Kind of Cursed Read online

  I blink and bring my hands back to his ribs. “Sorry. I just want to touch you—”

  Luc growls low in his throat, and I feel it deep in my sex. “Not today.” The look in his eyes is serious, flashing an iron will. The fact that he’s not allowing me to touch him makes me realize just how much I want to.

  God, I want to touch him. I want to make him feel good.

  “I want to be the one who makes you feel good.”

  His eyes soften, as though my words have struck him somewhere tender. I actually can’t believe I said them out loud, but I don’t want to call them back. It’s the truth.

  “Millie,” Luc says, his voice as rough as sandpaper. “You are.”

  And then he’s kissing me again. Fierce. Hungry. I’m all in. Matching his ferocity, his hunger with my own. And if I’m only allowed to touch what he’s bared to me, then I’m going to make him feel me on every inch. My hands sweep over his back, ride his muscles, play along this spine. He feels as beautiful as he looks.

  I draw them over his shoulders, making just enough space between us to reach his chest. And when my fingers find the pucker of his left nipple, the desire to taste it nearly turns me inside out. I break our kiss and scooch down, Luc’s startled panting filling my ear.

  His pecs are exquisite. Flat and hard like river stones. I could love them with my mouth for the next hour. But the moment the tip of my tongue meets his dark nipple, he jerks away.

  Luc planks above me, eyes wide. “What are you trying to do to me?”

  I swallow. “I just told you.”

  I prop up on my elbows to close the distance between us, and he pushes up higher, shaking his head.

  “No. Lie back down.”

  I blink. “Are you serious?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?” The glint in his eye and that scar in his brow have never looked more severe.

  I lie back down.

  Luc drops his knees between my legs again, and then he surprises me by grabbing my wrists and hauling my hands up over my head.

  “These stay here.” Then he angles down over me an inch above my face. “This,” he dips and plants a kiss on my mouth, “stays right here.”

  “But—”

  Then I’m staring at the ceiling. I look down in time to watch Luc kiss my navel. I move to sit up or shimmy down, but his big hand comes up, lands right on my sternum, and pushes me down.

  “Quédate.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Luc kisses me an inch below my navel and doesn’t look up when he answers. “It means stay.”

  My skin flames. Maybe it’s because of the command. Maybe it’s because of what he’s doing with his mouth. “I’m not a dog,” I manage.

  Luc shakes his head, the tip of his nose drawing lines low on my belly. It feels amazing.

  “No,” he says, nuzzling the lacy edge of my panties. “But you’re a vet. Figured you knew the lingo.”

  “Puh!” I start to protest when his teeth close lightly over the stretched lace. The fabric does nothing to block the wet heat of his mouth. The next thing out of mine is a moan.

  “Have I mentioned that I really like your—” he licks the gusset of my panties. The shock of pleasure runs straight to the crown of my head, “taste in lingerie?”

  I make a noise, but it’s hardly an answer. His mouth closes over the spot he just licked, and Luc sucks me into his mouth, panties and all.

  “Jesus Christ,” I whisper, because a whispered prayer is all I can manage. If I wasn’t already soaking wet, I am now. And let’s face it. I was already soaking wet for him.

  “Mmmm.” He hums against me, and each of the ten thousand nerves that exist only for pleasure hum right along with him. Luc hooks the drenched scrap of finery with a finger and tugs it down. My panties skim down my legs, and with a flick of his wrist, they sail across his room.

  Looming above my sex, Luc’s eyes, intent and hungry, lock with mine. His gaze flicks down before returning. “Are you giving this to me?”

  Oh God. The question is so impossibly sexy, yet how can I answer?

  I grip his comforter, trying not to squirm.

  He tilts the scarred brow with a teasing slant. “Is that a no?”

  I swallow. Lick my lips. Shake my head.

  He shakes his head in imitation. “I can’t hear you.” His voice is low, liquid with desire and shot with baiting.

  He lowers his head, and with one swift upward movement, licks my slit. My inhale is machete sharp.

