Running Away With You (Running #3) Page 4

  Whether it’s the effects of the alcohol, my thoroughly romantic musings, or the soft, delicate touch of the plush terrycloth against my clean, naked skin, I cannot deny the carnal urges sweeping through my body. Throwing judgment out the window, I grab my phone to call him, the need to hear his voice too strong to ignore.

  The phone rings several times, and I am about to hang up when he answers. “Hello?” he says, his voice sounding cracked and rough. I know I must have awakened him from a good sleep.

  “Hey baby,” I say softly.

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then I hear him clear his throat and say, “Hey, you. What time is it? Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine. I just wanted to hear your voice.” I hesitate before going on. “I think you’ve ruined me, Chief. I can't sleep without you.” In a whisper I add, “Don’t be mad.”

  “I could never be mad at you for missing me,” he tells me. “I miss you every minute we’re apart. When I close my eyes, I’m somewhere with you. Holding you, kissing you, loving you.”

  As I listen to his deep, husky voice, I feel a deep longing and thirst for him that cannot be quenched. I can actually feel my breasts growing heavy and firm, forming tight peaks that graze the soft fabric of the robe. Instinctively I reach up to adjust the fabric, and as I do I feel a tightening in my core the moment my hand touches my sensitive skin. I gasp with surprise.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” Evan asks. I can hear him rustling around in his bed and I imagine him lying there naked with a tiny piece of fabric barely covering him. I picture his beautifully chiseled muscles tracing a path down his glorious chest, leading me directly to the sexy V-cut of his trim waist.

  My breasts ache for his touch, so I try to relieve the building pressure by pinching and rolling my nipples between my fingers, imagining Evan’s mouth on me. “Mm-hmm,” I hum, enjoying my fantasy.

  I hear his quick intake of breath and wonder for a moment how closely the images in his head mingle with mine. "So tell me, Juliette. If I was home, what would we be doing right now?” he asks devilishly.

  I smile at his words. This is why I called, what I wanted when I dialed his number. I close my eyes and let the scene form in my mind. “You would be kissing me,” I tell him. “We would be naked in bed and your mouth would be so wet and warm on me.”

  “Baby, just thinking about you lying there is making me crazy. Are you naked right now?” he asks.

  I remove my robe and in a voice barely above a whisper, I say, “Yes.”

  “Good.” I hear his voice getting breathier and I imagine him lying in bed, fully aroused, thinking about me. “Put the phone on speaker and place it on the nightstand.”

  I do as I’m told. “Okay.”

  His voice fills the room, “Are you wet for me, Juliette? Because I’m as hard as a rock right now.” I only smile at that, taking pleasure in knowing that my words arouse him, that he can see it as clearly as I can.

  “I think so,” I tell him.

  In a voice that demands obedience, he sharply instructs, “Don’t answer unless you know. Place your hand on your neck and slowly slide it down, across your breast, skimming your stomach, and don’t stop until you find out. You’re going to have to slide those fingers between your legs. Now open them up for me and check. And when you answer this time, I want you to be very descriptive.”

  Oh my God. Does he want me to touch myself while he listens?

  He’s not asking me to do anything we haven’t done together, so I move my hand slowly down my body, across my navel, and explore the fleshy folds of skin that are now throbbing with anticipation. I test first with one finger, then two, and find I’m soaking wet.

  “Well?” he asks.

  “I’m dripping,” I tell him. “I see you everywhere I look. I can smell you, taste you. I can imagine it’s your hands touching me right now.”

  “Do you know what I’m doing, Juliette?”

  “No.” My hands still for a moment and all I can feel is my heart beating wildly and my core pulsing and tingling. “Tell me.”

  “I have my cock in my hand and I’m stroking it slowly. Only in my mind, it’s not my hand, it’s yours. And you’re getting ready to lick the little bead of liquid that’s already collecting on the tip.”

  “I wish I was there,” I tell him.

