Page 77 of Pride: The Rogue
Like a hunter, he stalked Livian, his prey.
The hard, unflinching gaze he had trained on her didn’t elicit the fear she knew he intended to rouse.
No, shamefully, wickedly, wantonly, the heat of his feral gaze melted her inside.
She found herself reflexively backing away not out of fear, but from the power of her craving for him.
Her back collided with her sister’s carriage and ended her retreat.
Still, Lachlan continued his slow march forward.
The punishing turn of his lips said all too clearly just how much he enjoyed himself.
Lachlan Latimer, fiercely primal, wasn’t a man to be teased. Oh, he might have revealed a gentlemanly side, but a savage beast slumbered within him, all the same.
With that, he stopped, so that they were inches apart, but also close enough, she had to crane her head to meet his fierce gaze.
He lowered his lips close to her ear.
Heat poured from his body in slow, undulating waves that rolled through her, and she gave thanks for the carriage at her back that kept her from sagging.
“Do you know what kind of harm could have come to you out here on your own, Livian?” he jeered, singularly unaffected by her.
“I-I could have f-fallen in the mud? Oh, wait. I did that and it turns out I’m quite all right. That is, with the exception of my muddied skirts.”
Livian strove for teasing lightness, but the breathiness of her voice ruined those efforts. Every nerve ending in her heated body remained on high alert of this man and his nearness.
He chuckled. “Oh, it’d involve your gown, darlin’,” he whispered, harshly against her ear. Lachlan moved so quickly, he pulled a gasp from her. “But it’d involve some fellow pinning you like this,” he taunted.
Before she knew what he intended, he drove his body into hers and pressed her against the conveyance.
Instead of repulsion, the forceful way with which he handled Livian caused the most shameful, sharp, ache between her legs to deepen.
She bit her lower lip.
He wasn’t finished goading her.
“He’d grab these same skirts,” he purred. “Just like this.”
Gripping said fabric in his right hand, he unceremoniously yanked the material up.
A cold blast of air hit her bare legs.
Her breath grew ragged.
Livian attempted to swallow but her throat failed at that once rhythmic up and down movement.
“Then, he’d part you this way,” he growled that warning.
Even as he reached for her knee, before he could even demonstrate, Livian moaned low and long and parted her legs for him.
Lachlan froze.
His nostrils flared and his eyes blazed with raw fire giving him the look of an animal.
Then, he brought his mouth down on hers in a punishing kiss.
Moaning, Livian opened herself to him, surrendering in every way.
