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.