Kind of Cursed

by Stephanie Fournet

  And I want more than to know. I want to see. Hear. Taste. Touch.

  Love.

  I want to offer. Promise. Shield. Fulfill. Bind.

  Give.

  I want to love and give. Tonight. Tomorrow. Twenty years from now.

  But I also want to keep my word. I don’t want her to misunderstand me and think I’ve talked her into being here just so I can seduce her.

  “Mmmm,” I moan at the thought of seducing her. How delicious that will be. One day.

  “Paciencia,” I tell myself, breaking from her mouth. I lean back and stare into her eyes. Millie’s pupils are dark pools ringed in sapphire blue.

  She licks her lips, making my cock twitch, and swallows. “What?” she breathes. “What’d you say?”

  “Patience,” I tell her, wanting to etch in my memory the way desire paints her beauty. “I can be patient.”

  “You can?” Does she sound disappointed?

  “I can,” I promise.

  Her chest rises and falls, and then she nods, seeming to recover and think better of it. “Good. That’s good.”

  And then, as if she’s trying for patience, too, she slips her arms from around my waist, smooths her hands down her top, and picks up her cup of tea.

  Everything about it is so forced—so clearly not what she wants—I can’t take it. I lift the mug from her grasp and meet her surprised gaze.

  “I said I can be patient,” I say, setting down the mug. “I didn’t say you needed to be.” I reach for her, my hands landing on her slender ribs, inches from her breasts, and I pull her to me. Millie lets out a startled gasp as her lips meet mine.

  She doesn’t protest or try to hold back, and when I open my mouth, her tongue finds its way in, as sweet and soft as apricots. Her hands claw into my hair, tugging me closer—as if we could be any closer without becoming one flesh. Her breasts crush against me with soft heaviness.

  Millie wants me, and it’s enough. It’s all I need. I can be as patient as the moon.

  I break the seal of our mouths and murmur into hers. “I’ll give you anything you want.” I’ve wanted to tell her this since our first kiss, but hearing the words, I know they aren’t exactly right. I try again. “I want to give you everything.”

  Yes, that’s it.

  Our mouths join again, and she makes a plaintive sound, one laced with regret. She tilts her chin down just enough to speak. “I can’t.”

  I hold her tighter so she knows she’s not alone and drag my lips to her ear. “You can.” I lick the dainty, almost translucent curve of her ear, and she shivers against me.

  “I told you…” she murmurs. My lips press against her throat, and I feel her swallow. “I’m powerless.”

  I let my teeth graze against the slope of her neck and shake my head. “No, Millie. You have all the power.”

  Her hands move to my shoulders, and she grips them. “But I’ll—”

  “I keep my promises, linda. Let me show you how good I am at keeping my promises.” I glide one hand up to cup her breast and run my thumb over its hidden peak. Even beneath her top, and what I’m sure is a bra that is sexy enough to make me cry, I can feel her nipple, hard and tight, ready to be suckled.

  “Gah—” Millie’s head tilts back and my mouth claims the invitation, kissing the base of her throat. “You don’t understand,” she warns.

  I chuckle against her skin. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me,” I let my teeth skim her collarbone, “all will be well as long as I keep my pants on.”

  Millie straightens and meets my eyes, looking at me like I’ve dropped English and Spanish for Swahili. “Wha—You—”

  Holding her gaze so she takes in every word, I run my very lucky thumb back and forth. “I said I keep my promises. My pants stay on. Yours, on the other hand...” I glance down to her lap and let an even luckier hand touch the arrow of denim between her clamped thighs. A shudder runs through her, and I hook my arm around her waist to steady her.

  When I lay her down along the length of the couch, she doesn’t resist. A cry, half distress, half desire, leaves her, and I lean over her, intent on answering both the distress and the desire.

  My fingers meet at the top button of her blouse. “Let me show you,” I tell her, plucking the button free as I press a kiss to her rose petal lips, “how well I can keep my promise.”

  Millie sighs, her hands gripping my waist. I can see and feel the battle waging inside her. Slipping free another button, I watch her close her eyes, a line etching between her brows.

