Page 121 of Pride: The Rogue
Like the tart Livian was, her mouth watered. She rocked her hips.
“The sight of my cock makes you hungry,” he purred. “Doesn’t it, sweet?”
He seated himself at the piano bench and then caught Livian by the skirts. Gripping her hems, Lachlan edged them up again, slowly, seductively, exposing each swath of skin to the cooler air.
Her lashes grew heavy, and she undulated, begging with her body when she couldn’t get out the words.
Lachlan touched that special place inside her that quickened her desire.
“I want you to ride me, love,” he cajoled. “Ride me like I taught you.”
He was already drawing her astride him and helping ease Livian onto his length. He paused. “Tell me you want this.”
“More than anything,” Livian said thickly. Notanything. His heart; she wanted that more.
The duchess, Livian’s future husband, all of it, be damned. The other woman didn’t even love him. Livian, on the other hand, would love this man until she took her last, living breath.
She’d come into the world with nothing. She’d allow herself this; the one and only man she wanted or ever would.
Livian sank all the way down until Lachlan stretched and filled her to the hilt.
He groaned. “I can’t be slow this time, love,” he whispered, kissing her violently.
Because they were no longer alone, tucked away from the world, hidden at an old inn in Hitchin.
Here, they remained on the fringe of Polite Society and discovery.
What wickedness dwelled within Livian that such a thought should fuel her desire?
Lachlan tipped his hips up and rocked against her.
“Lachlan, please,” she begged, panting.
“Tsk. Tsk,” he scolded. “You know what I like to hear her, darlin’. What do you want? What do we both want?”
“To make love,” she rasped. “Make love to me.”
Chapter 19
Fuck.
The accurate answer had in fact, been fuck.
Latimer didn’t make love. This lady? Livian, she was different in any and every way from any woman he’d ever known and every time he had her in his arms proved unlike any other time before her.
With a hiss, Latimer lifted his hips, and plunged himself up inside her hot, tight, center.
“Lachlan!” she cried.
He gritted his teeth.Bloody hell.Nothing would ever feel as good as being inside this woman.
And it would be unlike this with any woman after her.
The duchess, don’t you mean…A needling devil in Latimer’s voice jeered him with the fate he’d never wanted, and wanted even less now.
He shoved thoughts of his future, of Livian’s future, far from mind, and lived in the moment. Men born in the streets were taught that from the very start. No day was promised.
Breathing heavily, Latimer took Livian’s mouth in a punishing kiss, swallowing her sultry groans.
