King of the South

by Calia Read

  I love that his kisses are never soft. They’re needed and necessary as much as the very breaths he takes.

  He groans before he pulls away, holding my face between my hands. “You shouldn’t bite.”

  “And why not?”

  There’s nothing but silence for several seconds, then, “Some men might not like it.”

  “Is that why you just groaned?”

  I may be a virgin, but I’m not a nitwit. That groan wasn’t born from pain.

  “No,” Livingston replies his tone gruff.

  “It seems to me that kisses should be like words. Soft at times or with rough edges, but they should never be planned.” I lift my head and stare at him. “No?”

  Livingston brushes a finger across my lower lip. The corner of his mouth lifts, albeit reluctantly. “No. Never planned.”

  What I secretly love about our conversations is the direction they move. There are curves and loops that neither of us sees coming but always try to. Blood courses through me at the idea of the same technique being used for this. My hands land on his hips and travel up. His stomach is tense, muscles bunched. He’s anticipating the same thing as me.

  Livingston clears his throat and tries to resume control. “Now if I’m to teach you anythin’, it’s—”

  My fingers are set in their ways and trail across his belt, brushing against his cock. For the barest second, I feel the long length of him. Last night, he more than touched me. And I wanted to touch him back. Through his slacks, I boldly curl my hand around him. My touch is light, but Livingston’s shoulders slump forward. He slams a palm on the wall behind me.

  “Rainey—”

  “Never planned, right?”

  His mouth opens. His eyes are bright and alert.

  “Miss Rainey?”

  The two of us freeze at the sound of my maid. I made sure to lock my door, so no one is getting inside this room, but Livingston doesn’t know that. He begins to disentangle himself. I fiercely shake my head and hold on tightly. Livingston’s eyes widen. I place a finger to my lips.

  “Say somethin’,” he whispers.

  “Yes?” I finally say although it comes out squeaky. As though I haven’t had water in weeks.

  There’s a pause. “Is everythin’ all right?”

  Livingston dips his head. His lips connect with my neck. My eyes close as I feel his teeth and tongue against my skin and small pulls. If he doesn’t stop, there will be a mark. I softly moan.

  “Ma’am?”

  My eyes flash back open, but Livingston continues. I realize this is Livingston’s retaliation for me not allowing him to step back when he wanted to. If this is the punishment I get, I’ll never let go of him.

  “I’m fine. Go!” I shout more loudly than I intend.

  Livingston lifts his head, his hazel eyes dancing. My eyes narrow back at him. It’s his fault.

  “Are you sure?” my unsuspecting maid asks.

  “Yes.” I take a deep breath. “That will be all for tonight.”

  Livingston and I wait, listening carefully for my maid’s footsteps to fade down the hall. Once we’re certain she’s gone, we move for one another at the same time. The space we carved out near the door is no longer safe. While our lips and tongues move against one another, Livingston guides us away. Within seconds, I feel the soft surface of my mattress beneath me and Livingston on top.

  He sits up and hurriedly unbuttons his shirt. He takes it off and blindly throws it behind him. I take the moment to soak him in. His shoulders are broad, and his muscles seemed to be etched from stone. The black chest hair gathered around his defined upper body isn’t too thick and nearly disappears around his stomach. Above this belt, a black trail of hair begins and disappears beneath his slacks. I’m tempted to follow the path, but my eyes catch on the grooves above his hips and the lines they form. To my eyes, it almost appears to be the letter V. Slowly, my fingers trace the veins.

  Livingston doesn’t move, but he’s as rigid as a block of ice. I know it’s taking all of his control to remain perfectly still.

  Reluctantly, I pull my hands away from his perfect body and lean back on my elbows. “What should I do now?”

  Livingston blinks languidly. His eyes rooted on my lips. “Hmm?”

  “After this”—I gesture between us with a single finger—“what should I do?”

  Livingston’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He looks away, his gaze settling on my nightgown. “Well, as you said, kisses should never be planned. And neither should anythin’ that comes after.”