  “Let go,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”

  But I sound much more calm than I really am. Because as the fabric of her blouse parts, I find silk and lace the color of pewter. Elegant. Exquisite. Maddening.

  “Tan hermosa.” My thoughts rise in Spanish, but I rush to translate them for her. “So beautiful.”

  A small voice in the back of my mind advises me to take my time. Stroke her with the back of my knuckles right where lace meets skin. Ride the scalloped edge of her finery with the tip of one finger.

  If only I had that kind of control.

  I don’t. I bury my face in her breasts and devour. I taste sweetness, a hint of sweat, and warmth. She is fucking delicious. I tug down her delicate cup until one breast bobs free. As soon as I see her tight, coral pink nipple, I have to have it. Greedy, I wrap my mouth around her and suck.

  Millie gasps, arching her back. One of her hands moves back to my head, her fingers threading into my hair. The other fights to free the tail of my shirt from my jeans, and when it does, her hand sweeps up my spine.

  Her touches spur me. I mouth, lick, suck, and nibble, feeling the quickening of her heartbeat against my lips.

  “Luc… Oh my God…”

  My name on her lips and the ache in her voice make my hard cock even harder, but my own need is nothing compared to the need to give this to her. To prove this to her. I free her other breast and love it just as well.

  By the time I get to my knees, straddling her so I can reach back and slip off her boots—because boots have to come off before jeans can come off, and jeans are coming off—Millie is panting, eyes half-lidded.

  Her second boot hits the floor. My eyes lock with hers. I grip her fly—

  And her phone rings.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  MILLIE

  “Shit!” Struggling for purchase, my arms and legs pinwheel as I try to sit up beneath Luc. I yank up my delinquent bra and slap my mussed hair out of my face.

  “What are you doing?” Luc asks, still straddling me, and, for some reason, not moving.

  “Getting up. Getting my phone,” I say, not snapping, but not far. It’s ringing, for God’s sake. “It’s probably the kids. Can you let me up?”

  “It’s not the kids. They just texted.”

  I ignore him. “Let me up.”

  He raises a brow, but Luc plants a foot on the floor and is off me and halfway to my purse before I can scramble up.

  He snags my phone, swipes the screen and puts it to his ear. “What’s up, Mattie?”

  I shoot to my feet, my heart in my throat. “What’s wrong?”

  Luc frowns. “Oh, Emmett. What’s going on?... I’m answering Millie’s phone because I was closer.” His frown gouges deeper. “Why are you calling, jefe?”

  I can hear the tinny squeak of Emmett’s voice, but I can’t make out the words. Luc’s face goes blank. But he doesn’t look concerned. He looks… annoyed.

  “Yes. I got your texts. Good job. Is that why you’re calling? To see if I got your texts?”

  I bite my bottom lip.

  “Mmm hmm,” Luc mutters, sounding unamused. “So, everyone is fine over there?”

  The squeaks on the other end of the line are definitely affirmative.

  Luc nods. “Okay, so I’m adding a stipulation. If you want your fifty bucks, don’t call unless it’s an emergency—”

  “Luc!” I whisper-yell, advancing on him, reaching out toward the phon
e. “Give me that.”

  He blocks me with one hand, his renewed frown aiming down toward the floor. “Why? Because your sister deserves a night off. That’s why.”

  “Give it to me,” I hiss, batting away his deflecting hand and almost reaching the phone before he turns, giving me his shoulder. And then the next thing I know, his arm snakes out and snatches me to him. Our bodies press together, his right thigh notched between my legs. My chest crushes against him, my mouth at his collarbone, inches from the phone. I swallow a moan just in time.

  “We clear?... Nope. I’m not mad at you, buddy. Neither is Millie.” I open my mouth to speak, and Luc lifts his thigh, grinding it into me. Right. There.

  “Yeah, jefe. We’ll see you at ten.” Luc pulls the phone from his ear, presses the red button with his thumb, and tosses it onto the couch. “And you say I work too much.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not work. That’s family.”

  He gives me the look that says Please. Who are you kidding? “You work harder at taking care of them in one day than most of my guys work in a week.” He takes two steps forward, pressing into me and walking me back. “And you know I don’t hire slackers.”

