Page 15 of Pride: The Rogue (Seven Deadly Sins #3)

P anting, his heart pounding, Latimer climbed between Livian’s supple thighs, the only place he needed to be.

Fuck, he’d never felt like this.

Hell, it’d never been like this—mad, hallucinatory sex. Not with any of the wild, inventive bed partners he’d slaked his lust with and brought to climax. Something about Livian Lovelace, however, scorched him inside, so he could think of nothing but her.

He positioned himself at the entrance of her cunny. Beads of sweat trickled from his brow and landed on Livian’s high, plump breasts, and her satiny flesh bore a like glimmering sheen.

He continued to tweak and tug her nipples in a way he’d quickly learned she loved.

She moaned low in her throat, purring like a hungry kitten, and rolled her hips in an intrinsic invitation.

The artless way in which she revealed—and reveled in—her desire, caused his ballocks to tighten painfully it was all Latimer could to do keep from coming like a green lad with his first whore.

Latimer gritted his teeth and threaded his fingers through her soaked curls.

He continued teasing her and working her, drawing her closer to that peak of wonder.

His breathing grew shallower; the need to bury himself deep inside this woman and lose himself completely, warred with sickening dread at this disinhibition he’d never before suffered.

All the while his mind was in riot. He’d always taken care to see his lovers pleasured, but when had he ever put their needs and longings in front of his own? What was so special about her ?

He gritted his teeth.

After you fuck her, then, it’ll end.

It was merely the thrill of initiating this sweet, supple virgin to the wonders of lovemaking that made him want as he never had before. To be the first to not only initiate Livian to the wonders of sex but to show her and teach her was its own special kind of aphrodisiac.

Unbridled lust and virginal bewilderment, glazed Livian’s all-too-trusting eyes.

“ Lachlan ,” she supplicated. “I need…I don’t know what I need.”

“But I do, darlin’,” he promised, his breaths shallow. “And I’m going to give it to you, so you know, so that way there’s no wondering when you feel this hot urge again exactly what it is you need.”

Latimer spoke that as an audible reminder that she was just any other bed partner and a woman he had no claim to.

Except, the thought of Livian, years from now after she’d birthed some fancy lord a handful of babes, taking lovers and having her needs met by those rakes and rogues, likely patrons at Latimer’s club, didn’t help.

Nor did the hurt that filled her doe-like eyes.

Rage blackened his vision, leaving him momentarily blind.

He gave his head a hard, clearing shake.

With a shaking hand, he took his cock in hand and guided it gently into her opening.

“I need to be inside you, darlin’,” he panted, humbled by that truth and entreaty but too hot to care. “Tell me you want that.” As much as me…

Please.

“Yes,” she said, raggedly. “I want it more than anything.”

Impossible, love.

He slid himself inch by agonizing inch, stretching her until, at last, he’d fully seated himself.

It took the will of Zeus, but somehow, Latimer kept himself from the crazed hungering to fuck her senseless.

Sweat slicked his brow.

Having had a taste of Livian and her innocence, Latimer discovered the temptation that’d leave a man to betray his friends, partners, business goals and aspirations.

“Does it hurt, love?” he asked, his voice as graveled as broken glass.

“N-No.” Livian’s lashes fluttered; the captivating blue pools of her eyes reflected back his own savage desire. “It feels…so good.” Her expression grew shy. “ You feel so good inside me.”

Christ. She was going to kill him.

Then, he began to move. To allow her to adjust to the size and feel of him, Latimer went slowly, at first. But with every deep, languid glide, the tension melted from Livian’s slender, lithesome body.

Folding her arms about him, she held tight. With ever downward thrust of Latimer’s hips, she lifted hers in eager welcome.

“You feel so good, love,” he panted.

Keeping his weight resting on his elbows, he slowly drove himself into Livian’s welcoming entrance, taking it slow—taking her slow.

With Livian’s eyes closed, her brow scrunched up, and ragged breaths sputtering from her damp, crimson lips made fuller by his mouth, she looked adorably engrossed in the pleasure she found.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Her long, golden eyelashes fluttered and lifted.

“I want you to watch me as I make—” love to you. He recoiled inside. Where the hell had that come from? “You come. I want to see the exact moment I touch you so high and deep, you reach your climax.”

Latimer found his own hungering reflected back in Livian’s glazed eyes.

She gave a juddering nod.

As one, they began to again move together, their bodies in synchronic harmony, found the rhythm as old as time.

Her channel gripped his cock, tighter than any leather glove he’d had on his fingers. Her cunny pulsed around him.

She’s so close.

I’m so close.

Gripping Livian’s hips hard, he pushed himself deep within, giving her as much as she could take, and then withdrawing.

Mindless, he rocked himself inside the only place he wanted to be, over and over, and Livian, clever Aphrodite that she was, not only learned but mastered the movements to meet Latimer passion for passion.

His balls drew up so tight, he gritted his teeth.

