King of the South

by Calia Read

  His hands cup my breasts almost as though he’s weighing them. I’m no fool. Compared to other women, I’m quite small. His thumbs make repeated circles around my nipples. My breath quickens and turns into pants as he draws a nipple into his mouth and gently bites. As he moves to the other breast, he lifts his head and gives me one of his devastating smirks.

  “You don’t want me to stop, do you? You’re so sensitive I could make you orgasm by doin’ this.” His head dips back down, and he draws a nipple into his mouth, giving a long pull.

  I cry out and manage to nod. Heat travels through my body in several different places. This is different than the last time he touched me. All barriers are gone. We’re skin to skin, and there’s no turning back.

  I can feel the beads of sweat gathering at my temple. What he says is right, and if he doesn’t stop, I’m going to break into a thousand pieces. I manage to slip a hand between the two of us. He feels my fingers traveling down his body and tenses.

  “You’re so sensitive,” I coo. I wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke the satiny skin. “I could make you orgasm by doin’ this.”

  A ragged groan tears from his throat. He fights to maintain composure and control, but in the end, he thrusts himself into my hands.

  I smile and brush my fingers against his tip. Livingston knew what to bargain for with me. He doesn’t call me le savauge because of my refined ways.

  When I’ve tortured and teased him into the same frenzy he put me into, I pull away. Livingston’s hands are gentle as they touch me, his lips soft against my neck, but as his body aligns with mine, I know what’s going to happen. I would be lying if I said my heart wasn’t racing.

  His arms are bracketed near my head, and his lips move back to mine. My eyes close as I relax. My arms curl around his biceps as he hovers above me. I feel the silken tip of him repeatedly rub against me.

  As amazing as this feels, I stiffen because I don’t know how painful this will be. But Livingston doesn’t go further from there. Over and over, he repeats the action until my hips lift.

  And then he stops. My grip on his bicep tightens as his forehead touches mine. feel the gentle prod of him, and it’s then Livingston looks me in the eye. With a deep shuddering breath, he slowly slides deeper. I suck in a sharp breath.

  “Dieu me pardonne ce que je m’apprête à faire,” Livingston murmurs against my lips before he embeds himself fully into me.

  Have you ever felt pain so bad you writhe away from it, attempting to fold in on yourself until it dissolves? In this situation, Livingston is the reason for my pain. I cling tighter to him and shift my bottom, trying to get comfortable, but that doesn’t seem to help.

  His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. “Christ, Rainey. Don’t.”

  I remain still while my body stretches around him. But the abrupt pain I once felt is dissipating into a dull ache.

  Perhaps this isn’t as bad as I initially thought.

  At a slow pace, I move my hips from side to side, ready for more of him. A choked groan spills from Livingston’s lips. He grabs both of my hands and holds them above my head. My eyes widen as they make contact with his. He stares at me with rapt concentration. “I’m tryin’ my hardest to go slow, but if you move against me one more time, this will be over far too quickly.”

  I nod, and his nose brushes against my cheek. Ever so slowly, he begins to thrust in and out of me. I sigh and close my eyes as he sinks deeper into me. Every time, it feels better than the last.

  Livingston is patient with me, guiding my legs around his waist. His hips swivel in a slow, torturous rhythm, and a prickling sensation spreads throughout me. A small gasp slips from my lips. I don’t know whether to grab Livingston’s arms or push away from him. This feels almost too good. Better than our kisses or when he touched me nights ago. I want to sink into the sheets and mattress, and just feel every little thing he does.

  “Move with me.”

  Above my head, Livingston keeps his hands linked with mine. Once again, our foreheads touch and breaths mingle as we find the correct rise and fall of each other’s bodies.

  The middle of my back lifts from the bed as I meet his thrust. A rumble of satisfaction is heard from Livingston, spurring me to keep going.

  He whispers wicked remarks against my neck, “You are so tight … I’ve thought about this for so long …”

  It makes the heat inside me become excruciating. Livingston’s thrusts are becoming faster and harder. Enthusiastically, I arch against him, and I can’t stop. Pleasure begins to build until I feel myself tightening around him.

