Raisonne Curse (8 page)

He stared at her for so long, she dropped her hands, wished she wasn’t against the tub because she wanted to step back from him. Fiery humiliation burned her skin, and washed away the pulsing need she’d felt. She stepped to the side to go around him.

Pryor flatted his palm on the wall next to her, halting her movements.

She wasn’t trapped. She could go the other way. Duck. There was absolutely nothing about Pryor that made her think he’d push when she didn’t want. But she didn’t move. She only watched him and wondered what was going on behind that closed expression because she got the feeling it was a lot. She stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his in a brief, sweet kiss.

She yelped when she suddenly went airborne. Pryor wrapped her legs around his waist and groaned as he turned and pressed her into the wall. One long, wet and hot kiss later, he was turning, stalking out of the bathroom and headed for the stairs.

She kissed his neck, skimmed her lips over his jaw. “What is this obsession you have with carting me around? I have perfectly good legs.”

He gripped her backside with one hand and ran his other hand under her thigh before he cupped her other butt cheek. “You have fantastic legs. I’m just in a hurry.”

“I can move fast.” She licked that indentation in his cheek, the crease that only showed when he smiled.

“We are most definitely doing that,” he murmured as he set her down halfway up the stairs. He turned, pressing her into the wall again for another kiss that made her toes curl inside her shoes. Pulling back, he looked down, his hand touching her breast. She looked too, watching him rub his thumb over her nipple, which was hard enough to show through the shirt. Her legs started to tremble and she rethought the carrying thing.

As if he knew what she was thinking, the corner of his mouth twitched, then he took her hand and nearly ran the rest of the way up the stairs.

Laughing, she held on and kept up.

Elita stopped in the doorway. “Wow. And I thought that other room was big.”

“Most of the bedrooms up here are big, all but two. But I don’t wanna talk about the house now.” He tugged her toward the queen bed taking up part of one wall. It was covered in a dark red, billowy comforter, the sheets underneath white. He turned her toward him, reached for the hem of her T-shirt. Instead of pulling it off, he only lifted it enough to touch her skin. He ran his fingers over her stomach. “Your hip feels okay? That table hit you pretty hard.”

She nodded, then sucked in a deep breath, licked her lips again and pulled the shirt off herself.

“Damn,” Pryor murmured. “Elita.”

She’d worn one of her prettiest yellow lace bras, one that made her plump breasts push up high together. Warmth spread through her as Pryor stared and ran his fingers over the tops, then underneath the material to stroke over her nipple. He looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She felt that way under the heat of his intense stare.

He groaned her name before kissing her. He tasted so good, smelled so fantastic, and she wanted his naked body against hers so badly she reached for the snap on his shorts. He helped her remove them in between breaks for more kisses. Long, deep, drugging kisses that brought the trembling back. Elita let go of him long enough to remove the rest of her clothes and she crawled onto his bed and held out her hand.

He stood, gaze roving her body as his breath picked up.

She looked at him too. At the smooth muscles, tanned skin, the colorful tattoos…his long, corded legs. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered.

“That word doe
sn’t even come close to describing you.” He climbed onto the bed and hovered over her on his knees and hands before lowering his body next to hers.

She had to close her eyes and just take in the feel of all that sleek skin against her. They flew back open when he stroked his thumb over her nipple again. Though she used to wish for a thinner body, she’d always thought her breasts were kind of pretty. If the look on his face was anything to go by, he thought so too. He ran his hand down her side, over her hip.

“Damn, Elita,” he murmured as he came down to slant his mouth over hers. She opened her mouth wide, stroked her tongue over his. His breath hitched, then he moved his kisses to her jaw and down her neck. He made his way to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth.

Elita grabbed his head and arched her back off the bed. He nuzzled her breasts, gently rubbed his stubble over them and she cried out. It was like a trigger. Their movements grew more frantic. Hands caressing, mouths touching skin everywhere they could reach. He rolled on top of her, slid one thigh between her legs and pressed.

She hooked her leg around his hip and he released another of those sexy, hoarse groans. He opened his mouth over her neck. She dug her nails into his back and couldn’t keep herself from rocking her hips. He was hard. She rocked a bit faster. He ground against her.

“Condom,” he bit out. “I need one. Don’t want to go that far.”

“The quicker you get it, the quicker you can get inside me.”

