King of the South

by Calia Read

  “On your stomach.”

  Panting and on the verge of falling apart, I stare at him with wide eyes. “What?”

  “On your stomach,” he repeats, this time more sharply.

  I comply, unsure of what he’s going to do. When my stomach touches the sheets, I lie still and wait, heart racing. Livingston takes my hands and guides them to my side. He doesn’t tie me up like I did to him, but I won’t move.

  I feel the prod of his cock against my legs, but only for a moment before it’s taken away and replaced by the brush of his finger. Gently, he pushes my legs apart while his finger slips inside me. I’m so sensitive right now that I know I won’t last much longer.

  I moan and try to move my hips, but Livingston places a hand on the small of my back and stops me.

  I realize this is his form of retaliation. I tortured him, and now he needs to do the same. I’d expect nothing less. My body shakes with anticipation.

  His finger slips away, taking away his expert touch. I nearly cry out in protest, but then his chest touches my back. His skin is so hot I’m positive I’ve been branded by him. He pushes my hair so it’s off my neck and falling across one arm.

  “Je vais te baiser si fort que tout le monde saura que tu es à moi,” he growls before he bends down to kiss the back of my neck.

  And without another word, he slides in me. From this angle, I feel him so deep, I moan so loudly I turn my face into the pillow. This feels almost too good.

  He pushes in and out. Every time he drives forward and his body is brought back to me, I gasp. My lower body arches, trying to keep him in this position for as long as possible.

  Deeply embedded in me, he extends his hands so our fingers are linked. “Raina, why do you torture me when you know I’ll do the same?”

  “Livingston, please,” I pant.

  “Say please again.” He pulls out of me until only the crown of him is in me.

  Desperate for release, I close my eyes. “Please.”

  His head touches my shoulder, and he whispers into my ear, “Since you asked nicely.”

  Every movement of his hips is different. There’s no teasing. No torment. He’s not stopping for anything. Not even if someone bursts into the room right this second. Besides, he can’t stop. Everything has been building in my core driving me into a state of frenzy. If he doesn’t end the torture, I will.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I grip his hands tighter and moan into the pillow. I don’t wait for him. My body shudders as I cry out, chanting Livingston’s name while I spasm around him.

  He squeezes my hands so tightly I think they might break.

  When the thrusts slow, he falls on top of me, touching my hair and kissing my skin. “S’il vous plaît. Ne me quitte pas,” he whispers against my hair.

  Opening my eyes, I weakly squeeze his hands back, and my body convulses.

  I love this broken man so much. I love him so much there’s no possible way I can leave him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Livingston

  There’s a certain protocol I’ve perfected after the act of sex.

  Throughout the years not a single woman has walked away unsatisfied, and that’s because I always make sure that no time is spent lingering in bed. Nothing good can come out of dawdling around.

  No, it’s best if everyone goes their separate ways because too much time can lead to long embraces that every woman seems to want after sex.

  Apparently, every woman but Rainey. When she’s finished, she’s like a cat stretching after a long nap. Her arms above her head, her toes pointed at the footboard, and the sheets still drawn around her feet. Even though she’s content, if I reached out and interrupted her, she just might hiss at me.

  I smirk at the image she makes. Her hair is in a disarray and scattered about her. Her skin is flushed and damp. She’s panting just as bad as me, but instead of thinking how I should let her rest, I’m thinking of how I can take her again.

  Get up. It’s time for you to leave.

  Rainey chooses that precise moment to turn and smile at me.

  Leave? How can I leave when she gave me a smile like that? So trusting, and sincere and almost innocent. I think I’d give anything to have her smile at me like that again.

  “Do you make a habit of residin’ with your conquest after you’ve been intimate with them?” she finishes her question with a long yawn.

  I can’t help but smile. I hear the thread of jealousy in her voice when she said conquest. She wouldn’t be envious if she didn’t care. God help me for being pleased, but I can’t help myself. Recently, I’ve been driving myself mad when she’s with the bachelors.

