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Cian and Kylian would probably agree that none of us wanted it to end. We watchedDie Hard, and before we could ask Everleigh to choose the next movie, she was quietly snoring, snuggled between us.
The day must have been hell for her. She’d learned about Anna Jackson drugging her with suppressants. Her sister had made her fall in the pool, and then Lawrence had rocked up. She’d needed TLC. We were more than happy to give it to her.
None of us had wanted to wake her, so we’d slept in the home theater sprawled over each other. Early this morning, we’d all padded up to our beds to snatch a handful more hours of sleep.
As Everleigh watches me, I think about what she’d said the day before. She admitted the suppressants hadn’t been working the way they were supposed to, which is a problem. A big one. Even if Cian tracks more down, they might not be enough to avoid Everleigh going into heat.
And Everleigh needs them. Now more than ever because of what’s going on in free clinics in the city.
“Have you learned anything else about the free heat clinics?” she asks, reading my mind.
“Not a thing. But we’ve got something else in the works to deal with that particular issue,” I say.
“A solution?” She sounds hopeful.
A long-term one that’s going to change all our lives. And our business.
I take a spoon, scoop up some of the sauce, and cross over to Everleigh. “Taste.”
She leans toward the spoon without hesitation, her light green eyes brimming with anticipation as she opens her mouth. I envision her on her knees, just as eagerly opening her mouth for my cock. I feel myself harden.
Shaking my head, I remind myself sex with Everleigh isn’t in the cards. After Lawrence’s abuse, it might be a good, long while before she’d ever want to put herself in such a vulnerable, submissive position. And I wouldn’t want her to. So for now, I let myself have my fantasies until Everleigh wants me in the way I want her.
“A potential solution,” I tell her. “But it won’t be in place to help you with this heat. Maybe the next one or the one after.”
She studies me for a long moment and then, clearing her throat, looks away. “You probably want to know why I lied about—”
“You didn’t trust us,” I interrupt, backing up when I sense she needs space. “And you didn’t know us, so you had no reason to. No explanation necessary. I’m trying my hand at the Fontenot jambalaya recipe. What do you think?”
“It’s good,” she says, sounding distracted as she refocuses on me.
I go back to my cooking, and she goes back to watching me as Kylian’s low murmur drifts from the office into the kitchen.
She watches me, and it drives me to want to make the best jambalaya in history. I need her to moan in pleasure at how good this dish is. I want her as needy for me as I am for her.
“Lawrence never cooked,” she says quietly. “I don’t think he even knew where the kitchen was in his house. He once said it was woman’s work.”
“Did he?” I toss the contents of my pot. Once I’ve returned it to the stove, I glance over at her. “And what did you think of that?”
She has her head resting on the cupboard, her legs crossed at the ankles, and she’s making small, subtle motions with her right hand. I’m not sure what she’s doing, but I pretend not to notice. “I thought it was a stupid and insecure opinion to have, and it made him the same way.”
I flash her a quick grin. “Same, cher. Same.”
When the pot starts spitting, I tear my eyes from hers so I can turn the heat down.
Everleigh might’ve been ready to take things further with Kylian and Cian, but I’m bigger. With the abuse she suffered at Lawrence’s hands, I fully understand her wariness when it comes to moving forward with a large alpha who has a big appetite.
“How old were you when you learned to cook?” she asks.
I lower my hand to my side, just below my knee. “About this tall. I was six. Maybe seven.”
Her eyes widen. “So young?”
“Where I’m from, people would say the rich are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Fontenots are born with a wooden spoon ready to stir a big pot of jambalaya.”
I surprise a beautiful and far too short giggle out of her.
I throw a grin over my shoulder. “And the few Fontenots who escaped the wooden spoon had one shoved in their hand before they could walk.”