  My breath hitches in my throat as he leans forward and curls his hand around my neck. He dips down, and I willingly close my eyes. When my lips press against his, I’m more than comfortable at this point. I want more, more, more.

  I’m essentially waiting for his next move. There’s a heat growing inside me that causes my pulse to race and my hands to shake. I know what I desire, but I don’t have the gumption to say it. I want him to touch my breasts. Last night, his touch was fleeting, barely lasting a second, but I felt it to my very soul. It made my body come alive, and I couldn’t help but crave more. His touch was turning out to be just like his kisses.

  Livingston breathes deep through his nose as he guides my head to the side. My legs spread farther as I arch upward. That searing heat has now reached my fingertips and the tips of my toes. It’s searching for a way out.

  Livingston groans deep. His hands move from my hips, and I nearly sigh with pleasure as they drift up my body. His nimble fingers pull on the ribbon keeping one sleeve together. Slowly it falls, and the material splits apart revealing only the upper slope of my breast. I feel Livingston’s lips trail down my jaw. He momentarily sucks on the inner slope of my neck, causing me to shift restlessly.

  Breathing deep, Livingston pulls away and looks at his handiwork. Immediately, I can feel my nipples pucker.

  There’s a moment of silence, almost as though he’s debating whether he should take the next step. By now, I’m nearly panting and close to pulling my nightgown down and boldly placing his hand on my bare breast.

  His eyes meet mine, and the burning heat makes them change colors and appear dark green. They remain locked with my gaze as he curls a finger around the material of my nightgown, and tugs. The air touches my breast, but that’s not what makes goose bumps appear across my skin. It’s how he’s staring at me. As though I’m the most desirable woman he’s ever seen. The look in his eyes is so convincing that I almost believe him.

  Our kiss in the ballroom was rough and wild, so I braced myself, not knowing what to expect. My chest rapidly rises and falls as he bends his head. His tongue is surprisingly gentle as he licks at my nipples. My eyes close and a gasp escapes me. This sensation is indescribable. Without thinking, my hands rake through Livingston’s hair, holding him close.

  His attention doesn’t stop. Gently, he pulls on the tip with his teeth. My legs find themselves wrapped around Livingston’s waist as I move against him. There’s a tension building deep inside me. Livingston wraps an arm around my waist and flicks his tongue against the tip of my nipple. Gasping, I lean into and simultaneously moan with relief and cry out with frustration because I can’t take a whole lot more.

  He continues his ministrations, switching between breasts until I’m holding him tightly to me. When he stops, I feel the cold air touch my sensitive breasts and nearly cover myself. But I don’t and open my eyes to find Livingston panting, staring at me with wide eyes. Breathless and spent, I smile at him.

  “Fuck,” he pants.

  “I liked that. That felt good,” I blurt.

  Rapidly, Livingston nods. His eyes continue to stare at my chest, and when I look down, I know why. From his handiwork, my nipples are hard points. My breasts feel tender and swollen, and after what just happened, I should be covering myself up but I like the way he’s staring at me.

  I think power can come from any position. It merely depends on the person. But there seems to be something very alluring
about being on top and dominating. At least it appeared that way. I wanted to find out for myself. I push against Livingston’s shoulders, and with a crooked grin, he willingly falls against the mattress. He tucks his hands behind his head as though he’s amused and waiting to see what I’ll do next. My nightgown becomes hiked around my thighs as I straddle him.

  My hair falls around us, creating a dark curtain. We’ve created a world where it’s only us. Every touch, every word, every caress will only be known by us.

  “Dieu aide moi,” he murmurs.

  I will not pretend that his silky words don’t have an effect on me. But how many women has he has spoken those words to?

  Doesn’t matter. Right now, he’s only staring at you.

  I placed myself in this situation. I invited him here. I need to make the most of this opportunity because soon it’ll be morning, and he’ll be gone, and we’ll be back at each other’s throats.

  “And him? I assume he’ll like to be touched?” I ask.