  I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling, and lace my fingers behind my head. I’m undecided on whether I should be flattered or insulted that she was close to falling asleep after sex. Rainey sits up, holding the sheet in front of her body. Her dark hair trails down her back. It’s so long the ends brush against the dimple above the crease of her butt.

  Let the sheet slip, my mind thinks wickedly.

  Tu est parfait.

  I know what’s beneath all the many layers of her clothes. I know it’s what a man wants, and better yet, I know her reaction goes beyond every man’s wildest imagination.

  She will make one of the bachelors happy.

  The thought should soothe me. So why are my hands balled into fists?

  “Livingston?”

  The sound of Rainey’s voice guides me back to the present, and I look at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

  Did I accidentally speak my thoughts aloud? Rolling onto my side, I tug on the corner of the sheet. She bats my hand away, and I grin at her. “No, I don’t stay with my conquest. And you’re not a conquest.”

  Just as I suspect, my remark gets a reaction out of her. She turns in my direction so quickly the tips of her long hair brush against my arm. Her brows nearly reach her hairline. “Oh.”

  Hardly any room is between us, but she’s too far away. I want my arms around her. Breasts to chest, and legs intertwined. “Come here,” I drawl.

  Wrapping my hand around her wrist, I pull her toward me. Rainey freely falls. Her body becomes half draped over mine, and her palms settle on my chest.

  The two of us are silent for a moment. I could’ve fallen asleep within minutes if there weren’t fingertips tracing languid circles across my chest.

  “May I ask you a question?” Rainey quietly asks.

  “You may.”

  Rainey shifts so she can look me in the eye. “Why didn’t you attend Miles’s memorial? I searched for you,” she admits quietly.

  I tilt my head in her direction. I can only stare at her. It was only a matter of time until this was asked, but hearing Miles’s name still feels like a punch to the gut.

  “Why are you silent?”

  I take a deep breath. “Because I knew you would ask this question. Didn’t think it’d be tonight.”

  Rainey pauses. “I’ve thought about it since his memorial,” she confesses.

  “I’m shocked you didn’t say anythin’ sooner. I appreciate your ability to be forthright. It’s the one thing I can count on in this world.”

  “Well, I would have said somethin’, but the discovery that my family is penniless was a big distraction.”

  “As it would be for most.”

  “Why weren’t you there?” she persists.

  Taking a deep breath, I look at the ceiling. It’s far easier to look away from someone when you’re telling the truth than in the eye.

  “I didn’t want to believe it.” Rainey’s so still, it’s like I’m holding onto stone. “I drank the day away, tryin’ to convince myself that if I didn’t show, then he wasn’t gone.”

  “I wish that was so. Then I wouldn’t have attended,” Rainey remarks. “None of us would have.”

  My hold on her tightens before I continue. “Do you know Miles fought the Battle of St. Quentin Canal in France? He was on the Hindenburg Line while I engaged in the
Second Battle of the Somme. We were both in France but towns apart from each other. Out of all his family and friends, I was the closest to him.”

  I swallow and continue talking because if I stop I know for certain I won’t say another word. “When I was comin’ home, I asked about him. So many soldiers were missing in action on both sides. There was another man in the 30th infantry division with the last name Pleasant. For a moment, they mistook Miles for him and said he was accounted for. I felt relief. He was all right. But that was momentary when they realized their blunder. I knew somethin’ was wrong. I just knew it, and when I arrived home and saw you at the train station, I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. You looked so beautiful and hopeful. I just couldn’t.”

  I take a deep breath.

  Continue!

  Rainey is the only person who will understand.

  She didn’t see what I saw or experienced, but my gut tells me there’s no better person to be forthright with.

  “Every now and then, I wonder if I had got to him if I could have helped him. Even if I was too late, I wouldn’t have let him stay out there.” An anguished breath escapes me. “I wouldn’t.”