  That’s true, I think, gripping his shoulders for balance. He takes two more steps. With each one, his thigh rubs me in the most sublime, distracting way.

  I grapple for focus. “So, everything was okay?”

  Two more steps. “Everything was okay, Millie.”

  “Did he want—”

  “No.” Luc shakes his head. “We’re not talking about him.” Two more steps. I feel the air around us change, hush somehow. “Once we cross this threshold, we’re in a sibling-free zone.”

  “But—”

  Two more steps and we’re in his bedroom. I look over my shoulder at the king-sized bed. It’s neatly made, the slate gray comforter smooth across its surface and tucked under two oversized pillows.

  “You make your bed.”

  “Every morning.”

  I look back at him. “Were you a Boy Scout?”

  Luc shakes his head. “I’m a builder. The first thing I learned from Papi was that a foundation can’t be sloppy.”

  The corner of my mouth tugs up. “Your bed is your foundation?”

  He doesn’t answer my smile, but his eyes narrow on me, amused nonetheless. “My morning routine is the foundation of my day.”

  This shouldn’t be sexy. My God, why is this so sexy? He walks me to the foot of the bed. I know I’m about to go down.

  I meet his eyes. “I’ll mess up your foundation.”

  One brow goes up. “You have no idea.”

  He gives me a little push, and I’m flat on my back. Reaching down, he grabs my ankles. With one firm tug, my jeans slide off. When did he manage to unzip them?

  At least my panties stay put. But judging by the look in his eyes, I don’t think that state of affairs is going to last very long. I’m stretched out on Luc’s bed in my panties, bra, and unbuttoned blouse. And Luc’s standing over me, fully dressed.

  I lift my hand and gesture between us. “This isn’t fair.”

  He shakes his head, giving me a wicked grin. “Life rarely is.”

  He plants a knee on the bed, but I place a foot on his knee, stopping him.

  “Wait. I’m serious.”

  The grin dissolves. “Me too. I told you. My pants stay on.”

  I shrug. “Well.” My voice drops, my confidence choosing this moment to take a smoke break. I twirl the fabric of his comforter with a timid finger. “At least take your shirt off. I feel…”

  His eyes narrow on me. “You feel what?”

  I swallow. Okay. Why not go for it? “Exposed.”

  He unbuttons the wine-red shirt faster than I would have ever thought possible. Luc wads up the shirt and tosses it to the ground, and I’m gifted with the sight of his powerful chest and shoulders.

  “Holy God,” I mutter.

  He laughs through his nose, those dimples absolutely slaying me.

  Help me, God. I’m in real trouble.

  Looking like a bronze idol to masculinity, Luc prowls up my body on hands and knees until he hovers above me, staring down into my eyes.

  Really big trouble.

  He’s looking at me like he has something to say—not hesitation, but declaration—and my heart thumps even harder in my chest. His dark eyes flick to my bra and then back to mine.

  “I can take it off quickly, or you can take it off slowly.”

  Damn. That’s the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me. Ever.

  I swallow. “Take it o—”

  But I don’t get to finish because Luc hauls me up into his arms and peels the open blouse off my shoulders before whipping it from me. And then—like a pro, like he could compete in the Olympics at it—he unclasps my bra from behind, and I’m topless.

  Pretty much naked, in fact, except for the tiny scrap of lace between my legs.

  Luc lays me down again, much, much more slowly than he pulled me up, his eyes moving over me. One hand braces his weight, the other lightly traces my side, as if he were outlining my silhouette. It feels amazing. But his gaze is too close. Too intense. Instead of squirming under its full power, I put my attention on him and decide at once that this is a brilliant idea.

  I run my hands up his sinewed arms, over the hills of his biceps and shoulders. His flesh is hot and hard, but his skin is so smooth, I’m immediately addicted. I could run my fingers over him all day. All night.

  He’s so beautiful. So strong and good. No guy has ever taken me at my word. Not Carter. Not my two Tulane boyfriends I had before Carter, both of whom found dating a virgin exciting and, let’s face it, probably challenging—until it sunk in that I planned to stay a virgin until I finished college.