  “Millie…”

  It’s only when he whispers my name that I realize my eyes are screwed shut, and I’m staring at the back of my eyelids. I open them and meet his gaze, dark and smoldering. His expression is one of patience. And command.

  “Do you. Give this. To me?”

  My pounding heart should be bouncing me off the bed right now.

  “It would be—” I swallow. “A lot easier… if you just took it.”

  Luc bunches his lips, as though considering. Then he shakes his head. “Can’t do that. You see…” He dips his mouth again, this time licking me from thigh to thigh.

  “Cocker Spaniel!”

  Yes. Luc Valencia’s face was between my legs, his tongue doing the very thing I’m dying for him to do. And I just called out the name of the prissiest breed of dog.

  I hate my life.

  And, no, Luc didn’t just succumb to a case of spontaneous hearing loss. At least, not if the tensing of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes is any indication. I can see he’s not going to laugh at me, inches away from my pussy—which would be more humiliation than I could handle—but it’s a near thing.

  He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and sucks on it meditatively. “Let me see if I understand.” His voice rumbles as he speaks, the breath of his words landing on my merciless arousal. “You can say Cocker Spaniel, but you can’t say, Yes, Luc, this is yours?”

  Good God. It sounds so good when he says it. Yes, Luc! This is yours! I scream it silently. But no sound leaves my mouth. How can it? What would that say about me? How would that align with the way I’ve lived? With the way I must live?

  Instead, I nod. Because it’s true. Saying just about anything is easier than saying that.

  His eyes narrow, but with no lack of warmth. “Do you know how much I want you, Millie?”

  The raw feeling in his words embeds in my bones. He wants me as much as I want him. I’m sure.

  “I think so,” I squeak.

  He nods. “And you know why I need you to say it?”

  Without even thinking about it, I do know. It’s because of who he is. Because of what I love about him. His integrity. His promises. His need to prove himself to me.

  “I think so,” I say, emotion squeezing my own words. “I just… I just can’t.”

  A thought brightens his eyes. “I have an idea,” he says, his voice as rich and decadent as chocolate ganache. “We’re going to talk about this later, but right now, I have an idea.”

  “Tell me,” I demand. Because a girl can only take so much.

  “Can you say Sí, Luc, te doy esto?”

  I smile, not needing him to translate. They are the words I can’t say on my own. But these are his words. His language.

  Yes, Luc, I give this to you.

  “Sí, Luc, te doy esto.”

  Before the last syllable is out, he is on me, his tongue singling out the swell of my clitoris. He rides its slope. Sweeps its circumference. Multiplies its value. Until the sum of my cries echo through the room.

  My climax is quick and obvious. But he doesn’t stop. He moans against me as I come, his mouth—my God, that mouth!—rearranging my axis, setting me on another plane. I don’t know if I can take more. The sensation is almost too much. Until Luc’s left hand coasts up my belly and cups my right breast, and the pleasure stretches out, equalizing while building again. I feel his other hand squeeze my ass once before his fingers glide down the back of my thigh, his short nails grazing my tender ski
n.

  He’s awakening flesh no one ever sees, let alone touches, and every cell in my body tingles with life. Before his fingers reach the back of my knee, they reverse course, and I’m sure he’s calling in reinforcements. No one’s tongue can keep up this pace. It’s impossible.

  I’m so certain of this that the feel of two fingers at my entrance sends a shock straight through me, and I let go of the comforter I’ve fisted in both hands. I trade the bedding for his hair as fingers slip inside me, triggering my tiny muscles to dance and quiver.

  The man can build. And build. And build. Until the two fingers inside me say—the only way two fingers can—Come here.

  Come now.

  And I come. Again. And again.

  Luc’s fingers are still inside me when I’m all wrung out. But he’s kissing his way up my sweat-misted body. Lightly. Slowly. Like he’s savoring every taste.

  “Rosado,” he murmurs, kissing between my breasts. He looks into my eyes, and I swear, he looks so warm and satisfied, you’d think he was the one who just had three orgasms. He licks his lips. “Pink. Everywhere.”

