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 a
nd 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.”
“Don’t trust me to make it right, do you?”
“Oh I do. I just want onions in mine.” She grinned and let her shirt ride up as she bent to grab an onion.
His groan was everything she hoped to hear.
Pryor moved the iron lawn furniture away from the scaffolding to be safe. The whining noise it made around Elita made him feel extra cautious. He set the table and chairs down away from the side of the house with the black char marks. He didn’t want Elita to spend what looked like the most incredible breakfast ever seeing the remains of the spell room.
She would know that his family lost a lot of work, of course, because she’d seen it before the fire. But the constant reminder this morning wasn’t something he wanted for her.
Fuck, what he wanted for her was pretty much everything right then. He watched her walk toward him, still wearing only his shirt and felt his heart skip a beat. Unfortunately, part of that came from the absolute fear that she’d crawled inside there and made a permanent place for herself. The morning sun shined in her still-damp hair; the shirt rode up her shapely thighs as she sat on the cushion he’d shoved onto the black iron chair for her. He was bending to look up that shirt before he caught himself and snapped back to his feet.
He was acting like a horny teenager.
The small smile playing about her mouth let him know she’d caught his near-slip. But then he thought of the way she’d bent to get that onion in his kitchen and was once again fighting the hard-on he seemed to live with since he’d met her.
“Where are you going?” she asked as she scanned the small table. “We brought everything out, didn’t we?” She stood as if to help him get something else. “I should really grab some shorts out of my car too.”
Pryor shook his head. “Please don’t. Your attire is a major part of the ambiance here.” He pointed toward the house. “I’m just grabbing my phone in case one of my brothers calls. Normally I wouldn’t let anything interrupt a breakfast like this, but I’m concerned. It’s felt like something has been trying to keep them from getting here.”
She sat abruptly, a frown pulling down lips reddened from all the attention he’d been giving them. “Do you think it’s something to do with the Rousalard curse? You did say you guys have worked or, er, unworked his hexes before.”
“We have. But something about this one—yours—feels very different. It feels bigger.” He offered her a reassuring smile. “Let me run and grab the phone so we can tuck into this food. I have a feeling I’m going to want to keep you forever after trying that crème brûlée.”
He abruptly turned and jogged back to the kitchen, cursing under his breath. What the hell was wrong with him? Saying something like that? He’d totally screwed up by giving in to his need for her. Had screwed everything up. His brothers would get here, take one look at him with her and know.
When they’d sworn to stop the suffering with their generation, when they’d made their pact, they’d decided the only way it would work is if they never spent more than a night or two with a woman and if one happened to really get to them, to not ever, ever, take it past one night.
He’d only slept with Elita the one night, but he shouldn’t have let it get that far because he’d known instantly she could be a problem for him and one night had done more than proved it.
He
grabbed his phone, saw there were no calls from his brothers and jogged back to the table. Elita sat with her face lifted to the sun, a small smile on that gorgeous mouth of hers—one that made him want to kiss and nibble. They were the most luscious set of lips on a woman he’d ever seen. He stood by the table and shook his head at her.
“What?” she asked, tugging the shirt down on her thighs. It just rode back up.
“You look pretty out here in the sun with the honeysuckle bushes behind you.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Well, you certainly don’t have to try and charm me into bed anymore.”
“Was just being honest.”
She handed him a square spatula. “Come on. Let’s eat.
He sat, dished up both his breakfast surprise and her toast. His first bite of the crème brûlée made him close his eyes. “You have a gift. A real gift. You should do this for a living.”
“I want to. I wanted to take all the recipes I’ve learned from Ma’man up north and open a restaurant. Haven’t been able to save enough to really get close to that goal.” She frowned, pushed her food around on her plate. “I end up paying for a lot of the accidents, as you can imagine. I don’t think I’ll be going back though. This place gets under the skin, doesn’t it?”
“I couldn’t leave.” He literally couldn’t. He could be away a week, maybe two, but he and his brothers were tied to this section of swamp like strings on a puppet. And whatever took them over at night after hex work directed their bodies, moved their limbs, took over their lives.
Wyatt swore up and down they died in the water each night.
The Brothers Bernaux [01] Raisonne Curse Page 11