  Carter was my first, and while he was patient—at first—he never, not once, promised to keep his pants on.

  So, before I can stop myself, I ask the one question I can’t riddle out.

  “Why me?”

  From somewhere near my navel, his gaze sweeps up and locks with mine. Oh boy. I thought I felt naked and exposed before. That was nothing compared to this.

  “You can’t be serious,” he asks, those eyes narrowing on me.

  I swallow. “I am.”

  His brows draw in, that scar, and the look in his eyes taking his sexiness to lethal levels. “You’re the strongest person I know. How you manage everything blows me away. You’re smart. Funny as hell, and seeing you is the best part of my day.”

  Okay, yeah, that’s a really good answer.

  He lifts a brow. “Good enough?”

  I nod.

  Luc drops his mouth to mine, and I welcome his kiss. I open to take him in, but he pushes away.

  “What?” I ask, undeniably disappointed.

  “Why me?” His eyes brighten, a smile at their corners, but that’s just on the outside. On the inside, somewhere between his corneas and his optic nerve, I see a shadow of doubt. A vulnerability that is all wrapped up in his hopes and fears about what I’ll say. And that vulnerability makes me love him all the more.

  I raise my hand and stroke his cheek. “You do everything with integrity,” I tell him, speaking softly. “Whether it’s reminding your guys about safety or leaving notes for Emmett so nothing surprises him, or making sure you wrap up before Mattie’s piano lessons. You put people first and you keep your word.”

  The shadow of doubt fades.

  “I’m a big fan,” I add, grinning. “Good enough?”

  Heat stokes his smile. His hand comes up to caress my cheek. “Te miro y me muero de hambre.”

  I have no idea what he’s said, but it sounds divine. I lift a brow, waiting.

  The way his eyes become slits gives me tummy flutters. “I look at you,” he says, heat radiating from his body. “And I’m starving.”

  I suck in a breath.

  “Every day.”

  I open my mouth to tell him it’s the same for me, but his kiss silences me,
his tongue overruling sound and sense. His body presses into me, heavy and powerful. One of his hands finds mine, and our fingers converge, interlace. My heart does a little pirouette at the intimacy of it.

  For a stretch of untold moments, I lose time and place, the tide of Luc’s kisses pulling me away. His free hand cradles my face, and it takes me a moment to realize nothing is stopping me from touching him. Exploring him. I run my left hand up his side, and his moan rumbles into my mouth. His skin is so shockingly soft. It amazes me that this softness has been there this whole time, hidden from the world under humble cotton T-shirts. Being allowed to touch him is like gaining entrance to some secret society, a chosen order. Who knew?

  Mesmerized, I untangle my hand holding his and run both palms down his back. Luc arches, the motion settles his hips snuggly between my thighs, and his fly hits me just right. Just like his leg did when he walked me backward to his room, except now, there’s no thick denim to blunt the touch. Just the gossamer thin lace, and I feel his surge like seismic activity.

  He breaks from my mouth, shifting his attention to my jaw and neck. I melt beneath him, tension I’ve carried for I don’t know how long unspooling muscle from bone. I’m so relaxed that when he takes my breast into his mouth a second time, the erotic shock of it sends me arching off the mattress.

  “Oh God.”

  At the sound of my voice, breathy and urgent, Luc grunts, sucking harder. Under his hot mouth, my heart stampedes. Of their own will, my hips tilt and sway, rubbing against him.

  “Me vas a matar,” Luc mutters, switching to the other breast. I want to ask what it means, but I can’t. Words have abandoned me. All I know is Luc’s mouth. His body. And the pleasure he is drawing out of me.

  I want him. I want him so badly.

  If I were anyone else, I’d be begging to have him inside me. As it is, my hands settle on his waist, his obliques taut and coiled with power as he moves above me. My fingers touch where the rough denim waistband meets the silken aliveness of his skin. At his waist, I allow my hands to delve deeper into his jeans, and a shudder runs through Luc that I feel all along my body. He pulls free of my breast, shaking his head.

  “No,” he says roughly. “Can’t go there.”