  I blush, going pinker. I take his face in my hands, and he kisses me. The taste of myself on his lips makes me clench around his fingers.

  His breath hitches, and his eyes meet mine. “That’s so erotic.” He sounds awed, so invested, it happens again. “My God, Millie.”

  A smile, lit by some megawatt internal joy, lights his face, giving me both dimples. But it’s like he has X-ray vision. The power to see—and feel—just what he does to me. It’s too much. Too one-sided.

  After what he’s just done to me, I am wide open, defenseless. I’d give anything to even the playing field. Balance the scales. I need to watch him come undone. Taste, see, and touch the way he feels about me.

  And that thought makes me clench again.

  “Holy cow,” he marvels, propping his head on his left hand. “Do you have the strength for another?”

  Before I can answer, he strokes me once.

  “Gah! No!” I grab his wrist and free myself from him.

  His chuckle shakes the bed. “Okay. Just want to make sure you’re satisfied.”

  “I am,” I say quickly. “Quite.”

  I don’t tell him that no one’s ever given me two O’s in one go. Much less three. I grab the edge of the comforter and roll up in it like a burrito, facing him completely covered.

  Luc quirks a brow at me. “Cold?”

  “No.” I don’t offer him an explanation, but I’m only too glad to be able to hide a little after that wanton display.

  His focus narrows. Lying on his side facing me, Luc settles a hand on my blanketed hip. “You do know,” he says, his voice hushed. “There’s nothing you could give me—or share with me—that I don’t want.”

  When I don’t answer, he hooks a finger over the top of the comforter at my shoulder and tugs gently, leaving me covered but making his intentions known.

  “Everything you’ve got I want,” he says, certainty ringing in his words. “Everything you want to give, I’ll take.”

  It’s my turn to arch a brow. “Except for what you just gave to me.”

  His eyes blaze before narrowing to slits. “Wicked woman,” he growls. “I’d have to be dead not to want that. But that’s not what tonight is about.”

  Guilt takes a bite out of me. “I didn’t mean to tease,” I tell him. Then with spirit. “I’m not teasing.”

  His gaze softens. Just a little. “I know. But if you haven’t already figured it out, I keep my word.”

  I nod. “I’ve figured it out.” And then, because he feels too far away, I reach for him and pull him into my blanket burrito.

  He moans when his chest meets mine. “You’re warm.” Luc holds me against him for a moment, but then he stirs. “Let’s do this right.” Unwrapping me from my cocoon, Luc tugs down the blankets and gestures for me to crawl beneath them. His sheets are cloud white and look just as soft. I don’t hesitate.

  When Luc joins me, he takes me back in his arms. His heavy, gruff sigh sounds as content as I feel. This is bliss.

  He presses a kiss to my forehead. “It’s early still. We could rest for a while.”

  “God, yes,” I say on a sigh. The day—the week, hell, the last six months—feel interminable.

  With a hand on my hip, Luc cinches me closer to him, and I hook a leg over his thigh. We fit just right. The fingers on my hip move in lazy crescents. Back and forth. Back and forth. My eyelids wilt.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Luc murmurs. Darkness has fallen outside his windows, and the only light comes from a small lamp on his bedside, giving the room a cozy dimness.

  “It’s nice here,” I say, turning an ear toward the quiet. It’s so quiet. I stiffen. “You think they’re all right?”

  Luc gives me a lazy smile. “I’m sure they’re great.”

  I nod. He’s right. Of course, he’s right.

  But what if he’s wrong? I picture my phone across the apartment on Luc’s sofa. Would he be offended if I dashed across the house—naked—to grab it? Do I really want to dash anywhere naked? Will Emmett remember to take his antibiotic with dinner? He’ll get a stomach ache if he—

  Luc untangles himself from me, and in one fluid motion, he’s out of bed and striding across the room.

  “What are you doing?” I call after him.

  “Getting my phone,” he calls back, and a moment later, he fills the doorway, shirtless, clad only in his jeans, looking like an ad for American Eagle Outfitters. I only notice the phone in his hand when he’s sinking back under the covers with me.