  And then, in one sudden rush, I fall apart. I don’t care about my surroundings, or who might hear. I call out Livingston’s name loudly as my body spasms and jerks, and I feel hot and cold all at once.

  “Fuck. I can’t … I can’t last,” he gasps. Livingston’s beautiful face contorts into one of pain as he slams into me. His hold on me is so tight I have to take small breaths.

  Some part of me instinctively knows to tighten my legs. I grip his shoulders and limply hang onto him. My bed gently hits the wall from the ferocity of Livingston’s thrusts.

  One of his hands curls around my waist, lifting me at an angle, and he slides even farther if that is possible, while he tilts his head back. A wild, primitive look fills his eyes as he bites out, “Christ.”

  He moves faster and deeper. My nails dig into his back. His sweat drips onto my skin. He convulses, and his hips jerk. “Raina.”

  He chants my name as though it’s a prayer he’s been saying his entire life. I hold onto him until his voice grows hoarse, and his body slows.

  He collapses on me, gasping for several minutes, and then moves away. I feel a brief sense of panic. Is he leaving? Will he come to regret this later?

  He walks about the room, disappears into the bathroom, and comes back, the mattress dipping from the weight of him. In his hands is a damp washcloth.

  “For a moment, I thought you were goin’ to leave,” I confess.

  His lips quirk. “Commonly, I leave a room with my clothes on.” He moves the washcloth between both hands before he shifts toward me. His eyes continuously rove across my face for any signs of distress.

  “I’ve never been with a … a—”

  “A virgin?” I supply.

  Rapidly, he nods. It’s rare to see Livingston so unsure of himself. He almost appears shy. Gently, he nudges my legs apart. It takes me a moment to understand what he’s about to do. I reach forward, but he holds the washcloth out of my grasp. “I can do that,” I protest.

  He shakes his head, brows slightly furrowed.

  The washcloth is cold against my skin, but I don’t say a word. I let Livingston clean my blood from my body. What he’s doing is deeply intimate and personal.

  I feel the fissure in my heart as I watch him. I notice the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the perfect line of his nose, the very faint lines around the corner of his eyes and lips that inevitably come with life. He’s still the same, but everything has changed. Just then, a dark strand falls across his brow. And he looks at me from beneath those dark lashes and smirks at me.

  Oh, dear.

  The realization of what I’ve allowed to happen sinks in. I muster a weak smile at him. No sheets cover my naked body, but I feel hot all over. My heart pounds furiously as I sort through my racing thoughts.

  Livingston stands and walks back to the bathroom while I take deep breaths in and out.

  How did I let this happen?

  “Are you all right?” he asks. There is a thread of concern in his voice.

  I turn and see him staring at me carefully. I sit up and move over so there’s room for him. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you certain? You can tell me if I hurt you.”

  He lies beside me and pulls me toward him. Our legs intertwine, his olive against my pale, smooth flesh. I sigh and try to disregard the relief I feel with him next to me. “I promise you didn’t hurt me,” I say.

  L
ivingston gathers the sheets around us, and we lie there peacefully. My head rests against his chest, and I listen to the steady beat of his heart, but I need a better confirmation he’s real and beside me. I rest my hand across his and watch the steady rise and fall of my hand for so long my eyes burn. Livingston combs a hand through my hair.

  Slowly, my eyelids start to flutter shut. Until Livingston quietly says, “I’m startin’ to care less and less at the idea of bein’ away from you.”

  My eyes flash open. I swear my heart stops beating. Lifting my head from his chest, I swallow and gather the courage to speak. “You don’t have to leave tonight.”

  “Somebody will catch me.”

  “My door is locked.”

  If Livingston wanted to go, he would have left the first chance he got. Of that, I’m certain. He wants to stay just as much as I want him to.

  “I don’t want you to go,” I quietly confess.

  His hold on me tightens before I can finish my words. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as his eyes sweep across my face. “Then I’ll stay,” he replies gruffly.