He rolled off her so fast, she almost laughed. But she couldn’t at that moment because the masculine line of his back drew her. She followed, running her hands over the lean muscles, the taut curves of his ass.

Pryor opened the drawer in his nightstand, pulled off a condom and looked over his shoulder at her as he ripped it open with his teeth. She held out her hand and he turned over, handing the condom to her.

He let go with one of his hands, reached down and slid it between her legs. She opened for him, moaning into his mouth when sure fingers touched her intimately. His fingers were hot and she was so ready for him, she rolled onto her back.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, ghosting his lips over her collarbone. “I like it.”

He’d better because she couldn’t seem to stop. It felt like so much—the two of them in this bed. Like this fire would consume her, consume them both, until they lay like the ash in the room downstairs.

But she didn’t want to stop. No, she wanted to inhale him. She ran her free hand over his shoulder, loving the hard muscles of his chest as she moved both her hands down, down.

He made a hoarse sound in the back of his throat when she slid her fingers over his hard length. Soft, silky skin over pulsing heat. His gaze snapped to hers as she rolled the condom down him. She brushed her lips across his, over and over until he slid his hands into her hair and pulled her tongue into his mouth to suck on it.

She opened her legs, moving her thigh against his and he groaned and rolled on top of her, then pushed slowly inside her.

Elita wrapped her legs around his back, dug her fingers into his shoulders and lifted her hips to meet him. Heat prickled the surface of her skin, made her breath catch and her eyes rolled back as she pulled away from his mouth to suck in air. He buried his mouth in her neck, hot breath against her skin. He opened his mouth, sucking on her skin hard. She cried out and tightened her legs around him.

Pryor was muttering something, his hot breath searing her skin. French and Cajun words she didn’t even try to follow or understand. She picked up some of them—
motier foux
and knew he murmured about being crazy for her as he came up to her mouth again. He whispered
bouche
and
delicieux
before he took her mouth in a kiss that had her seeing stars.

His deep voice whispering words she barely understood, his hot mouth taking her over like he had to kiss her to breathe, his hard body moving inside her…all of it overwhelmed her until every muscle went taut.

“
Oui
,” he muttered, his hips moving faster and harder. He slid his hands under her butt and fitted her even closer to his body, rocking against her steadily.

Her eyes flew open, her gaze locking to his, right before her mouth fell open in a cry that felt torn from her lungs. She clutched Pryor to her, not stopping the movements of their lower bodies together, feeling the clenching muscles in his waist as she gripped him hard. Waves of pleasure washed over.

His hoarse cry of release sent his hot breath over her neck again and she shuddered.

He laid on her, heavy and welcome, kissing her throat, her shoulder, before stretching up to kiss her mouth. When he pulled back, his golden brown eyes glittered down at her. “I can’t get enough of your mouth.”

Elita instantly thought of a lot of things she could do to his body with her mouth and heat filled her cheeks.

His grin, that lovely, overly sexy grin of his sent wicked heat zinging through her body—one that should be sated at this point. Unfortunately, she had the feeling she would never get enough of Pryor Bernaux.

Normally, sex wiped him out—especially good sex. But Pryor lay staring at the dance of shadows on the ceiling as he replayed the events of the evening. Good sex didn’t come close to describing what he’d just experienced. He felt alive in a way that was so new, everything felt fresh, exciting. He’d always enjoyed sex, but he understood right then, as he stared at the same ceiling he had looked at his entire life, that what he had just done with Elita was making love. Sex, making love…fucking…it had been everything. He’d never felt the urge to crawl into another person’s skin, to breath the air she let out of her lungs, to taste every inch of her entire body.

And damn, she felt incredible draped over him. She’d felt that way next to him and most definitely under him. He stroked the skin of her side from her plump breast down her waist to her curved hip. He wasn’t sure he’d ever touched softer skin. He turned his nose into her hair. She’d used some fruity shampoo and there was still a faint smell of burned herbs and summer rain, but something underneath was all her and it called to him on an elemental level that made him want to find a way to keep her.

And he couldn’t.

He couldn’t have her in his life. Not without hurting his brothers, possibly having sons who would go through the absolute hell he and his brothers went through.

But he’d never felt that sort of intensity, this desire, with anyone. He wanted her here. In his bed. In his life. He wanted to see her face across his table and wanted to hear every detail of her day. Wanted to see her looking down at their child.