  “I know that,” Rainey urgently whispers. “Everybody knows that.”

  “Sometimes, I tell myself he died of natural causes. Perhaps he had a stroke, or a virus got the best of him. I envision him walking through the forest, sitting down with his back against a tree. He falls asleep and just never wakes up. It’s just him, the trees, and the animals,” I confess, ignoring the crack in my voice.

  “That’s a good story.”

  “The illusion doesn’t last long. But it’s always soothin’ while it lasts.”

  “I agree. Keep that fantasy for as long as you can.”

  Rainey pauses. “How terrible was it?”

  This is dangerous ground. Dangerous ground!

  I don’t speak about this with anyone. It’s far too sobering. There’s no glib quip I can say to transition into a different topic.

  Briefly I close my eyes, we both know what “it” refers to. I try to answer her question without thinking about the dark memories, but it’s nearly impossible. “What I saw over there … I can never forget it. You can’t prepare yourself for what you’ll do. You think you know, but it pales in comparison to the truth. When I left, I thought my decision was noble, and now that’s it over, I question whether all the nightmares and recollections were worth it.”

  “It was noble,” Rainey says fiercely.

  “Perhaps at first. In war, there are battle lines, but in the end, all men bleed the same.”

  Rainey is silent as she soaks in my words. “That may be true,” she starts out slowly. “But you cannot dwell on this, Livingston. It will destroy you. You are not the sum of your decisions, or the worth of your words. But the contents of your soul.”

  I take a deep breath. “Rainey, I’ve seen some depraved things.”

  “You are a wonderful person, though.” Suddenly, she pulls away and sits up straight. “Don’t look so doubtful, Livingston Lacroix. I mean it.”

  If only we believe in ourselves the way we do in others. Perhaps that blind sacrifice is the definition of love. To place all your hope and trust in someone else because they need it more than you do.

  I don’t know. The closest I’ll ever come to love is Rainey. But it’s not enough to be a connoisseur of the emotion.

  Rainey reaches out and sweeps her fingertips across my cheek. “You wanted so badly to save the people around you that you forgot to save yourself,” she says softly.

  Her words shoot a chill down my spine because a part of me is desperate for Rainey to ignore my stubbornness and the barriers I have and try to save me. Sometimes I feel that helpless.

  Clearing my throat, I sit up, causing Rainey’s hand to fall away from my face. “I appreciate your kindness.”

  “Have I ever been known to be kind? I prefer to say what I mean and mean what I say.”

  “Fair enough.” I become silent and rest my head against the headboard. Carefully, I look at her from the corner of my eye. She resumes her spot next to me. Once again, making small circles across my chest.

  “What do you think you’ll do now? Go back to the shippin’ company?”

  I’ve thought about this very question many, many times. “No. I don’t believe I will. Workin’ at the shippin’ company was never satisfyin’ for me.”

  “There has to be somethin’,” she says, gently prodding. “Somethin’ that will bring you joy.”

  You bring me joy.

  “No, nothin’.”

  “This isn’t a question you’ll immediately have an answer to. You have to think it through,” Rainey replies.

  “I’ve thought about this many times. The dilemma is, I don’t know who I am.”

  “Not at all?”

  I hesitate to answer as I think of every pleasurable past time of mine that didn’t include sex or liquor. Finally, I think of one hobby.

  “When I was younger, I wanted to be an architect,” I announce into the silence.

  Beside me, Rainey tenses for a moment before she continues her soothing strokes.

  “It’s foolish, though,” I quickly say.

  Rainey stops her ministrations. I feel the absence of her touch almost immediately. She sits up halfway, resting her weight on her elbow. “It’s not foolish.”

  “That’s kind of you to say. But no need to be patronizin’.”

  “I’m not. I see no issue with bein’ an architect.”

  “There is when you’re a Lacroix, and your family has a successful business.”

  She nods in understanding. “You’ve been workin’ for the shippin’ company since your parents passed away. How much joy has it brought you?”