  “You are here with me. And I’m there with you. Always and forever. Now place a few fingers in your mouth and suck until they’re warm and wet, but not for too long.” As I do, I mewl with pleasure. “Take your fingers and place them back between your legs. Imagine it’s my tongue tasting you, feeling you squirm. Slowly, a finger wiggles its way inside you, then a second. They work their way in and out, making you climb higher and higher. With my other hand I’m touching your breast, keeping it hard and firm, plucking and pinching, torturing you with pain and pleasure.”

  I close my eyes and do as I’m told. Listening to his raspy voice as I touch myself makes it easy to imagine we’re making love. I moan softly, knowing now that we're doing this together, each of us using the substitute of our own touch to ease the ache of not being able to touch each other.

  I can hear him breathing hard. When he stops speaking, I can definitely hear him stroking himself. Just the sound drives me on, my fingers slipping in and out, imagining it's Evan I can feel inside me. My breath is coming in short pants.

  "I wonder if your body would shiver if you felt my breath on you. I think it would. I would want you to shiver when you feel my breath, and shiver again after a well-timed flick of my tongue."

  Barely able to control my breathing, I tell him, "God, you're making me wetter. I can almost feel you between my legs.”

  Our breathing evens as the lull in my fantasy allows our bodies to cool a little. "Jesus ... " Evan draws in a deep, ragged breath and I know his hand has slowed slightly. I smile, my fingers nestled deep inside, stroking minutely.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  "You between my thighs," I tell him honestly. My middle finger begins to make teasing circles around my sex, every now and again sliding over it. “Just to feel the heat of your body melting into mine.”

  “What else?” he asks.

  “I want to have you in my hand. I want to feel you pulsing for me. I want to bring my mouth so close to you, without touching, that you can feel my warm breath."

  He hisses, a quick indrawn breath through clenched teeth. "This is so unfair,” he groans. “God help us both when I get home.” I hear his words, but I'm lost now – to the fantasy, to the feelings. Hearing him speak heightens my arousal until it is just a blue fog inside my brain, totally overwhelming, canceling out everything else.

  "That's my hand touching you,” he says. “Those are my fingers inside you. Your eyes are locked with mine until my fingers start to piston in and out of you, my tongue probing your most sensitive parts as I push and push you to orgasm. Can you feel me there?”

  My first answer is a whimper. “Yes.” I answer boldly now, louder. "I want you here. I can see you so clearly, standing next to the bed, staring down at me. I can see your face light up at seeing me so hot and wet.”

  “Baby, you have me so horny. Stroke your sex. Do it just like I would," he instructs. "I want to hear it. I want to hear how wet you are.” I move with a slow but deliberate rhythm. In the stillness, my fingers in the wet folds of flesh began to make a slurping kind of noise. It is unmistakable and I know Evan can clearly hear it over the line.

  “Oh yes,” Evan urges me on, "faster, baby, faster. I want to hear you cry out for me." His voice is thick with sexual desire.

  There is something incredibly sexy about a man’s hand on his own cock, seeing his hand sliding knowledgeably up and down. I close my eyes and imagine Evan’s hand moving so easily across that massive erection. Listening to his wet palm sliding up and down his length, I can hear the sound of flesh on flesh, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

  I groan as I pick up speed, rubbing faste
r and harder as the sensations work together to bring me quickly into a frenzy. My breath comes in short gasps.

  "Yes, baby, that's it. Feel my tongue there – all over you, in you. I want to hear you. Don't hold back, baby. Don't be afraid. Does it feel good?"

  "Yes ... yes ... yesss!" I hiss through clenched teeth. "Ohhhh, yes!” I call to him until neither of us can take a moment more and my first spasm of orgasm starts.

  I can hear Evan through the phone. "Oh, shit,” followed by a loud grunt and a deep sigh as we ride the storm together.

  The intensity of the experience brings tears to my eyes, and now shudders of relief wash over me. We are both silent for several moments, just our breathing passing through the phone.

  “I love you!” Evan pants.

  “I love you too,” I reply breathily, my body still tingling from my orgasm.

  “I’m so glad you called,” he tells me.

  “Mmm, me too.”

