Page 119 of Lavish
“You don’t think I can take down your hair, wash it, and rebraid it? I did it all the time when we were kids.”
“You had my parts looking crooked too.”
Serena playfully punched me in the arm and I laughed but sighed, running a hand over my face. “You’ve been at work too, Serena. We’ll be up all night doing this. You know my hair is too thick.”
“I’ll fix you a plate.” Serena shook her head. “Sit your ass down. I won’t tell you again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I grinned.
Heading to the living room, I slowly lowered myself to the floor, letting out a groan as I leaned back on the couch. Doughboy jumped down, stepping into my lap and looking up at me with a curious expression.
“Wassup, man?” I murmured, giving him a few slow scratches under the chin. “You looking after my woman?”
He let out a little sound, half purr, half judgment, likebarely.
“Yeah, I feel you.”
I leaned my head back with a sigh, just trying to breathe for a minute—but then I heard it. The soft but unmistakable theme music coming from the TV.
I cracked one eye open.
“Oh,hellno.” I groaned louder this time.
I heard Serena coming from the kitchen, and then I felt a nudge.
“Here you go.”
I took the plate from her, and then she surprised me with a beer.
“Look at you being domestic, taking care of you man.”
“You lucky I can’t divorce you without ramifications,” she said, deadpan. “Don’t get used to this treatment.”
She disappeared again briefly, and then I felt the cushion behind me shift. Serena dropped down on the couch, a small container of hair products and a comb nestled in her lap. She eased herself behind me, her thighs brushing my shoulders, warm and bare and smooth.
Her scent wrapped around me—clean linen, soft musk, and something sweet. My body sank deeper into the floor, jaw unclenching, spine relaxing just from being near her.
“You’re not seriously gonna make me watch this, are you?” I asked, eyeing the screen.
“13 Going on 30.” Her voice was light, teasing. “You know you like it.”
A slow grin curved my mouth. “You used to make me watch it every summer.”
“It was my guilty pleasure after Gigi made me watch it… And you liked it.”
“I tolerated it.”
“Liar.” I let my head fall back, resting against her belly.
She ran her fingers through my hair, comb teasing gently at the edges. My eyes fluttered shut before I meant them to. Between the warmth of her body, the softness of her hands, and the familiar sound of her voice—damn. I could’ve stayed there forever.
Her fingers were slow. Careful. She undid each braid with a patient rhythm, her nails scratching lightly at my scalp, and I had to stop myself from moaning at the pleasant sensation. Each tug felt like tension being pulled out from my body, from the day, from my past.
The feel of her unraveling my braids, the soft scrape of her nails against my scalp, my head dropped forward.
“You okay?” she asked, pausing, looking down at me.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to wake up. “Just tired.”