His gut clenched. Hard. Even thinking about it hurt because he was wired for family, for children, and he could never do that to a child. Never have a son knowing what he’d go through even though the need for a family raged inside him at all times.

She is yours.

He wanted to rant and rail at the whisper that came from the walls. This was crazy. Completely insane. He’d just met the woman and none of this made any sort of rational sense.

Yet he couldn’t stop his mind from picturing a different life than the one he’d always expected. A lonely life with an early death.

He put his lips on Elita’s forehead and tightened his arm around her when she sighed and snuggled all those soft curves against him. He wanted her in his life so much. But he didn’t want her hurt and being with him would cause her pain. So very, very much pain. He’d have to let her go.

But until then, he’d enjoy every moment he had with her and hope that the memories would be enough to sustain him the rest of his life. He turned his head, buried his nose in her hair and wished for things he could never have.

Chapter Eight

It sounded like a family of egrets had moved into the trees behind Pryor’s bedroom. Their husky, rumbling conversation made Elita wake with a gasp. She started to lift up, realized she was sprawled on top of Pryor and stared down at him until his eyes slitted open. He greeted her with a sleepy smile, tightened his arm around her and gently pushed her face back into his neck.

His lips on her temple made her close her eyes. Damn, he felt good underneath her, his skin silky and hot, his heart beating against her right breast. He smelled even better. She took a deep breath, loving the way he rubbed his chin in her hair. She lifted enough to meet his gaze, slid her leg between his. The fuzzy hair on his legs felt so good on her skin. She watched as desire rolled over his expression along with the rising sun from through the blinds across the room.

Pryor slid his hands into her hair, cupped the back of her head and pulled her mouth to his. Apparently, he didn’t give a crap about either her morning breath or his because his tongue slipped into her mouth. He kissed her deeply like he was trying to memorize her taste, and she let go of any worries and just sank into the feelings his kiss invoked. She kissed him back just as thoroughly, feeling her lower body go warm and wet as she took in the different aspects of Pryor that stormed her senses. His hot skin against hers, the light rasp of hair on his chest against her breasts…the way he grew hard against the apex of her thighs. When she pulled away, she kept their gazes locked as she opened her legs more, rubbed against the hard muscle of his thigh. She couldn’t stop the moan that tore from her throat.

His answering groan rumbled against her entire body. He tightened the hand on the back of her head and ran his other down her back, slowing at the curve of her spine.

“I love this part of a woman’s body—this smooth dip here—so much.” He continued down, cupped her ass and helped her move against him. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Rub on me.”

She began to pant, dropping her mouth to open her lips over his chest. Tasted the slight saltiness of his skin.

Pryor groaned again, thrust his hips up toward her.

“Condom,” she gasped out, crawling up him to straddle his waist and return to his mouth. “Where were they?” She’d been too out of it to pay attention to which drawer he’d opened in the side table. Her hands stroked over his shoulders, down over his chest, then back up. She ran her fingers through his hair, kissed him harder. Heat raced through her body, making her muscles tighten, making her thighs squeeze him.

“The top drawer,” he bit out through clenched teeth. He pointed toward the bedside table, then put his hands back on her hips. “Condoms in drawer.”

Chuckling at how much he struggled to get that sentence out, Elita crawled off him so she could reach into the drawer. She got it open, grasped a condom and caught her breath when he growled.

She turned to face him, her hair swinging. She lifted an eyebrow.

“You look so fucking hot crawling across my bed.”

She grinned, then squealed when he lurched up to wrap his arms around her waist. He put his mouth on her back and growled again before he kissed up her spine until he reached her neck. He nuzzled her hair aside and opened his mouth over her nape.

She shivered—one of those whole body shivers that ended at the toes she curled into the pile of sheet gathered on the side of the bed. He wrapped around her body, so hot, so sleek and hard with muscle. Her legs started to tremble and his rumbling laughter rolled over skin.

Pryor gently turned her onto her back and settled between her legs. “Shaking?”

“It’s just…” She stared into his eyes. “This is intense, isn’t it?” She rolled her hips, loving the way his breath caught.

He tore the corner off the condom packet, his stare locked with hers as he put the condom on. “It is. Intense.” He slid his hand under her hip. “Wrap those beautiful legs around me, Elita.”

She did what he asked, holding her breath, her mouth falling open as he slid inside her in one smooth, sure push. She didn’t care that she was a little sore from the night before. It still felt so good. Her eyes started to close with pleasure.