  “Go to sleep, and I promise to visit you in your dreams.”

  I hang up and lie in our bed, pull up the covers, and within minutes I am contently asleep dreaming of footballs, flowers, and fellatio.

  Chapter Three

  In the Dark

  The Sentinels’ game starts at one today. It’s become a ritual for some of the fans to come watch Evan’s game here at Rush. Marcus wasted little time in making some needed changes, which include replacing our projection system with a monster eighty-four-inch ultra-high-definition television. It’s the size of a small compact car. It was a big expense that took a big bite out of our reserves, but one that will hopefully pay off.

  I have to admit, when we watch the games here, it seems like we’re right there on the field with the team. My favorite part is when Evan removes his helmet and joins his team on the sidelines. I love to watch the game through his expressive blue eyes and see how they light up when a great play is made. I even love watching him run his hands through his hair when his team struggles.

  Today, we watch in glory as the Sentinels mop the floor with the Baltimore defense. Evan and Carlo run circles around them. They are an unstoppable combination.

  It’s near the end of the third quarter and the Sentinels have a twenty-nine point lead. As Evan takes the field, everyone at Rush stops what they’re doing to watch the magic. I watch with bated breath as Evan straps on his helmet with a look of determination I’ve had the pleasure of seeing many times in the privacy of our bedroom. I know that look well, and I sense something amazing is about to happen.

  Evan orchestrates an eight-play, seventy-three yard drive, culminating in Carlo Rivera’s thirteen-yard scoring run, ending the quarter with a score of forty-two to six. The room erupts into cheers, and the loudest voice among them all is mine.

  The coaches rotate some of the second string players in and out of the game after that. While Evan is off the field, I can concentrate more on my duties of running a restaurant and bar.

  Another thirty minutes and the game is over without any change on the scoreboard. Evan has performed brilliantly, proving to himself, his coaches, and the fans that they made the right decision when they gave him the starting position.

  From behind the bar, I hear Evan’s familiar voice echoing through the restaurant. The post-game interviews are being aired on television and I don’t have to look up to know it’s him. My body instinctively responds to his voice, stirring something deep inside me. He is slightly out of breath and exhilarated at the same time. My imagination is on overdrive, conjuring all types of ways I can get him hot, sweaty, and excited later tonight.

  A reporter is asking Evan about today’s performance as he makes his way off the field. His response makes me beam with pride.

  “It’s every kid’s dream to play football for a living. Being a quarterback is my job and I’m going to do it the best way I know how, because I owe that to my teammates, my coaches, and especially the fans.” I can actually hear him smile without seeing his face. It’s unmistakable. There’s a joy to the tone of his voice that shines through like a laser beam aimed directly at my heart. I cannot help but smile in return.

  As soon as the interview is over, Marcus mutes the television and pipes in some celebratory music, starting with Pharrell’s song “Happy”. It’s infectiously cheerful, and without even realizing it, I’m dancing behind the bar as I restock the reach-in cooler.

  I look up and Derek is eyeing me suspiciously, with a mischievous grin plastered on his face. He begins to move slowly toward me, matching my moves. With the bend of a finger, I encourage him to come closer, and he quickly accepts my invitation. He grabs one hand and twirls me, placing a gentle hand on my hip to brace me.

  As soon as we start to dance it becomes contagious, and before long the waitresses and guests are all joining in too. Marcus, now a happily married man, sweeps Emmy up in his arms and guides her along in a lively two-step as she giggles with delight.

  Reese comes out to see what all the fuss is about and just shakes her head when she sees me dancing with Derek. He has his back to her, so he doesn’t see her staring at him as he dances. I know exactly what she sees in Derek. He’s irreverent, sarcastic, and infuriating. But he’s also kind, selfless, and charming, and he dances with grace and confidence. One day, I’ll have to ask Reese what he’s like in bed. By the look in her eye, I’d say she’s reliving a particularly memorable experience right now.

