by Sophie Swift
Meanwhile I stand open-mouthed and speechless, trying to figure out what to do about the now half-naked man in my kitchen.
I clear my throat, attempting to remain professional about this. “Well, see, that’s just not okay.”
He glances down. “What? This?”
I nod, feeling my mouth open and close like a goddamn fish. “First of all, it’s completely against health code and second of all—”
“It’s unfair,” he finishes my sentence, even though that’s not even remotely close to what I was about to say.
I scrunch my face in confusion. “Unfair?”
He nods, crushing the next tomato in his fists. “Yes.”
I’m about to ask him what exactly he means by that when suddenly something comes flying through the air, landing smack in the middle of my chest. Dumbfounded and aghast, I glance down to see a massive red stain on the front of my white T-shirt.
“What the fuck?” I ask, gesturing wildly toward it. “Did you just throw a tomato at me?”
“There,” he says, nodding appreciatively, as though he’s proud of his handy work, “now we’re even.”
“Like hell we are,” I growl. I lunge forward, grab a squishy, bright red tomato from the bowl, stand on my tiptoes and mash it into Grayson’s silky, honey-brown hair, pressing down hard and twisting my hand so the pulp is evenly distributed over his head.
Grayson’s mouth falls open. “Are you kidding?”
I stand back, crossing my arms over my chest in satisfaction. “Looks pretty good.”
A mischievous smile breaks onto his face and I know instantly that I’m in trouble. “You are so dead,” he whispers.
As soon as I see his hand inch toward the tomato bowl I let out a shriek and start to run, looping around the prep station, bursting into the walk-in refrigerator, and barricading myself inside. With the bottom of my foot firmly planted against the door to keep him from getting in, I scan the shelves, searching for something to arm myself with.
My eyes fall on an aerosol can of whipped cream that we use to top the ice cream sundaes. I grab it, sidestep from the door, and push my back against the adjacent wall, metal canister poised like a gun.
The door flies open and, while Grayson is looking forward, I spring into action from the side, foaming his face with whipped cream, then sprinting out of the walk-in before he has a chance to retaliate.
Giggling, I scamper out of the kitchen and into the dining room, ducking behind the bar. I grab the soda gun from its holster and poise my finger on the button for soda water.
I can hear Grayson creeping through the restaurant, searching for me. I stay crouched down, out of sight.
“Lia,” he calls in a sad excuse for a menacing voice. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
I peer around the edge of the bar and see that he’s armed himself with a metal mixing bowl full of the chocolate drizzle I was going to use on Alex’s cannoli the night she arrived. He must have found it in the back of the walk-in. He’s got his hand buried in the sauce, ready to fling it at me.
He turns to look my way, and I hastily pull myself back in, breathing heavily and grinning from ear to ear. My heart is pounding from the thrill of the chase.
I listen carefully for his footsteps, trying to pinpoint his location, but the dining room has fallen eerily silent.
I decide to sneak another peek around the base of the bar, easing forward onto my knees, keeping the soda gun tightly gripped in my hand.
But just as I’m inching around the corner, I feel something cold and sticky drip into my hair and down my back. I scream and jump up, finding Grayson leaning over the bar top, his metal bowl tipped toward me. The chocolate trickles down my face and I let out a battle cry as I open fire with the soda gun. The stream of fizzy liquid hits him squarely in the nose. He grunts and rears back, stumbling out of range of my weapon.
I release the button but hold it cocked and loaded in front of me.
“Don’t come any closer,” I warn him. “Put the chocolate down.”
He smirks at me but does as he’s told, lowering the bowl to the ground and standing with his hands raised over his head. “I’d like to negotiate the terms of my surrender,” he states.
I consider, keeping the gun trained on his face. “What are your requests?”
He locks into my eyes, heat blazing from his irises as he takes a meaningful step toward me.
I wag the soda gun at him. “Hey! Don’t move.”
But he doesn’t listen. He keeps walking, his gaze fierce as his eyes narrow on me. Like a missile zeroing in on a target. His footsteps are bold, purposeful, unwavering. My thumb trembles against the button. My heart thunders in my chest.
This is war.
This is my ultimate battle.
To fight him. To break free from this hold he has over me. To crawl out from under him.
And I’m losing.
I’m losing.
I’ve lost.
God, I’m so tired of fighting.
So tired of failing.
I go to her not because there’s no place else to go.
But because she’s the only place to be.
His salty, sweet lips find mine in an instant. As though the path between us has already been paved. Etched into the air. Burned into the molecules. His hands twist into my chocolate-drizzled hair. His chest crashes against mine with a crack of electrifying thunder. His mouth moves with mine like the climax of a symphony. Melodic and building and dire.
I hold onto his face, urging it closer to me, gripping his skin like I’m tumbling toward the edge of a cliff.
And I am.
There is no turning back now.
We both know it.
And for the first time, neither of us cares.
His hands reach for the hem of my soiled shirt. It comes off in one ferocious tug. He clutches my back, driving our bare bodies toward each other. The heat radiating off of his sculpted stomach feels like I’ve been thrust against a sun.
Our tongues tango. Salsa. Foxtrot. We fight to get enough of each other. To taste each other deeper. To stake claim over the endless hollow carved between our lips. I feel my bra unclasp and slip from my arms. His mouth immediately dips to cover my breast, his knees bending to give him direct access. One hand reaches for my other breast while the second presses into my back, guiding my nipple deeper into his hot, wet mouth.