  Livingston stills below me. His grip on my waist tightens. “Yes,” he croaks and quickly clears his throat. “Yes,” he repeats. This time more firmly. “He’d like that.”

  My gaze meets his. “Where?”

  “Where do you want to touch?”

  I stare at him as though his body is a map. The grooves and indents of his stomach are mountains, smooth skin is the sea, the dark line of hair disappearing beneath his pants is a trail.

  “Touch anywhere,” Livingston bites out.

  I stop staring at my self-declared map and give him a questioning look.

  He huffs out a breath. “You can touch anywhere, and it will feel amazin’,” he explains in a quieter tone, although I’m finding it very hard to concentrate on what he’s saying because when he raises his head briefly from the pillow to look at me, his abs contract, instantly placing them on display. My mouth goes dry at the sight.

  Stomach. I’ll begin with his stomach.

  My touch is whisper soft and languid. Starting at his collarbone, I move to his sculpted pecs. I trace the lines of each defined muscled beneath his olive skin, loving how he jumps beneath my touch.

  And then I reach the trail of hair on his lower stomach. I hesitate for a moment before I begin to unbutton his pants. My wrist brushes against his cock, and my pulse spikes.

  He grabs my hand, his eyes flashing with stark desire.

  “Christ, Rainey.”

  I arch my brow and wait for further instruction. Livingston remains stiff as a board, but he lets go, his hands falling to the bed. He wants me to keep touching him.

  I’ll never quite understand how we can disagree on everything, and our personalities are the opposites, but the minute our bodies touch, they align perfectly, and it feels as though I’m on fire. My life has swiftly become a gossamer web of confusion. So translucent you can barely see it, but once you step into the web, you’re trapped. There are no misunderstandings in Livingston’s arms. I think we both know this is purely physical.

  I tug on his pants. He lifts his hips, and with one pull, his pants are pushed to his thighs. My eyes widen at the sight of him. I felt him against my leg and touched him through his pants, but I didn’t anticipate this.

  He’s thicker than I expected with veins running the long length of him, toward the bulbous tip. I reach out, almost hesitantly, and curl my fingers around him. His skin is far softer and pliant than I thought.

  But what do I possibly do now?

  As though he can sense my hesitation, Livingston curls a large hand around mine. I look at him, but his eyes are closed. His dark brows are furrowed, and his cheeks are red.

  “Up and down.” His words are terse and brief. He drops his hand away, and I’m left on my own.

  I move slowly at first, but continue to repeat his words in my head.

  Up and down, up and down, up and down.

  Before long, Livingston’s breathing becomes rapid. I’m not adept, but I catch on, finding the correct rhythm, and when I do, my speed increases until I get a slight ache in my hand.

  Livingston thrusts into my hand and groans. I wanted to please him, but I didn’t expect for this to please me. I feel myself becoming wet, and my heart racing in my ears.

  “Je te veux plus que tout.”

  I lift my gaze and find him staring me with an intensity that makes my rhythm falter.

  How many women has he spoken those words to?

  I look down and increase my speed. My arm aches in protest, but I don’t stop. I hold tighter, watching his reaction. He grips the sheets, bares his teeth, and throws his head back. And white ropes of liquid shoot out of him.

  Shocked, I stop and begin to remove my hand, when he places my hand back on him.

  “No, don’t stop,” he pleads. His eyes flash open, and I see the desperation there.

  I continue, resuming the pace I had before. I watch with rapt attention as his body jerks and spasms uncontrollably. More white liquid shoots out of him, landing on his stomach, and even on my hand.

  Gradually, I slow down before I eventually let go. Livingston lays splayed on the bed much like I did the night before. Greedily, he sucks in air while wearing the most content expression across his face.

  I want what’s eating him inside to be forever erased. I want my old Livingston back. His eyes flutter open and meet mine. Afraid he might sense the intensity of my thoughts, I crawl off him and sit beside him, trying to form the right words. “That was … that was …”

  “Yes.” Livingston exhales before he sits up.