  I smile and lower my head back to his chest.

  “Good night.” I say, finishing my words with a yawn.

  “Good night, le savauge.”

  Livingston rolls toward me, wrapping his arms securely around me. My body is tucked into his with his chin resting on the crown of my head. I breathe in the scent of him while his eyes grow heavy.

  “Everything I do seems wrong. But you? You are the only thing that feels right,” Livingston murmurs before he falls asleep.

  I stare at his chest, replaying his words. A small shudder escapes me. I’m beginning to realize that as the sun falls, so do Livingston’s walls. He becomes the man I’ve chased after my entire life.

  Weeks ago, in a dark theater, I played the write hand game with the wrong man. Which led to a kiss I couldn’t stop thinking about. And tonight, I gave him my virginity.

  And now I know, I’m in love with the king of the South.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Livingston

  I have experienced many things in my life, but nothing paralyzes me more than children.

  Specifically, little children.

  They highlight the lack of progression in my life.

  When Alexandra was first born and I held her, she opened her eyes and promptly let out the loudest wail known to man. It’s as though she knew she was being held by someone who not only couldn’t feed her, but who’s happiness hinges upon people’s approval.

  Only hours old and my niece knew I reeked of failure. What would my nephew see in me? My God, after war the options were endless. This morning, I shaved and made sure I wore my finest suit as though I was meeting the king. In a way, I was. I was meeting the prince, soon-to-be king to carry on the Lacroix name. And if he’s anything like Étienne, he’ll learn to execute a firm business-like handshake before he’s five, build an empire as tall as the sky before thirty, and have the perfect family before forty.

  Upon entering Belgrave, the energy is alight with tangible excitement. The staff all have an extra pep in their step. I don’t have to wonder why. The beaming smile stretched across Étienne’s face is infectious. As he greets me, I find myself smiling back and embracing him. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  Étienne pulls away and gives me a blunt nod, although he smiles broadly.

  “Ton bonheur m’apporte de la joie.”

  My brother appears momentarily surprised. “Je vous remercie.” He gestures to the second floor. “Would you like to see him?”

  “Umm … of course,” I say although it comes out more as a question.

  We’re quiet as we walk up the stairs. Once we reach the second floor, Étienne looks over at me. “I’m truly surprised you’re here today.”

  “Did you think I would cancel?” I ask.

  “That’s exactly what I thought would happen.”

  “Well, I would never miss the chance to see the newest addition to the Lacroix family,” I reply when, in fact, that was precisely the case. I was informed of my nephew’s birth the moment he was born. And I used every excuse I possibly could until the excuse well ran dry.

  Once we reach Serene’s private quarters, I pause in front of the closed door. “Are you sure it’s proper for me to go in there?”

  “The baby was born yesterday morning. Serene’s been restin’. She’s in good spirits if that’s what concerns you.”

  No, that’s not what concerns me. Nonetheless, I dip my head as if that’s the direction of my thoughts.

  “I just want to make certain mother and baby are comfortable.”

  “Trust me, mother is the most comfortable she’s been for the past nine months,” Étienne replies wryly and then opens the door.

  Étienne walks in front of me and lightly knocks on the wall as we step into the room. “There is a visitor for you.”

  Serene is sitting up in bed, holding my nephew. Her hair is pulled back, and she’s wearing a nightgown with a dressing gown over it. She looks exhausted, but there’s a radiance about her.

  “Hello,” Serene whispers so lightly I can barely make out the greeting.

  I clear my throat and shift from foot to foot. “Good afternoon.”

  Serene rolls her eyes and gestures with her free hand for me to come closer. “I thought you got lost on your way here,” she says as I kiss her cheek.

  “Nonsense. I’ve had some business that needed attendin’ to,” I say with a grin.

  Serene’s eyes twinkle. “Oh, I bet you did,” she replies smartly, as though she knew exactly where I’d been last night.

  Impossible. Unless … she’d spoken to Rainey. Had I narrowly missed Rainey today?

