Page 113 of Lavish

Here, in the heat and quiet, I wasn’t the calculated Serena King.

I was just me.

Messy.

Flawed.

Wanting.

And for the first time in years, that scared me more than anything else.

Miles released a deep groan. I felt the vibrations of it run through me, deep and low, as his lips wrapped around my clit and sucked, slow and intentional. He ate my pussy like a man starved, like he’d been dreaming of this moment, memorizing me in my absence. My legs started to twitch helplessly, my body chasing the high even as my mind tried to catch up.

I gripped Miles’s head, desperate for something to hold on to, and one of his hands slid up my body, disappearing beneath the hem of my slip—still clinging to me like some last bit of armor. But even that didn’t last. He shoved the fabric up, over my hips, until it was bunched under my arms and out of the way. His palm cupped my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple before he rolled it between his fingers.

The combination of his tongue circling my clit, his fingers curling deep inside me, and the sweet ache of his hand gripping and twisting my nipple—it was too much.

Too much heat.

Too much feeling.

Too much of him.

My body convulsed, surrendering before I could even think to stop it.

“Oh my God!” I screamed, voice breaking apart like glass.

I squeezed my eyes shut, sobbing in relief—relief I didn’t even know I needed—when he hummed against my clit in encouragement. Like he wanted me to let go. Like he needed it too.

Blinking slowly, Miles was suddenly bringing me into another kiss, and I could taste myself on his tongue, then he released me. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, breath catching. “I want you. In the nightstand.”

He shifted off the bed just long enough to reach in my nightstand. I used this break as a chance to gather my breath as I watched as he tore the foil packet open with his teeth, rolled the condom on, and came back to me.

I opened my legs without thinking. My body already knew him.

But my heart…my heart was still catching up.

He lined himself up, running the head of his cock through my folds, slow, teasing, letting my slickness coat him as his mouth found mine again.

“Fuck me,” I said.

When he finally pushed inside me, stretching me open inch by inch, I let out a broken sound in the back of my throat.

“Still feels like mine,” he murmured, voice low, reverent as he pressed deeper. “Pussy still mine, hmm, Sunny?”

“Fuuuck… Miles,” I choked out, my voice unraveling as my head fell back against the pillow.

He had one hand gripping the back of my thigh, pushing my knee up toward my chest while the other braced near my head. The headboard slammed with each thrust, jarring, relentless—perfect.He was deep. Too deep. The angle had my spine bowing and my body trembling, pinned beneath his like I was something to be claimed.

My hand pushed at his chest, not because I wanted him to stop—but because it was too much.

He didn’t stop.

His eyes dropped to where our bodies were joined—watching the way he stretched me open around him, wet and pulsing and full.

I shook my head, even as my hips lifted into his, greedy for more.