  After the song ends, we’re slammed at the bar. Everyone seems to have worked up a thirst and needs a cold beverage to cool down with. I see each sweaty face as another dollar in my pocket and I silently remember to be grateful for this amazing gift that has been given to me. It’s not often someone my age has the opportunity to enjoy the rewards of owning their own business, and I’m extremely thankful. I’ll have to show Evan how much his gift means to me when I see him later tonight.

  Once Emmy and Derek seem to have the bar under control, I slip away to use the bathroom to freshen up. While washing my hands, I look down at the trash container and notice a pregnancy test kit lying on top of the trash. There’s a used test strip lying there with two thick pink lines that indicate a positive test result – someone in this building is pregnant!

  My mind reels with the possibilities. Reese has been a little “off” lately, but I’ve mostly attributed that to her break-up with Shaun and her possessive yet uncommitted claim on Derek. It could easily be her.

  It could also be Emmy. She and Adam have a healthy sexual relationship and she’s had a pregnancy scare before. But there’s nothing about Emmy’s mood that suggests anything unusual.

  However, there’s also a team of waitresses, our pastry chef Natalie, and swarms of women who come and go all day long. It would be a long shot for me to assume it’s one of my girls. It could just as easily belong to a complete stranger. I make a mental note to watch my friends closely for any changes in their eating or drinking habits. There are certain telltale signs of pregnancy, and sooner or later, if it’s one of my friends, I’ll find out.

  The flight from Baltimore will take less than an hour, which means Evan and I can have a late dinner together tonight. Now the game is over, the restaurant starts to empty out, making room for the dinner crowd. It’s a completely different vibe. The sports crowd is rowdy and raucous. The dinner patrons are more reserved and proper.

  Time flies, and before long I get a text from Evan alerting me that he’s safely landed and should be here in about an hour. While I wait for his arrival, I lock myself in my office and take care of some paperwork that desperately needs my attention. I upload a picture of Evan from today’s game to Rush’s Facebook page, and I return some phone calls to our vendors.

  As I’m reading through some agreement forms for our new linen and laundry service, I’m interrupted by a loud buzz emanating from the dining room. I carefully file away the contract and follow the disruption to its source.

  My sixth sense kicks in – the one that lets me know when Evan is near. I can feel my body humming as I move cl
oser to the front of the house. Sure enough, I find him standing in the center of the dining room, surrounded by fans of all shapes and sizes. A few are congratulating him on today’s victory, which almost guarantees the Sentinels a spot in the playoffs. Others are asking for autographs. Flashes from cell phones are going off in all directions.

  I hang back and watch, enjoying the show. Evan, as always, is charming and affable, patiently signing his name and thanking the fans for their support. His bright blue gaze scan the crowd, searching for me, and when his eyes connect with mine, they light up. He tilts his head in my direction and smiles broadly, engraving those heart-stopping dimples that make him even more deliciously edible.

  I nod back in acknowledgement and wait, happy to enjoy a moment when I can study him without fear of embarrassment. He has on a pair of dark wash jeans that fit him perfectly, along with a pair of brown suede loafers. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt that I know he had custom made to fit his hulking biceps. His messy chestnut hair perfectly frames his chiseled face. This man is devastatingly handsome and he’s all mine.

  Once he’s satisfied he’s fulfilled his duty, he bounds toward me, wraps his arms around me, and lifts me off my feet. “I’ve been waiting to do this since last night’s call,” he growls into my mouth as he claims me. I love his mouth. I love how he tastes. As his tongue gently dances with mine, a rush of warmth floods my lower stomach. Slowly, he places me back on my feet and looks deep into my eyes, “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too,” I confess.

  We find a booth in the back of the restaurant that Marcus has left vacant for us. Evan slowly slides in first. I can tell by the way he moves carefully that he’s sore from today’s game. I scoot in and find my spot, nestled tightly beside him, underneath his long, protective arm. He reaches over with his gargantuan hand and takes my tiny hand in his. Bringing my engagement ring up to his lips, he tells me in his softest, sweetest voice, “You were with me on the field today, Juliette. I couldn’t erase the images you placed in my mind last night.”