King of the South

by Calia Read

  “No, I wasn’t tryin’ to keep you out. If I remember correctly, you asked to see me.” I hold my hands out in front me, a gesture that says, “Here I am.”

  Livingston is undaunted by my words. I can feel his eyes sweeping down my body. He leans forward, and the light on one side of his face reveals his dimple and that devilish smirk that promises so much. “Here you are indeed,” he murmurs.

  Don’t utter a word. You are fine. This is only Livingston. Mere minutes ago, you were boldly imagining all the things you wanted to do to him! Be bold!

  “I trust your room is within your likin’?” he asks.

  Like a nitwit, I simply nod. But I don’t have to feel too bad, because Livingston nods back, and we stand there, resembling two ventriloquist puppets, with our every move being controlled by some unseen force that we can’t explain.

  When I don’t say a word, Livingston begins to speak.

  “I realize why I don’t care for travelin’. Want to know why?” He doesn’t wait for my reply. “Fine. I’ll tell you. Limited supply of the liquor. And it doesn’t matter how charmin’ you are or how well you know the owners. Hell, I’m related to the owner, and she still won’t relent and give me the key to the liquor cabinet.”

  I inch away from the door and wait for him to continue.

  “Naturally, I offered to square accounts with Nat for any liquor used. She told me to shove off and informed me her mother-in-law had the key to the cabinet.” He finally takes a deep breath long enough to shudder. “There’s not enough charm in the world for that insufferable woman.”

  In spite of myself, I grin. “Sorry to disappoint you, but there is no liquor in my room,” I say.

  From where I stand, there’s nowhere but the small stool in front of the vanity. As discreetly as possible, I sit down as though it’s the most desired seat in the room. I tighten the belt on my robe three time before I look in Livingston’s direction. He’s still regarding me with eyes half-mast. Goose bumps break out across my skin, and my nipples poke through my nightgown.

  He leans back in the chair. In the shadows, I watch him link his fingers behind his head. “What did you make of the staff?”

  The question is abrupt but shouldn’t be unexpected. Livingston and I can be speaking about one thing, and in the next breath, we’ve moved on to an entirely different matter. “That’s no staff. That’s an army.”

  Livingston crosses his legs at the ankle and tilts his head. “I wonder … would they go to battle with other staff?”

  Perching my chin on my hand, I ponder his question. My imagination runs at full speed, and I let it. When an idea takes shape, I lean forward and smile mischievously. “Absolutely. All because a beloved gravy boat has been stolen.”

  “But of course,” Livingston replies without missing a beat. “The Brignac servants have secretly been in conflict with another household for years. With the … with the Hiscock servants.” He gives me a wink. I roll my eyes. He can’t help himself with that last name. “They are consistently attemptin’ to supersede one another in dinner parties.”

  “Dinner parties,” I repeat.

  Livingston holds a hand up. “You’re cynical but have some faith and keep listenin’. All right?”

  I nod.

  “Dinner parties in Savannah are the same as they are in Charleston. For years and years, the Claiborne family has been known for their lavish parties, but the Hiscock family rose in the ranks, as if from nowhere and usurp them. Everybody begins to look forward to holdin’ an invitation with the Hiscock family crest stamped on the back.”

  “How long does this rivalry continue?”

  Livingston stands from his chair and sits on the Victorian bench at the foot of the bed. His elbows rests on his knees, and his hands dangle between his spread legs. His hazel eyes are intent and focused on the story at hand. “Years,” he replies after a moment of thought. “Until the head butler of the Hiscock family decides to come forward and confesses that he saw another servant once use a gravy boat he believed to belong to the Claiborne family.”

  I gasp. “Do you think Claiborne knew about this gravy boat betrayal the whole time?”

  “You think otherwise?”

  With my eyes wide and shining, I lean forward, causing my hair to cascade around my shoulders and into my lap. “I don’t know. The Hiscock family could have placed it there. It’s families with old money you have to be careful around.”

  “You’re directly implicatin’ your family. Well … what could have been your family.”

