“What were you discussin’ with Elijah?” Livingston asks, his voice indifferent.
I’m in the process of moving my rook. I freeze and lift my head. “Hmm?”
“At Belgrave. You were speakin’ with Elijah, no? Or perhaps I’ve mixed up your bachelors?” Livingston keeps his tone neutral, but there’s an intensity in his eyes that’s not typically there. He wants an answer to his question. I want to keep my mind on the chess game.
“Do you see a future with him?” he persists.
I hesitate to answer the question because the future is impossible to predict. “I’m unsure,” I finally reply and make my move, swiftly taking one of his pawns. “Now would you be so kind as to give me your shoe, good sir?”
Looking less than pleased, Livingston does as he says. I catch the boot with one hand and gently place it on the floor. Serves him right for asking me that question.
With a look of pure concentration, Livingston focuses on the chessboard. “What I meant to ask was, do you want a future with him?” he asks several seconds later.
I swallow. “Right at this moment? No.”
Without warning, his rook captures my knight. Livingston wickedly grins. “You’re lookin’ flushed there, darlin’. You can remove your dressin’ gown.”
I look down at my body, and the lack of clothing cover me. “This isn’t fair. I have fewer clothes.”
Livingston shrugs. “Le savauge, I don’t make the rules. Now don’t be a spoilsport. Hand over the gown.”
Muttering words under my breath, I sit up straight and untie the belt. The material at my waist immediately gives.
Livingston’s shit-eating grin briefly fades as he hungrily watches every move I make.
“Happy?” I ask as I wad the silky material into a ball and shove it toward him.
“It’s just a dressin’ gown,” he replies, although gruffly and takes it.
With my fingers steepled in front of me, I think of the fastest, smartest attack to Livingston’s king because I will not lose this game.
An hour later, we remain across from each other. Livingston is without his shirt, and the top button of his pants undone. We came to a compromise for the lack of clothes I had. My nightgown remains on, but every time my pieces are captured, I have to slip free a button. There’s only one button remaining, and all that will be left to remove is the nightgown itself.
I stare at the chessboard and shake my head. I know I’m going to lose, but I hold Livingston responsible. He hasn’t stopped staring. He distracted me, particularly when he removed his shirt. I think my mind went dark for a moment, and I forgot my name.
And now he’s going to win. I can foresee the opportunity, his future checkmate. Sighing with defeat, I briefly close my eyes and tip over my king.
I look at Livingston. He has a predatory glint in his eyes as he waits for my next move.
All that is left is my nightgown. My nerves are about to take over, and I can barely breathe. The only person to ever see me naked is myself when I’m changing for bed. I’ve never revealed myself to another person. But a game is a game, and I lost fair and square.
Taking a deep breath, I push myself onto my knees. As if he’s in a trance, Livingston follows suit. The chessboard remains between us, but he feels so close. I’m aware of every shift his body makes, every hitch in his breath as though they’re mine.
“Nightgown, Raina,” he says.
My thumb hooks beneath the material of one sleeve. I drag it down my arm. Even though my heart is racing the entire time, my eyes remain on Livingston’s. I slip my arm free, feeling the air exposed to my breast. When I move to the next sleeve, my fingers are shaking. The sleeve snags on my elbow. One tug and it’s down and now my upper body is free. My nipples pucker. I shudder as the nightgown falls down my body, leaving a trail of goose bumps.
It lands at my knees.
There’s a pregnant silence in the room. Livingston breathes deep through his nose and flexes his fingers.
I jut my chin out as though it’s common for me to stand before Livingston naked every night. In truth, I think I’m going to be sick.
Livingston remains unmovable. He’s so still, he looks like a statue. The only thing that moves are his eyes. Up and down, they trail across my body, never lingering for long.
“Game over,” I say, breaking the silence.
Livingston’s eyes flash as though this moment is about to be over. “Like hell,” he mutters as he pushes the chessboard onto the floor and lunges for me. I land flat on my back with him on top. He leans into me and gives me an open-mouthed kiss. The seconds that pass by are filled with the sound of rustling as we both hurry to remove the rest of his clothing.
I regard him with wide eyes. His skin is olive everywhere. His cock juts out from his body, and for a moment, I hesitate.
He joins me on the bed. His knee brushes against my outer thigh as he moves above me. Once he’s comfortable, I nearly groan at the feel of his naked body pressed against mine. So warm and solid.
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.