that I won’t be able to moderate myself. I didn’t fight Pace when he wanted to have you first, because you do this thing to me, Verity.” His tongue traces the crease of my mouth. “This thing where I completely lose control.”

When he pulls up, showing me his handsome, earnest face, I tell him the truth. “I trust you, Lagan.”

He leans forward and captures my mouth with his, giving me a punishing kiss, hard and aggressive, an indicator of what’s coming, and I wrap my legs around him, drawing him closer. I want it more than anything. To be clutched and grabbed and consumed.

I might wear the tiara.

But I’m still the same fiery redhead from West End.

The chuckle he releases as he reaches for the nightstand drawer, snagging the bottle of lube, shoots right to my core. “They’re going to fucking kill me for getting this first.”

I bury my own laugh in his warm shoulder, thinking that it’s just enhancing the moment—this sense of furtive fumbling in the dark. “We’ll make it up to them.” My gaze dips between us, watching as he slicks his cock with the slippery lube, a rough sound escaping his throat when he ducks down to take my nipple in his mouth. I jolt at the sensation, which is accompanied by the prod of his slick fingertip, right against my asshole. His finger massages the area, then without warning, slips in.

I’m so desperate for it that I rock up to meet him.

“You want it that bad?” he asks, stretching me out as he laps the milk leaking from my nipple. “You missed having us inside, filling you up?”

My head thrashes more than it shakes. “You don’t even know.” I gasp, overcome by the way it feels when he sinks it further into me. The pull of his suckle on my breast meets the pressure of his finger in short, rhythmic pulses, like I’m being threaded. Spreading my legs wider for him, I get lost in the stretch of his knuckles as he drinks from me, my fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, changing to the other tit.

“More,” I beg, rocking my hips. “Give me…yes.”

His second finger merely teases at the feeling of fullness I want so badly, but the third is so close to being what I need. I gaze down his back, seeing the ridges of his raised scars, and can’t help but touch him. He trembles when my fingertips glide over the slashes, memorizing their texture in slow, soothing, curious circuits.

I meant what I said before.

Thisisbeauty.

It’s been weeks since I’ve had one of them in me, but Lagan’s hands work with precision. He knows my body inside and out, and it’s no surprise that in just a few moments he has me panting.

His long, lean frame covers me as he abandons my breasts, trailing hot, wet kisses up my collarbone, to my throat, pausing at my mouth.

He’s breathing hard as he gazes down at me. “Tell me you want it,” he demands, stroking the lube up his cock.

Swallowing, I touch the tense line of his jaw. “I want you to fuck me,” I whisper, watching my words ripple through him like a wave.

He pulls his fingers out and nudges up against me, slotting the wet tip of his cock against the ring of muscle. Growling, he pushes in, thick and long and painfully slow, knocking my breath from my lungs with each measured inch.

I grasp at his shoulders, my mouth falling open on a gasp. “Oh, god,” I whimper, feeling the intensity of his gaze on me. “Oh, that feels so…fuck.”