All the while, Latimer pumped himself inside of her, he kept his gaze fixed on Livian’s flushed face. Her creamy, flawless cheeks glistened with the natural sheen of her body’s exertions.

The soft way her lashes rested upon her cheeks gave her the look of Sleeping Beauty, but juxtaposed against tensed, strained, fragile features bespoke a woman so very close to climaxing.

His pulse throbbed within her channel. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself deeper, and she took all of him, not only without complaint but with a keening moan of encouragement.

Livian’s lashes fluttered, and her passion-glazed eyes met his. “Lachlan,” she begged.

“I know what you want, sweetheart,” he promised, increasing the length and speed of his strokes. “And I’ll give it to you, but first, I’m going to make you wait.”

She whimpered. “ Nooo . I c-cannot bear this.”

Her sexy plea drove him mad with lust.

To keep from coming he reminded himself he was the first to enter her body and show her pleasure, and he’d be bloody damned if he didn’t make her come first before he found release.

Never mind whether he’d finished ahead of his partner, had never mattered to him before. This was different. A virgin was different.

Livian is different.

His mind balked and shied away from that devil’s taunt.

Her gyrations grew erratic, and his fear fled. Their bodies both took on a frenzied, out-of-control rhythm as they let lust drive them.

Her tight sheath squeezed him tight.

Latimer groaned. “You’re magnificent, love.”

Incoherent with need, she keened his name. “Lachlan.”

Oh, hell.

Latimer gnashed his teeth. “You feel so good, Livian.” He’d never felt anything like being buried inside this woman.

Lust. It’s only lust.

Livian’s slim, graceful body grew more tense.

Her eyes went wide; her gaze grew inward.

“L-Lachlan?” she panted, her voice pitchy with confusion.

“Aww, my darlin’ is afraid,” he cooed. “Don’t be. It’s going to be even better than when you humped my leg.”

Livian gasped. Her cunny convulsed around his cock.

He hid a smug smile. She loved when he talked dirty to her.

His arrogance proved as fleeting as his rapidly shredding self-control.

Growling, Latimer didn’t let up. “Come for me, love,” he coaxed, driving inside her.

His breathing grew raspy, guttural. He couldn’t last much longer. She tested him as he’d never been tested.

And knowing her as forbiddingly well as he did, he knew just what to do and say to send her over.

He took Livian’s mouth in a deep kiss.

She moaned and tangled her tongue with his.

“I want to feel you pulse around my cock, Livian,” he enticed between each kiss. “I want you to scream my name while you come.”

Livian’s movements grew jerkier.

She’s close.

Latimer bit the silky lobe of her left ear. “Be a good girl, now,” he rasped, “and do that for m—”

Livian stiffened.

“Lachlan,” she screamed, arching wildly, taking his length deep inside her as she came.

Unrelenting, Latimer filled her body with deeper, harder strokes while she cried and wept and pleaded, and then even as she collapsed in sated surrender under him, he continued driving himself higher and higher towards a climax.

“You. Are. So. Fucking. Perfect,” he rasped; lust left his speech punctured.

She stared up at Lachlan with luminescent eyes, glimmering with an emotion that would’ve scared the everlasting hell out of him had he been capable of anything other than the feel of her.

Then, he couldn’t take any more.

His body stiffened, and at the last possible moment, he managed to pull out.

Thundering his release to the rafters, Lachlan came in large, spurting arcs over the flat, creamy expanse of her belly.

With a guttural groan, he collapsed above Livian, catching himself by his elbows.

He lay with her sweet body framed under him.

His ears buzzing and vision spotted from the force of his climax, Lachlan struggled in vain to get himself to rights.

He’d made love to her. There’d been nothing like it—like her.

Reality whispered forward. Tensing, Lachlan rolled off of Livian’s sweet body, and drew her against his chest so he couldn’t see her. He didn’t need to see her.

Now, he could purge himself of this untenable fascination with Livian Lovelace.

That was the last thought he had, before he drifted off to a deep, black, dreamless sleep.

Six hours later

The George Inn

The following morning, with the sun not even a hint near to touching the horizon, Latimer went about finishing up his ablutions.

In a reversal of roles from yesterday, when Livian sneaked off and left him without a word, he now prepared to do the same.

Buried under the blankets the way Livian was, Latimer couldn’t make out a hint of the spirited beauty—who’d for a brief time, bewitched him—sleeping there.

He’d bedded any number of beautiful women, and left, without so much as a backward glance.

After he’d spent the night making love to Livian, he’d had a warm bath summoned. Now, while she lay sated, he let himself recall all the wicked things they’d done together in that same small wooden tub. In that bed. Against the wall.

He’d never bedded a virgin. Ladies didn’t fuck men like Lachlan Latimer. Women raised on the streets either had that scrap of flesh so valued by the peerage stolen when they were girls or sold it for food to eat or a temporary place to call home .