  I shrug and give him a sly smile. “I’m sorry, but I believe in the right to expel gas.”

  As of late, our conversations have centered around the bachelors, looking through my family’s ledgers, and now, consoling Nat as best as possible through her grief. This unexpected moment of humor and entertainment is well needed. Even something as trivial as a fictional who stole the gravy boat at the dinner party story.

  However, now that our fictional adventure is over. The two of us look at one another and at how close we are to each other. I feel his gaze settle on my hair draped over my shoulder and then on my chest. In my excitement to hear the rest of his story, I abandoned modesty, and now my robe is gaping open, revealing what little cleavage I have. Doesn’t appear to deter Livingston. His eyes are fire. His gaze is hungry. I clutch the edges of my robe to cover my chest, but it’s too late.

  I look at Livingston from beneath my lashes right as he perches himself on the edge of the bench. Our knees are inches apart. If he lunged forward, he could reach my lips with ease.

  I’ve developed a taste for him, and now I want more. I want all of him, and that doesn’t even feel like it’d be enough. Abruptly, I stand. He follows my lead.

  Even though our bodies don’t touch, I can feel the heat emanating from him. “Rainey, I can’t leave,” he whispers gruffly as though it pains him to make that admission.

  My breathing slows, and I fight the urge to draw near to him.

  His head slowly shakes from side to side. Those hazel eyes flicker between my lips and eyes as he slowly dips his head. “I can’t.”

  I’m positive he didn’t come to my room for this or to tell a peculiar tale. Livingston was merely doing what we’ve always done for as long as I can remember when we’re hurting or have something to hide. He’s leading his mind astray from the memories, but he will find a way back to the pain. The war continues to haunt him, and it probably always will.

  He steps closer, and I let him. My palms land on the vanity behind me. I tilt my head back as he hovers above me. “I wasn’t going to ask you to leave.”

  His gaze drifts from my eyes to my lips, over and over until I inadvertently lick my lips. Groaning, Livingston dips his head. My mouth meets his halfway. His hands remain at his sides. My hands remain on the vanity, but slowly, as he coaxes my mouth open with his tongue, my fingers curl around the material of his shirt, and I pull him closer.

  I feel his lips curl into a grin as his knees knock against the stool. My feet slightly lift from the ground.

  Livingston walks us to the bed. Only this time, he sits down first with me on top of him. I love this position and everything it brings. I love how Livingston gathers me in his arms, clutching at my clothes. He’s fraught with desire and desperate to reach my skin. The frenzy from our kiss reaches our bodies until I’m feverishly moving against his cock.

  Livingston pulls our bodies farther onto the bed. I protest at the absence of his lower body, but I gather some of my senses. He places me back on him while he lies in the middle of the bed, and I keep in mind what I want to do.

  Do it. Be bold.

  Excited at the possibilities, I lean down and kiss the side of his neck and smell the scent of him.

  “I have one burnin’ question to ask you,” I say against his skin.

  “Yes?”

  “If I am the ward and you’re my guardian, then why do you always speak with me?”

  “Because I have to know what you’re d
oin’.”

  “No, that’s not what I was implyin’, Livingston.” I push back and look down. The material of my robe and nightgown became a twisted mess as we traveled up the bed. One shoulder is exposed. “You speak with me, and only me, when you need me.”

  With the truth laid bare, Livingston’s shoulders straighten. And for the barest of seconds, his eyes fill with something close to fear. He grins at me and attempts to bring my face down to his. I evade at the last second. “Please, enlighten me. Name one time.”

  “You’ve needed me every year of your life.” My voice is casual and light. I toy with the buttons of his vest and undo them as though they’re my own clothing. Livingston lets me. “Of course, you never realized. Kings never do.”

  His brows furrow in deep concentration. I’m inching close to the truth, and we both know it.

  His hands grip my bottom. My legs spread farther, and he presses me against his cock. Closing my eyes, I moan.

  What would he do if I took control? I think of every time I’ve touched him, and his response.