  I shake my head of all thoughts of Rainey, and with my hands behind my back, I lean my body forward and peer closely at my nephew. Thankfully, his eyes are closed. No inspection from a newborn.

  “Livingston,” Serene whispers, her eyes never leaving her son’s face. “I’d like you to meet your nephew, Julian Trace Lacroix.”

  The baby squirms. His face scrunches and turns red. I can’t tell if he’s soiling himself or is preparing to cry. But thankfully, all he does is yawn with one of his tiny hands curling into the tiniest fist and resting out of his swaddled blanket. I breathe a sigh of relief. I remember Alex’s cries as a baby. She was capable of breaking the windows at Belgrave if she tried hard enough.

  “Hello Julian Trace, you’re quite strappin’.” I carefully scan his small face. Overall, he looks quite similar to Alex when she was an infant. “Lacroix chin and frown. You have your mother’s nose, thank God.”

  Étienne snorts.

  “I cannot tell, but I presume you have blue eyes?”

  “Gray,” Serene inserts.

  “Gray. Gray eyes,” I quickly correct. “Which is unexpected, but perhaps they’ll change.” I pause momentarily and nod. “You will do, good sir.”

  Étienne steps forward. “My God, Livingston. He’s an infant, not an elderly man.”

  “I will not do that cooin’ and awwin’ you and Serene do.”

  “I’ve done no such thing,” Étienne fiercely protests.

  “You do,” I say.

  At the same time, Serene says, “You really do.”

  “Would you like to hold Julian?” Serene asks, holding the small bundle out to me.

  For seconds, my eyes move back and forth between Serene and my nephew as though he’s a bomb that could explode at any moment.

  “Right now?”

  “We went through this with Alex.” Serene laughs.

  “I know, and I’m not entirely certain she’s not an adult trapped in a child’s body. The words that she says … I’m concerned.”

  Serene shakes her head. “It could be because she spends time with you.”

  I give that theory some thought and shake my head. “No, that’s all Alex. I wish you the best of luck as she grows into a young adult.”

  “I refuse to think about
any of my kids growing,” Serene says as she stares down at the baby. “Not right now.”

  Even though I just arrived, I begin to think of a reasonable justification to take my leave. Étienne chooses that moment to take his son from Serene and place him in my arms. “Here. Hold your nephew.”

  I do just that but in the most inelegant way. It’s as though I’m carrying heavy sacks of potatoes.

  Serene watches me and laughs. “I can’t wait to see you with your own kid.”

  “I don’t think that will happen, Considerin’ the two of you mate like rabbits, you’ll have enough children for a village.” The mere thought of being in my brother’s position, standing beside my faceless wife and staring down at our newborn baby, brings about a wave of panic inside me. There’s a fleeting moment, though, where my faceless wife suddenly has features and looks remarkably like Rainey. I become so nervous I’m going to drop the baby that I abruptly shove him into Serene’s arms. “That’s enough for now.”

  “Okay,” Serene drawls out slowly as she adjusts the baby. Étienne stares at me as though I’ve gone insane. If he knew what image suddenly appeared in my head, maybe he’d understand.

  “How have you been Livingston?” Serene asks, never taking her eyes off the baby.

  “Fine,” I reply cautiously before I think better of it. “Why?”

  Serene lifts a shoulder. “I’ve been seeing you around Rainey more often, and you’ve been less of a Boozy Suzy. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know what Boozy Suzy means, and truthfully, I don’t believe I want to.”

  “You don’t,” Étienne chimes in.

  Serene’s eyes flick in my direction. “So why is that?”

  “I’ve decided to no longer partake in alcohol.” I grin at my sister-in-law. “Consider this my resignation.”

  “If that isn’t a lie, I don’t know what is,” Étienne says.

  “It’s true, brother,” I continue. “I’ve taken to heart all the profound conversations you’ve had with me. It’s time for me to change.”

  Étienne mutters curse words under his breath.

  “That’s not the question I was asking and you know it. Why have you and Rainey been spending so much time together?” Serene persists.