“Look at me,” he breathed. “Let me see what you’re feeling.”

It took effort to drag her eyes open as he pulled back and thrust into her again. And again. She tightened her legs, loving the way his breath picked up. The way he stared down at her. She couldn’t stop touching his skin, running her hands over his back, his sides, the taut globes of his ass. Lifting, she offered her mouth and he took it, their kiss hungry and raw. One hot, wet kiss after another kept coming until Elita thought every nerve in her body was on fire. She pulled back, gasped, and he moved down to kiss her jaw, her neck. He opened his mouth over her pulse.

Elita cried out, threaded her fingers in his hair to hold him to her. His hips moved and she lifted her own to meet him, their rhythm flowing together like they’d been doing this for years. It was hard to ignore the voice in her head telling her she’d like to
keep
doing this with him for years. Only him.

She felt this connection between them that snapped taut, strong. It awed her, shocked her, overwhelmed her. She nuzzled his hair and he came back up to stare at her again.

What she was feeling—it was there, in his gaze. And damn, the heat, the unbelievable heat, coming from his expression burned through her so hot and so fierce, she gasped and ran her hands down his back to pull him harder into her.

He groaned and slashed his mouth over hers and she could do nothing about the whimpers that escaped her throat as that heat just kept building and building until she ripped her mouth away and cried out. Her orgasm made her vision go white.

Pryor shuddered and shook above her, his arms crushing her to his chest as he collapsed to her side and kept her tight to him. His breaths were hot and fast against her neck. “I’m in so much trouble,” he whispered against her skin.

She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. All she could do was wrap him tight to her too.

Elita stole a quick shower in the bathroom across the hall and didn’t bother to put on her clothes from the day before. They probably reeked from the fire. She’d left a packed bag in her car, somehow knowing she’d be staying the night at least one more time, but she’d never brought it inside. Instead, she swiped a long shirt from a stack on Pryor’s dresser that hit her mid-thigh. She went downstairs to find him.

They’d padded down here for sandwiches around midnight and her cheeks heated when she remembered the kisses and a lot more on the stairs on the way back up. She put her hands on her face, trying to cool them. Damn. What if his brothers had come home right then?

The wonderful scent of coffee made her groan as she entered the kitchen and her cheeks heated more when she saw that Pryor had only tugged on a pair of loose boxers and was busy pulling food out of the refrigerator. His body was a thing of beauty. Strong, lean muscles flexed in his back as he bent to grab a carton of eggs.

She couldn’t help herself. She wrapped her arms around his waist, kissed his back, then let go to start poking in the ingredients on the counter. “Whatcha making?”

“It will start out as an omelet and turn into what Mercer dubbed Breakfast Surprise.” He snickered as he set green and red bell peppers on the chopping board. “I have great intentions with breakfast and they always look so good in my head as I’m preparing. They never quite turn out that way, though.”

“Breakfast surprise sounds wonderful to me.” The faint scent of smoke hung in the air and guilt hit her again. She steeled herself and walked toward the spell room.

“No,” Pryor said softly, holding her arm. “It’s not as bad as you’re probably thinking, so let’s not think about that now. I’d like to share breakfast with you.
Amuse-toi bien.
Have a good time.”

She really wanted—no, needed—to see the damage she’d caused, but the look on his face convinced her to let it wait a little longer, to give or share that good time with him. “How about I use some of our leftover bread and make something to go with your breakfast surprise? I have this sort of special French toast.”

He groaned and tugged her into a tight hug. “Damn, woman, you are gonna kill me. Best sex I ever had and now my favorite breakfast?”

“How do you know it’s your favorite?” She laughed and stood on her toes to kiss his neck. He hadn’t yet showered, so she breathed in the mix of their scents still clinging to his skin. Inside, she melted over his words about best sex. “You haven’t had it yet.”

He ran his hands down her back and under the shirt to cup her bare ass and pull her against him. “I have no doubt that anything you cook will be my favorite at this point. You have a gift. And I have serious love for French toast.”

“Okay, let me go so I can see if you have all the spices I need. Don’t suppose you have any hazelnut liqueur, do you?”

He looked so sad she had to laugh.

“It’s not a problem. I can still make it yummy. But if I ever have another chance to make you this breakfast, I’ll make sure we have it because it tops the flavors off.” She flushed at the words. “Sorry. I shouldn’t just assume…” Embarrassment stole her words.