  With me, you do what you want.

  With my mind made up, I press my palms against his chest. A questioning gaze meets mine as his hands fall to his side. That half-smirk appears as he waits for what I’ll do next.

  My heart races because I’m not entirely sure where to start or what I’m doing. But I love this position of power. I know very few women who can say they’ve had the opportunity to take charge of Livingston Lacroix. He never stays with one long enough.

  That will not happen with me. “Take off your shirt,” I demand.

  Both brows lift, but Livingston obliges. And while I straddle him with my nightgown hiked to my thighs, I watch him take off his clothes. His fingers move fast down his shirt, and when I see all that bare olive skin, my blood tingles in anticipation. Livingston sits up—his face is momentarily close to mine—to slide his hands out of his sleeves. Muscles bunch and flex as he throws the shirt to the ground and lies back on the bed. I stop myself from touching him.

  “Your turn,” he says.

  My eyes reluctantly look away from his body and meet his hot gaze. “Not yet.”

  I untie my robe. Livingston’s eyes are hungry at the chance to see exposed skin that he doesn’t notice my belt gliding out of the loops around my waist.

  It’s only when I’m holding the silk in my hands that he arches a brow at me. I return the gesture and lean down. “Trust me?”

  If he was a smart man, he would say no because I don’t even trust myself around him. With Livingston, I feel as though I can do anything, and that’s a dangerous emotion.

  One corner of his mouth lifts. “Who else would I trust?”

  “Then hold your arms above your head.” He obeys my request, giving a short laugh filled with confusion and uncertainty. He tries to lift his head and look at what I’m doing, but can’t.

  I’m in the process of tying his hands together and lift my eyes to his. “Trust me, right?”

  His head slowly lowers to the pillow, and his eyes become half-mast. My stomach dips at the sight of those light eyes. “Continue.”

  I do just that. My heart pounds so hard and fast it feels as though my chest is rattling, but I manage to tie him with impressive knots. He won’t be getting away anytime soon.

  “Fool,” I whisper against his lips. With my palms against his bare chest, I lift my upper body and stare down at him.

  Livingston appears nonplussed. He’s in bed with a woman. This is his natural habitat. Besides, he thinks he’ll be able to slip free. “You truly believe you’ve tied me up?”

  “You truly believe I didn’t?” My eyes veer to the knots around his wrists. “Go ahead. Pull.”

  The tug is light, but when he realizes the knot isn’t going to budge, Livingston pulls harder against the bonds, this time with both hands.

  He tilts his head back, the veins in his neck straining against his skin as he tries to look at my handiwork. The whole time, he moves his wrists left and right. He can move them every way he pleases, but he isn’t going anywhere. I smile down at him.

  As though he can sense my satisfaction, his gaze zeroes in on me. “Untie me. Now.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot do that. Of course, a lady would. But as you’ve said before, I’m no lady.”

  His eyes gleam with the promise of revenge, but also desire. He wants to be furious, but he’s also incredibly aroused.

  My fingers move to the top button of my nightgown. Livingston watches the action with a hungry expression as it comes free.

  “This is not the first time you’ve intruded into my room,” I say.

  “Not true,” he replies, sounding winded. “This is a guest room.”

  “Still my private quarters,” I point out and let another button free. “Even if it’s for a short time. Nonetheless, you’re quite the teacher, and I’ve learned a great deal from you.”

  Again and again, Livingston’s eyes bounce between my face and my hands. Never lingering in one place for long.

  “When the king of seduction is also your instructor on all things sensual, how do you repay him?”

  Livingston’s face is cautious, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

  “You let him free?” he croaks, watching the third button slip free. My hands brush against my breasts that are beginning to feel heavy.

  “You show him what you’ve learned.”

  Groaning, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the mattress. I smirk.

  When the last button is free the material parts, exposing most of my breasts but still covering my nipples. A muscle along his jaw jumps as he watches me, and then his mouth parts. I feel emboldened by his reaction and him being tied. I can go as slow as I please.