Tossing aside the rag he’d used to rinse himself, he finished washing with the remaining buckets of water that’d since gone cold. Leaning over one, he splashed that chilled water at his face.

A familiar bleating snore split the quiet. That shuddery, exhausted exhalation harkened back to his first—and volatile—meeting with Livian Lovelace.

Lachlan’s lips curled into a wistful smile, and he stared at the spot where she slept like the dead before he caught himself.

His grin vanished.

Bloody hell, since when had he become the muddled sort?

It’d merely been this stolen interlude where the world, his responsibilities, and impending marriage had faded away.

The eventuality of his marrying Argyll’s mercenary stepmother, and being tied to that duchess, repulsed him—but as it was, the Duchess of Argyll was a necessary evil.

With that reminder, Latimer searched around for something to write with.

His gaze landed on that book Livian had clutched protectively close in the taproom. Heading over to the leather volume, Latimer hesitated.

Another soft snore filled the room.

He stole a look at the lady’s sleeping figure to confirm she still slept and returned his attention to her book.

It wasn’t that he was snooping. Curious, maybe? But that didn’t account for the reason he found himself opening the old, leather-worn copy to the page where Livian eft a pencil as a placeholder.

A Red, Red, Rose

By Robert Burns

“O my Luve is like a red, red rose

That’s newly sprung in June;

O my Luve is like the melody

That’s sweetly played in tune.”

He skimmed the rest of that poem, written in the small, but flourishing, scrawl of Livian’s hand.

“And fare thee weel, my only luve!

And fare thee weel awhile!

And I will come again, my luve,

Though it were ten thousand mile.”

A pit formed in his gut.

Latimer immediately slammed the book shut.

Thwack.

He glanced back.

Livian, however, continued sleeping.

With a rapidly increasing ill-sensation, Latimer made himself open the book again.

“…If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench…”

Anne Bradstreet

Latimer thumbed through the rest. As he did, that sick sensation in his stomach grew.

“Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,

Our love shall live, and later life renew…”

~Edmund Spenser

This time, when he shut the journal, he did so with a quiet, faint indecipherable click.

It was an accumulation: some poems and romantic sonnets, in their entirety. Single quotes or verses. Some original thoughts. Ones Livian recorded, because…

She is a hopeless romantic.

Sweat slicked his palm.

As if you hadn’t known that from the very start, Latimer castigated himself.

Aye, he needed to get the hell out of here.

Shite, he needed to have gotten the hell out of here, a day ago.

He stilled, registering footfalls outside before they even stopped outside his—Livian’s—room.

His company had arrived even sooner than expected. Given the hefty price Latimer paid a villager in the taproom and the man he’d fetched on Latimer’s behalf, it shouldn’t come as any surprise.

Though, if Latimer were being honest with himself, it felt a whole lot more like disappointment.

Unnerved, Latimer drew the door open to reveal Darren, one of six guards who’d followed Latimer when he’d left Forbidden Pleasures.

Neither man spoke until Latimer slipped out of the door. Before he did, Latimer, with a possessiveness he’d never experienced before, carefully drew the panel closed enough that the guard couldn’t see Livian sleeping.

“Problem?” Darren’s harsh, gravelly cockney possessed the quiet only a man who’d survived the Dials could manage.

Aye. “Of a sort.” Just not in the way the other man meant.

“The woman in there,” he explained, soto voce. “Her name is Livian Lovelace.” His muscles knotted. Why did it feel like a betrayal to reveal her identity, to one of his most loyal men? “I want you on her until she arrives safely at her destination. Keep your distance. She’s not to be harmed.”

Darren didn’t need to know anything more than that.

“Aye, sir.”

The guard also knew better than to ask questions.

After giving Darren a few more directives, Latimer returned to Livian’s chambers and closed the door behind him.

Though some five inches shorter than Latimer, Latimer witnessed enough of the brawny man’s skill with knife and gun to know he could cut down a man two feet taller and twenty stone bigger. As long as Darren was tasked with watching after Livian, no harm would befall her.

So what accounted for this impotent fury at Darren being the one to watch over Livian?

You’re going fucking mad.

Firming his jaw, Latimer, avoided the unsuspecting beauty buried under the covers.

He found a clean page in her book and carefully, quietly rent the sheet.

Latimer hesitated, then grabbed an entirely too small charcoal pencil.

He frowned at the scrap.

Livian needed new pencils. Why the hell hadn’t her sister or brother-in-law or anyone else, for that matter, gotten her new ones?

Annoyed with both the people in Livian’s life and himself for caring either way, Latimer hurriedly wrote.

He read through his words several times.

Where some had trouble saying goodbye or parting ways, Latimer hadn’t ever suffered from that weakness—for the simple fact, there’d never been anyone to say goodbye to.

Strange then, how he found himself suspended there, stealing one last look at Livian’s slumbering form.

Then, Latimer collected his things, quietly exited, and left Livian Lovelace.