“Elita,” he started to say but she cut in.

“No, it’s okay. We haven’t made any kinds of promises. But I’m having fun and I’m not ready for that fun to end yet.” She turned away and opened the cabinet where he and his brothers kept the mess of spices. “We might not be able to get rid of this curse anyway and I don’t want to burn down the rest of your house.”

He came up behind her, warm and hard against her back and he wrapped his arms around her again. “We will get Rattrap off your back and if you call your cousins and grandmother in, we’ll get him off them too.”

She closed her eyes, arms still raised to dig through the cluttered spices as she froze. “Pryor, will it hurt you more?”

“Not with my brothers here to help.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but she heard the slight hitch in his words and knew he wasn’t being completely honest with her. She also knew it was so she wouldn’t worry. She turned her head to nuzzle her nose against his cheek. The slight stubble stung a little because her skin was tender from the night before—and this morning—but she liked it, liked the rasp of it. Pryor kissed her nose, the corner of her mouth and she turned a little more to press their lips together. His hands slid under the shirt again to map the shape of her hips with his palms. To clutch her back against him.

She pulled her mouth away to suck in a deep breath. “Shit, Pryor.”

“I know,” he breathed against the side of her neck. “We burn.”

His stomach suddenly growled loudly and he snorted into her skin.

Laughing, she turned to push him away. “Come on, let’s cook so we have the energy for another round.”

“With that incentive, I’ll even chop onions. For the record, I hate chopping onions.”

She reached into the cabinet again. “So do I. It’s my least favorite thing to chop, but I love to eat them. In everything.” She pointed toward the open cabinet. “What I should make you do is organize this mess. Haven’t you guys heard of a lazy Susan?”

He walked to another cabinet and opened it. “You mean this?”

It was one cabinet she hadn’t opened yet because she’d found this pile of spices when she’d made the court bouillon. “It’s right by the stove where it should be and has two full and freaking empty turntables and you guys just tossed all this in over here?”

He shrugged, his expression sheepish. “I told you. Wyatt designed the place but none of us really cook.”

“This is a shame. A real shame.” She found the cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla and set them on the counter. “I don’t suppose you know if you have brown sugar.”

He nodded. “That we have. Mercer likes it in his coffee.” He shuddered, then walked into the pantry to grab a container. “Wyatt likes it on his beignets too, so we have a lot.”

She knew they didn’t have any whipping cream but she had spotted honey in the refrigerator—where it shouldn’t have been stored. Chuckling, she finished gathering everything she needed to make a sort of crème brûlée French toast. She set the ingredients near the stove then started cutting the leftover baguette from their last dinner. She pulled out the cast iron skillet she’d found the other night and grinned as she hefted it up. “Now this is a thing of beauty. You guys say you don’t cook but I can tell this has been treated right.”

A shadow passed over his hazel eyes. “It was
Mamere’s
. Years of the best jambalaya on earth were cooked in that pan.”

“You were close to her. I could tell from the pictures in the hall.”

He nodded. “She could and should have been bitter as hell with everything she suffered. She lost her husband, her sons and all too early. But she wasn’t. Not really. She was hard at times and could be as mean and hurtful as a
costeau
, but she loved fiercely and never left our side once it was just my brothers left with her. She died the day after my nineteenth birthday.”

“I’m sorry.” Questioned burned on Elita’s tongue. Questions about why all the men seemed to die so young. But instead of asking, because she sensed Pryor needed a moment, she started the butter, brown sugar and honey in the skillet. She didn’t worry about the years of jambalaya spices probably seasoned into the iron—she only worried about Pryor and what taking the curse off her entire family could do to him. Then she realized she had to ask one question. “Pryor?”

“Yeah?” He cursed as a piece of red bell pepper went flying across the island counter. Snatching it back, he looked up at her.

“Was it the use of magic that made you lose your uncles and father early?”

He stared at her for what felt like forever before he slowly nodded.

She found then that she couldn’t ask any more questions. Not with the fear ripping through her chest right then. Turning back to the pan, she saw that the sugar had dissolved. She poured the mix into the bottom of a glass baking dish and let it cool as she whisked together the milk, eggs and spices. She put the bread slices on the sugar mix then covered everything with the whipped eggs and spices. “This is better if I let it chill overnight, but it’ll work while I help you with the omelet.”