  Reaching up, I cup my breasts. My eyes stay fixed on Livingston’s as I pluck my nipples. My back arches from my own actions.

  “Raina,” he groans.

  Very few people call me by my Christian name. Even fewer say it in such a throaty whisper. My core becomes wet, and my skin burns. Keeping him tied up is just as much torture for me as it is for him. My nightgown gapes open as I lean down and kiss Livingston. His head lifts from the bed. He attempts to take control with nibbles and sucks and bites, but I evade each time. His arms jerk against the silk, veins taut against his damp skin. He tries time and time again until there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his body.

  With my hands on his biceps, I begin to kiss my way down his body. The tips of my breasts brush against his stomach, and when I reach the buttons of his pants, I move between his legs.

  Breathing through his nose, he watches me. Leaning in, I begin to unbutton his pants. Every button of his that comes loose makes him shake.

  I can see the outline of him through his pants, but when his cock springs free, it’s still a surprise to see how hard and ready he is.

  My hand moves up and down his cock several times before I lower my head. And with my eyes on his, I wrap my lips around the crown of him, keeping a small grip around the base.

  Curse words slip from his mouth as I go deeper, using my tongue to explore the smooth, long length of him.

  I lift my gaze to his and see that with every rapid breath he takes, his abs contract.

  With every suck and pull I make, Livingston’s hips impatiently buck, and when I try to take all of him in my mouth, he nearly roars.

  The sound shoots a delicious heat through my body.

  “Fuck,” he bites out. I go deeper, and he chokes on my name and tries again. “Raina, I swear I’ll come in your mouth.”

  I pull my lips away and see the way his body is shaking. He’s past the point of losing all control, and I want him to.

  I rub him against me before I slowly lower myself onto him. My eyes fall shut, but I hear the harsh groan from Livingston. He stretches and fills every part of me, and I can barely take a breath. But the longer he’s in me, the more my body adjusts to him. The pain isn’t near as bad as it was the first time. There’s p
ressure but only from the size of him. No, it feels … good.

  Placing my hands briefly on his stomach, I weakly open my eyes, and I see Livingston staring at me with his chest rapidly rising and falling.

  With my legs remaining on the mattress, I raise my hips an inch. The action causes him to push farther inside me. As delicious heat spreads through my bloodstream, Livingston hisses in a sharp breath. That wasn’t a hiss of pain, but pleasure. Of that, I’m sure.

  Leisurely, I lift my hips again. The friction the move created was nearly unbearable, but I couldn’t stop. I don’t think anything could stop me. Not even the ache in my legs or the sweat that’s causing my nightgown to cling to my skin.

  Breathlessly, I grab the material and pull it up and over my head.

  Livingston groans. “Christ.”

  Feeling bold and confident, I resume riding him. Tingles spread throughout me as I slide up and down. The way he fills me is just right. Even our bodies align perfectly. I move faster, eagerly chasing for that perfect, blissful moment where I slide down, and he fills me.

  My eyes open, and meet Livingston’s gaze. A muscle along his jaw jumps as though I’ve struck him. I move down his length once more, and I see the twitch in his body, and his arms jerk.

  “I don’t need you,” he grunts.

  I stop moving and place my palms on his chest. My fingers splay across his warm skin and travel down the length of his arms. His body shakes beneath me. “Oh, Livingston. Of course you do.” I bend lower to whisper in his ear. “You can’t function without me.”

  With ease, I pull on the ties, and he’s free. In a flash, he sits up. Our positions change, and his hands wrap around my waist. His kiss is assertive and demanding. Everything he couldn’t do while tied up, he gives with his hands and lips.

  I wrap my legs around his waist, and when he thrusts into me, so fast and deep, my hands grip his back.

  There’s no teasing strokes or pauses for kisses. Livingston has no semblance of control. He’s like a wild animal that’s been set free.

  With his hands on my hips, he moves faster, his body relentless. Just when I think he’s going to end all the prolonged anticipation I’ve built for the two of us, he pulls back.