  I nod as though Livingston’s reply makes sense. Right now, it does. My mind has lost the ability to string words together. Even though I wasn’t the one who lost control, I almost felt like it was. I wanted to be able to give Livingston that again and again. He sees the mess he’s created on himself and stands, in search of something to clean himself.

  “Is intimacy always like that?”

  Livingston’s shoulders briefly tense as he bends down to pick up a piece of clothing. When he comes back to the bed, I see a muscle along his jaw jump. “No. It isn’t.”

  He appears almost reluctant to admit that. He looks me over, studiously cleaning his hands before he reaches down, cleans himself, and then tucks himself back into his pants. He wads the chemise up and winces before he tosses it toward my vanity. “I’m sorry, but it was all I could find.”

  I smile. “Don’t be. I’m the one who did it.”

  The two of us stare at one another. I didn’t know what to say. Each time he came to my room, my explorations went further, and he taught me more than I imagined. What do I say now, though? Thank you for letting me orgasm in your arms last night, and for teaching me how to properly hold a cock?

  No, even I didn’t have the gumption to say something like that. I busy myself by attempting to tie the sleeves of my nightgown together. It’s much harder than it looks. Livingston shoos my hand to the side and gestures for me to move closer. I sit cradled between his legs, and my hands shake as I stare forward. This feels oddly intimate, and something I’m not prepared for.

  “Will you be at the lunch tomorrow?” I blurt.

  Livingston pauses his tying. I can feel his frown even from where I’m sitting. “What lunch?”

  “Étienne and Serene are hostin’ a lunch for the bachelors and their families. I believe it’s essentially a shrewd way for Serene to narrow down the list. The power is going to her head,” I say teasingly and glance at him. Livingston’s furrowed brows form a tight V the moment I said bachelor. I want the frown gone. I want to take back my words.

  “I’ll go,” he answers after a moment of silence. He moves to the next shoulder. “I love to watch Étienne writhe and become socially inept.”

  “Very well. I suppose I’ll see you then.” I turn around and face him.

  “I suppose you will.”

  We both knew this was the moment he’s supposed to leave. In fact, I’m counting on it. The problem is, Livingston wasn’t leaving, and I didn’t
want him to go. After what we just did, why would I?

  “You can stay for a bit,” I say nonchalantly. For good measure, I add, “You look tired.”

  I make multiple circles on the sheets as I wait for Livingston’s reply. After a few seconds, I look over at him.

  Livingston leans back and tucks one hand behind his head. His eyes are fighting to stay open as he mumbles, “Need to go.”

  I pet his cheek, loving the feel of his whiskers against my palm and watch as his black lashes fall against his cheeks. He looks so boyish and peaceful, and I don’t want to wake him up.

  “Get some sleep,” I whisper before I roll onto my back and get comfortable. I’m not tired in the slightest. In an hour, I’ll wake him up. Sighing, I stare up at the ceiling

  What Livingston and I did is only making matters more difficult. I’m supposed to be picking a bachelor and Livingston is undeniably not one of those men.

  Livingston stirs and rolls toward me, his head resting between my breasts and one arm secured around my waist. “Puis-je te garder pour toujours?” he drowsily murmurs.

  There’s something about this moment that is so personal and intimate it nearly spurs me into waking him up. Because I know, if I’m not careful, it can grow into something else.

  But when’s the last time Livingston slept this soundly? I think it’s been a long time. I rest my head against his, and my eyelids begin to flutter shut.

  In an hour, I’ll wake him up…

  “Miss Rainey?”

  “Mmm?” I say against my pillow.

  “It’s time to wake up, and your door is locked.”

  At that, my eyes flash open, and it’s not my pillow I come into eye contact with, but a naked male chest. Disoriented, I try to pull back, but then realize there’s a heavy arm around my waist, and my leg is wrapped around a very warm body.

  Everything about last night comes back in a flash, making my cheeks turn red. My stomach twist into knots as I think of the sounds I made. I don’t have regrets. I would do it again.

  “Miss Rainey?” my maid repeats.