  “Should a job bring you joy?”

  Rainey sighs as she contemplates my questions. “I believe it should. Considerin’ we have one chance to live our life. And as you said, your family has a successful business, so you have options. The privilege to choose somethin’ different.”

  “Ah, but you’re forgettin’ that privilege is a prison.”

  I told Rainey the truth because I wanted her to know the truth. Because there’s no one in the world I trusted more. I place my arm around her and bury my face in her hair because I was relieved to have the conversation over. But for Rainey, the conversation isn’t over. She pulls back. I can feel her eyes roving over my face. “You should do what you want.”

  What would it be like to move about life pursuing something I truly enjoyed? The idea seemed so preposterous, thinking about it borders on cruel.

  “We haven’t argued in nearly twenty minutes. This might be a new record for us.”

  From Rainey’s smirk, I can tell she knows I’m trying to change the direction of the conversation. I’ve told her more tonight than I’ve told anyone else. Her smirk transforms into a soft smile as she tucks her hair behind her ear. Something in my chest seizes at the action. Something unfamiliar and terrifying.

  “I think it might be.”

  I kiss the crown of her head. “Good night, le savauge.”

  I waited several minutes until I heard her steady breathing. Even then, I was hesitant as I whispered the words into her hair, “Vous êtes la seule chose pure à laquelle je puisse m’accrocher.”

  And I closed my eyes and fell asleep because I was so, so tired, and Rainey gave me peace. In life, it’s not our place to question the pain someone else experiences. We only need to recognize it.

  And that’s what Rainey does. Peacefully acknowledges my torment. That’s why no one can have her, and no one will take her from me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Rainey

  The next morning, I wake up with a smile on my face and the space next to me empty. The only sign of Livingston’s presence is the rustled sheets. Brushing my fingertips across the mattress, I think of what happened last night.

  I don’t care for regrets.

  Nothing in life is done in vain. W
e learn from our choices one way or another. And last night, I learned I love Livingston Lacroix with every fiber of my being.

  The thought causes my toes to curl and me to bury my face in my pillow, but it’s true. I knew I loved that stubborn bastard before, but now I realized the extent and what I would do to have him.

  But first I had to tell Livingston the truth of how I felt about him. The mere idea of expressing my feelings and being vulnerable makes my stomach churn. I know Livingston cares for me. I know he does. I don’t know the depth, though, and that’s what makes love so impossibly chaotic. You can move as deep in your own heart as you please, but you will have to be brave long enough to learn whether your heart can be loved back.

  With a shaky sigh, I sit up and get dressed. Breakfast is certainly finished, but Livingston is as familiar with Brignac House as I am, so he has to be close by.

  I finish dressing, tucking my blouse into my skirt. When I glance at the floor, I catch something from the corner of my eye. It’s the belt from my robe, curled around one leg of the bench in front of the bed. My cheeks turn red as I think of everything we did. Or better yet, what I did. I would do it again.

  Walking down the stairs, I begin to search for Livingston, but I don’t have to look very far. I hear his voice coming from the parlor. There’s a second voice. It’s muffled, but clearly, it’s female. As I approach the door, I relax because I recognize the voice as Nathalie’s. I should give them privacy. It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen one another. But I don’t draw back. The pocket doors aren’t fully closed, giving me a small look-see into the room. Nat stands on one side of the room, holding a paper in her hands, and Livingston stands on the other. I smile at the sight of him.

  I love you. I love you. I love you.

  “You have a telegram from Étienne,” Nat says emotionlessly. “I read it.”

  Livingston reaches for the telegram, but Nat holds it away, her body rigid. “Why are you lookin’ through the Pleasonton finances? Are they penniless?”

  My fingertips rest against the doors. The racing of my heart causes a hitch in my breath. The blunt way Nat directs her question is not like her and causes me to flinch. It’s difficult to see her so detached. I would love to tell her the truth of my family’s finances. I’d love nothing more. But I can’t.