  “Why?” I ask, as he unlocks the screen.

  He stops what he’s doing and looks at me, amused. “Because I could hear you worrying.”

  “You couldn’t hear me worrying,” I protest, but he probably could.

  He quirks a skeptical brow. “I knew you wouldn’t rest until we checked. Here.” He angles the screen so we both can see. He has seven new messages. All from the kids. Three pictures. Four texts.

  As soon as I see them, everything in me melts, but nothing more than my heart. I look over at Luc. He’s watching me, and I wonder how well he can really read my mind. If he knew I was worrying about the kids, does he know how I feel about him? How I feel in this very moment when he’s just demonstrated—again—how completely sweet he is?

  “Thank you,” I manage.

  He shrugs. I could watch him shrug while shirtless every day of my life and twice on Sundays.

  “You really are so good with them,” I tell him again.

  Luc gives a slow shake of his head. “You’re really good with them.”

  I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite feel like I make it. “They have fun with you.”

  “You think they don’t have fun with you?” He’s watching me closely. I’d consider hiding if there was anywhere to go.

  “Sometimes,” I concede.

  He cups my face and sweeps a thumb over my cheek. “They need you. You make them feel safe. You’re what keeps them grounded,” he says, pressing his hand tighter against me so I feel grounded too. “Fun is extra. It’s important, but what you give them every day is more important.”

  I let go a sigh. I know what he’s saying is true, but Harry, Mattie, and Emmett deserve more than safe and grounded. They used to have fun. They used to have happiness. We all did.

  “You’re doing the best you can,” Luc says, clearly reading my thoughts again. “And it’s better than anyone else could do.”

  “There isn’t anyone else.” The words are out before I can stop them. I hate how self-pitying they sound and shake my head to dispel them. “I didn’t mean—”

  His thumb strokes my cheek again. “There is someone else,” he says, his voice dipping lower. “I’m here.”

  It’s as though my body becomes my heartbeat. I can feel the heavy pounding in every cell. He can’t mean that. He’s only known us about a month. If I can’t count on my aunts and uncles to be here for
the day-to-day, if I couldn’t count on my boyfriend—the father of my child—to take this up with me, how can I lean on anyone else?

  “Let me help you,” Luc says, his dark eyes boring into mine. “I can take care of the fun stuff for now.”

  He says this, and all I hear are two words. The most important two.

  For now.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  LUC

  Emmett hates Monday mornings, and after the long holiday weekend—which might be the best four days I can remember—I can’t say I blame him.

  I learned something amazing Friday night. Millie is so affectionate when she’s rested and relaxed. I took all of us, including Alex, to see Frozen II. (The big kids wanted to see Joker, but Millie put her foot down.) I bought the tickets, but Millie insisted on getting the snacks, which turned out costing almost as much, but I’m learning when it’s worth it to argue with her and when it’s better to let things go.

  Movie snacks fall into the second category.

  We took up most of one row in the cinema, and Emmett demanded to sit in between Alex and Harry. Before the previews started, I had the pleasure of watching my little brother do some quick maneuvering to put Mattie on his other side, that other side being the one furthest from me and Millie.

  And, yeah, I might have spotted them holding hands during the opening credits. If they kept it up throughout the rest of the movie, I didn’t notice. I was too busy, holding Millie’s hand in mine and feeling the slow caress of her thumb along my palm.

  Afterward, we left The Grand, picked up Deano’s, and ate pizza and played Unstable Unicorns in the Delacroix’s living room. It was a blast. And the more the kids laughed and carried on, the more Millie melted against me. Played her fingers through my hair. Stroked my back.

  Honestly? I don’t think she was even aware of it, the way she kept her body in contact with mine. As though it came naturally. But I was aware of nothing else. It made concentrating on building my unicorn army damned impossible, but I’m not complaining.

  And last night, after I made burgers on Millie’s dad’s grill, we all piled on the sectional to watch Spider Man: Into the Spiderverse—which was a lot better than I expected. Still, Millie fell asleep against my chest, her red hair spreading over me like it was staking a claim, her body trusting me with its weight.