My reply causes a groan to tear from his throat. My reply is as good as yes.
You’re playing a dangerous game.
Livingston presses himself closer as he slants his head at an angle. My fingers curl around the back of his neck and drag through his hair.
My need for Livingston is so incredibly strong that I suck in a sharp breath and hold him tighter. He holds me back just as tight.
For a moment, I give it full control of my body, and with my eyes still closed, my hands drift to the buttons of his shirt. One by one, they give way when my hands slip through the opening to touch his chest. Livingston’s lips move down my neck. I wait for his mouth to replace his hands, but it never does. It continues to build, and I grow wetter between my legs and move restlessly.
I’m never at a lack for words. But for once, I don’t know how to articulate what I want. I just desperately need to assuage this growing desire. It’s growing inside me, trying to find a way out with every touch of Livingston’s.
Then his hands slip from my breast. His fingers hook around the hem of my nightgown and drag the material up my legs. A shiver rocks through me as my bare legs are exposed. My breath catches in my throat when his palms drift down, and his fingers trailing behind, making goose bumps appears on my skin.
When he doesn’t come into contact with the material of my undergarments, he pulls back, a questioning look in his gaze.
“I refuse to have anythin’ diggin’ against my flesh when I sleep,” I say with defiance.
He stares down at me with a glazed look in his eye. “T’es la mienne. Mon beau sauvage.”
I’ve never been looked at and held in such a way, but Livingston is making me want to. Again, again, and again. With my hands curled around the lapels of his collar, I pull him down to me and kiss him.
His hands wrap around my waist, and his palms boldly cup my buttocks. He presses me flush against him, and while his tongue slides into my mouth, I feel his cock press against me. Over and over, he repeats the act until I move with him.
He rips himself away, his chest rapidly moving up and down. He looks like a man on the brink of losing all control. “More?”
Breathless, I nod. Livingston looms over me with one palm on the mattress, next to my shoulder, and the other hand curled possessively around my knee. His eyes slowly rove my body.
He slowly slides a finger inside me. My fingers grasp the material of his shirt so tightly it wraps around my knuckles. I gasp and lift my hips.
Pressure fills me, but it isn’t unpleasant. Far from it.
His strokes are slow, almost teasing. Gradually, they become faster, and the tension grows. And as the heat builds in me, I move against his hand. A second finger sweeps against my curls and parts my lips. I’m so sensitive that I grip his shoulders, and I’m certain I’ll leave marks.
“You’re so wet, Raina.”
His bold words send a shot of pleasure through me. I hold him tighter.
“Please,” I whisper.
This is Livingston’s area of expertise. I have no control, and we both know it. I have to follow and trust him the entire time.
His fingers are proficient and fast as he leans down to whisper into my ear. “Allez-vous crier mon nom quand vous viendrez?”
The sultry sound of his words mixes with the feel of his fingers, and all the heat and tension that’s been building inside me becomes unbearable. My heels dig into the bed, and my back arches.
Before I cry out, I have enough sense to crash my lips against Livingston’s as I spasm around his finger. I feel nothing but molten heat rush throughout me. It’s slow-moving, but it finds a way to reach every limb until I feel paralyzed. He swallows my screams and swallows his name as his fingers continue to expertly move in and out of me.
My feet drop heavily to the bed like weights, but my body continues to shudder. Gradually, the shudders abate, and I feel Livingston’s finger slip out of me. The warmth of his body moves off me. I’m in such a daze and so coated with sweat I don’t argue. He lays right beside me, his arm touching mine.
“My God,” he pants.
Staring up at the ceiling, I can only nod. I’m not entirely certain what just happened, but similar to the first kiss Livingston gave me, I want it to happen again. My body feels pliant and relaxed. I couldn’t move even if there was a fire.
For several minutes, the two of us lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to gather our breaths. I roll to my side, my nightgown still in disarray. Even though the tremors have subsided, my heart won’t stop its furious pounding. I feel lightheaded and disoriented and don’t try to fight the smile pulling at my lips as I look at Livingston.
I don’t tell him to leave, or that this was a mistake and he should never come here again. Rather, I place a hand on his chest, lean in, and reveal what’s in my heart. “Come back tomorrow night.”
Livingston rears back an inch, and his eyes widen. He sits up, resting his weight on his elbows. There’s a pregnant silence between us before Livingston replies, his voice gruff. “Excuse me?”
“Come back tomorrow night,” I whisper.
The weight of my words settle around the two of us. Livingston doesn’t answer for several seconds, and when he does, there’s a lot of guffawing on his part. “I think you’ve gone delirious!” he says on a laugh.
“Yet you’re the one who sneaked into my room,” I point out.
Livingston knows I’m right. The laughter stops. “And we shall do what?”
“I propose we do precisely what we were doin’ five minutes ago before you stopped.” My heart pounds. I can feel Livingston’s eyes on me. I haven’t been this nervous in quite some time and begin to drag my fingers along the collar of his shirt. “Our time in the dark will never be spoken of in daylight.”
“Of course not,” he murmurs.
I keep speaking because it’s far easier than thinking of him saying no. “Our time will also be good practice for me and—”
“Practice?” Livingston sits up, causing my hands to fall away from his shirt.
I sit beside him. “Yes, practice. For when I’m married. The day we kissed at Belgrave, you were quite confident in your skills to seduce a woman. Surely, you can continue to teach more to me.”
That’s not entirely true. There’s an imbalance starting to bloom between Livingston and me. I want to learn more. Understand what he likes and doesn’t.
“When it comes to seduction, I’m more than confident,” he replies, insulted I would question his capabilities. “In fact, I’ve never been more sure of anythin’ in my entire life.”
“Right,” I continue before shooting him a dubious look. “And tonight seemed … enjoyable for the both of us, so why not continue?”
Livingston has never been so quiet. Has he gone deaf? Maybe he thinks I’m jesting because he continues to stare at me as though I’ll say, at any moment, “I had you for a moment!”
“Livingston?” I gently prod.
Turning away, he shakes his head slowly. “I’m thinkin’, I’m thinkin’. I never expected you to make a proposition such as this.”
“But now I have.” As the seconds tick by, I feel myself becoming vulnerable. Why did I ask him if we could continue?