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.
With a soft push, I sit up and think of a quick reply. “Please come back. I … I … I need you to get me some warm tea. My throat aches.”
There’s a long pause. I’ve never been one to lounge in my bed unless I was violently ill. “Of course,” my maid replies.
Closing my eyes with relief, I breathe deep, and then I realize what a mess Livingston and I have made and how close we were to being caught. That’s not true. There’s still the matter of getting Livingston out of my room.
“Oh, Lord.” I drag my hands through my hair and then down my face as I try to think of a plan. “Oh, Lord.”
“Livingston,” I whisper-shout. When he doesn’t reply, I gently shake his shoulder. Within seconds, his eyes flash open. He goes from sound asleep to wide-awake just like that and sits up in bed.
He briefly looks around my bedroom, at me, and then back at me. I can see the moment when last night’s events dawn on him by the way his eyes widen ever so slightly.
All I can do is nod, a gesture that says, “Yes, we did that.”
Livingston scratches the back of his neck as his eyes sweep across my body. His gaze lingers a heartbeat longer on my breasts.
“What time is it?” he asks.
“Eight. My maid just knocked on the door.”
“Shit!” he hisses and whips the sheets off.
I follow him and watch as he frantically rummages to find his shoes and shirt. “Why did you let me fall asleep?”
Grabbing my robe, I put it on and hastily tie the belt. “I didn’t plan on this. I accidentally fell asleep myself!”
Finally, Livingston spots his shoes clear across the room. He sits on my vanity chair to put his boots on and stands back up to keep searching for his shirt. I hope he never finds it; a bare-chested Livingston is a sight I could stare at all day.
“How do I get out?” he asks as he continues to hunt for his shirt.
“The same way you got in?”
“Someone could see me outside,” he points out. He spots the shirt halfway hidden beneath my bed.
“The chances are far less likely than someone seein’ you in this house.”
Livingston quickly buttons up his shirt. I don’t tell him that it’s uneven. Everything about him is chaotic, including his disheveled hair and wrinkled pants. He’s still incredibly handsome.