Running Away With You (Running #3) (5 page)

I listen in shock.  “Emmy, when I asked you about your friends, I was thinking you’d tell us about their jobs or their families.  I should have known better.”

“Damn right you should have known better.  Who cares where they work?  You have to be attracted to someone before you’re interested enough to even ask.  Don’t you know anything, Jette?” She laughs me.  “Well Derek?  Who’s it going to be?”

“I think I’ll pass, Emmy.  But thanks for offering up one of your girls.  I’ll keep it in mind,” Derek snickers as he gets back to pouring drafts.  Derek turns to me and asks, “Hey boss – can you cover while I take a short break?  I just need five.”

I quickly agree and off Derek ambles to the back.  I think he just needs some fresh air.  I put some pressure on him and he didn’t like it.

The waitresses are a little busy, and Emmy knows beer is best served cold, so she helps out by delivering the beers Derek just poured to a table of young men.  Emmy looks cute in her skinny jeans and low-cut T-shirt with our logo painted across her chest, drawing attention to her cleavage.  I keep a close eye on her as she approaches the table.

As Emmy hands one guy his drink, he takes her wrist in his hand and pulls her close to him, so she’s only inches from his face.  I can see Emmy’s face redden as she struggles to pull her wrist free of his grip while his friends watch and laugh. 

I immediately leave my post behind the bar and head straight toward Emmy.  I can hear her politely asking the customer to let go of her. 

“But I think I love you,” he tells her.  “Just one kiss and I’ll die a happy man,” he says, still holding tight.

I grab hold of the guy’s arm and dig my nails into his flesh while I warn him through gritted teeth, “Let go of her, asshole, before I remove the flesh from your arm and then move on to your balls.”

In a flash, Emmy’s teammates are at her side.  “It’s okay, Jette, we’ve got this,” one of the girls confidently tells me.  Kate puts herself between Emmy and the asshole as the other girls circle around him.  He releases Emmy, and now he’s surrounded by five tough-as-nails chicks.  Six, if you count me.

“Here, let me get your chair,” Nikki offers.  She jerks back his chair with him still in it, and he has no choice but to stand.

“Time for you to leave, douchebag,” insists another girl, whose name I don’t know.  Without much fuss or delay, the team very efficiently escorts the small group of men right out the door.

Marcus just stands there watching with his mouth open in both shock and awe, then follows the group back to the bar.  “So, ladies, I think you’ve earned yourselves a round of shots,” he suggests.  “What will it be?”

Emmy immediately decides for the group. “Adios Motherfuckers for everyone!” she decrees.

I
t’s Saturday night and I don’t get home until close to one.  We’ve been back in our house for only a few days now, and it feels so good to finally be home.  I dutifully walk around the house as instructed, setting alarms and checking phones.  Maddy is close behind me as I roam around, room by room. 

It has been a busy day and I need a shower to wash the grime from my hair and skin.  I set the jets to pulse and let the pounding water massage my muscles.  I’m in Heaven as I stand in the shower, motionless, allowing the punishing force of hot water to remove all traces of a long day at work.

I slip from the shower feeling revitalized, my skin zinging and my mind clear.  Hanging on the door is my favorite plush bathrobe, soft as silk, comfortable and cozy.  I wrap it around myself, pick up my work clothes, and pour myself a nightcap, ready to turn in for the night.

Evan and I are in the same time zone tonight, which makes me feel guilty for calling him at such a late hour.  For the last few away games, he was on the West Coast, which made it several hours earlier for him.  I send him a quick text to let him know I’m home and in for the night.  He sends back a simple,
luv u
, and I click off the phone.

I set the phone on the bedside table and grab my Kindle. The room is dark save for the little cone of light glowing from my device, illuminating the impassioned prose of Nicholas Sparks. Every few minutes I pick up the glass on the table, take a deep whiff of the burnished, potent, amber liqueur within and then let a teaspoonful or so trickle down my throat, savoring the little glow it spreads throughout my body. Everything I worry about – managing a new business, being separated from my fiancé, and planning my dream wedding – is outside that bright little cone. 

It’s easy to get lost in the fictional world Sparks paints so vividly.  As the new lovers Miles and Sarah share their first kiss, I’m reminded of how much I miss Evan.  The bed is too large and empty without him.  I’m no closer to sleep than I was an hour ago, and now I’m wishing Evan was here beside me.

I turn off the Kindle, take the last sip of maple whiskey, and climb beneath the sheets.  I close my eyes, and there he is.  I can hear his voice and feel his lips.  He is everywhere I look.  I grab his pillow, wrapping my arms around it and holding it close to my body.  I inhale deeply and his clean, masculine scent invades my senses, awakening my burgeoning desire to be near him.

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 faster and harder as the sensations work together to bring me quickly into a frenzy.  My breath comes in short gasps.