Page 122 of Pride: The Rogue
“God, there’s not a woman like you,” he panted between each kiss.
She moaned into his mouth. “You said all women were the same.”
“Yea, but I hadn’t met you, sweetheart.”
Those truthful words Latimer let slip terrified the everlasting hell out of him. They also sent Livian into a frenzy.
Keening and weeping, she rode him as he’d begged.
Or maybe his words had nothing to do with her body’s wild response.
Aye, that made more sense. As he plunged himself inside her over and over, and his cock ached, his panic eased.
When all was said and done, Latimer had been the one to teach Livian about sex. That was the sole reason for this all-powerful connection between them and his fascination with her.
Unlike DuMond, who’d gone mad for his virginal partner, the knowledge he’d been the first to possess her would not only be good enough for Latimer but also all he needed after she was gone from his life.
They’d part ways, and he’d relish in knowing it’d been he who’d schooled her in bed-sport and how emotions had absolutely nothing to do with coupling. When in the throes of passion, men and women were as base and primordial as untamed beasts.
And a beast was what he was now. His hips lifted of their own volition.
Perspiration built at Latimer’s brow as he gave her more of what she needed.
She whimpered his name.
Groaning, he shoved her bodice down and palmed her breasts. “I want another taste of your big nipples, love,” he panted.
He pushed the silken-soft mounds together and raised them to his lips.
Latimer flicked his tongue back and forth quickly over each pebbled peak until Livian’s speech dissolved.
“Lachlan!” she rasped.
The way she made his name an entreaty sent the temperature of his blood soaring.
The shock of seeing her had hit him with the reminders of all the salacious things they’d done at The St. George.
He didn’t need bloody words. He just needed to be deeper inside her—and now. Then they could be done with one another.
Grunting like the animal, he taught her they were, they moved as one.
Breathing hard, he sank his fingertips sharply into Livian’s buttocks and forced her eyes open. “If you think this feels good, love, wait for what’s the come,” he promised huskily.
“What is t-to—?”
“You, Livian. You are.” Without ever taking his eyes from hers, Latimer gripped Livian’s hips and eased her slowly off his length before guiding her downward the same moment he thrust.
Moaning low and long, Livian let her head fall back.
Latimer molded his fingers into her supple hips and kneaded the flesh as she rode him.
As Livian slid down his length to meet each of his upward thrusts, her breathing grew more ragged.
Their bodies settled into the rhythm as old as time. He jerked his hips up and she sank onto his length, taking him deeper and deeper. Over and over again.
With their arms wrapped about one another, Latimer and Livian strained to get closer.
Their sweat-slicked bodies came together in an unholy frenzy.