I let out a soft whimper, pushing down on his head.
His tongue flickers and swirls and strokes, sending me into a vacuum of dizzying pleasure.
He falls to his knees and gazes up at me. I look down on him and our gazes collide with an explosion that rumbles through the very heart of me.
“Lia,” he whispers, pressing his lips into my stomach. It’s a question and a statement and a promise all at the same time.
“Yes.” I respond ardently. To everything he wants. To everything he’s about to take.
To all of it.
He lets out a dark, guttural groan of release, wraps his arms around my waist, and rises to his feet, lifting me from the ground. He staggers forward a few feet until I feel my bare legs hit the smooth leather of the booth at table 9.
He lays me down across it, bending over me to unbutton and unzip my shorts. He grips the waistband and my panties in two hungry fistfuls and yanks them down my legs, tossing them behind him, into the abyss of the past. Then he lets out a tortured sigh of appreciation as he gazes upon my naked body.
It’s the kind of sigh I never dreamed would ever be directed at me.
“Fucking hell,” he breathes, falling back down to his knees before me.
I lift my head long enough to see him dip his mouth toward me, his strong, powerful tongue landing between my legs. He wastes no time tasting me, caressing me, moving me to nothing but a writhing, shuddering heap.
He moans into me, lapping me into a frenzy.
Holy shit, that feels amazing.
I dig my back into the cool upholstery of the ben
ch, bucking against his mouth and panting like a crazed animal.
His tongue gives one final, slow drag across everything and then his head lifts, and his gaze drips over me. “I can’t take this anymore,” he vows, his words coming out in short, ragged wheezes. “I have to be inside of you.”
I sit up, feeling woozy, and lunge for his belt buckle, ripping it open and unbuttoning his jeans. He pushes them down, along with his boxer briefs, and I let out a tiny gasp when I see how hard he is for me.
“Do you see what you do to me?” he demands, his voice thick and raspy.
I wrap my hand around him, giving him two swirling strokes, before pulling him toward me, leading him where he has to go. Where I need him to go.
He sighs and falls into me. We tumble back onto the booth. His hardness splits me open, penetrating me deep with a single, desperate thrust. I cry out in ecstasy, the sound reverberating off every corner of the empty restaurant.
I’m so wet for him, he glides effortlessly within me, filling up every inch of space. I prop one leg up against the back of the booth, and let the other fall off the side, opening myself up as wide as I can to him. He responds by plunging deeper, letting out a low, lecherous groan as his tip brushes against my wall.
I gasp and wrap my arms around his back, digging my nails into his gorgeous flesh.
Everything inside me is screaming, pulsing, splintering. Begging to be released.
His mouth plummets down to meet mine. The kiss is rough and ravenous. His lips tumble and fall against mine. His teeth nibble and pull. His tongue burrows deep.
He surges hard and fast inside of me, the exquisiteness of his movement making me delirious and aching for more. I shove my hips against his and clench every muscle around him.
He drags his mouth across my cheek, panting into my ear. “Lia. Holy fuck, Lia.”
I feel him swell inside of me, slowing to a deliberate, hungry throb, as he withdraws almost completely before easing back inside me. Over and over again. The slow, purposeful rhythm sends a quiver of fever rippling through me. I cling tighter to his back, rocking back and forth with him, urging him and out, as his hips apply all the right pressure in all the right places.
I feel the deep burn rising up inside of me, the glorious ache of release within my reach.
As though reading my mind, Grayson starts to pulse faster, harder, reaching deeper with each thrust.
“Oh, God, baby, I’m going to come,” he whimpers in my ear. “I’m going to come so hard. Holy shit!”
And the hot, humid feel of his breath combined with the friction of our slick, sweaty skin is enough. I shatter, crumble into a million trembling pieces, crying out, as the heavenly wave picks me up and floats me into the most intense, throbbing pleasure my body has ever felt.
Grayson’s release comes not a second later. He plunges deep inside me, screaming my name into the empty dining room, releasing a wild, uninhibited moan against the side of my face. His whole body quivers as he pushes one last time into the glorious depths of me.
Panting, he collapses against me, his arms giving up, his body giving in.
And in the warm, hazy afterglow that feels like a perfect sun-drenched day, only one thought dances through my useless brain, like a tumbleweed blowing through a barren desert:
I’ve been saved.
My heart beats slowly and steadily against Lia’s cheek. We lie in the booth, me on my back, her draped over me. I’ve never felt so euphoric and peaceful in all my life. Like the weight of twenty-five years of life has just floated away, evaporated off of me like mist.
To try to describe sex with Lia is like trying to describe air. Water. Fire. You breathe it. You drink it. It burns you. And what we just did was all three.
The other day Alex accused me of coming “like a robot.” And she was right. Up until just a few minutes ago, I felt like a robot. I felt like I was just going through life doing exactly what I was supposed to do. Saying what I was supposed to say. Following my pre-programmed responses.
But with Lia...
Fuck.
There is no supposed to. There is no programming. She makes me feel like I could do anything. Be whoever. Seize everything.
With Alex, I’ve always held back. I’ve always felt like I had to. But with Lia, holding back is not an option. It’s not even on the menu.
Touching her, kissing her, being inside of her, was like a release.
And God, did I release.
I exploded.
I’ve never heard my own voice that loud before. I’ve never heard such animalistic sounds come out of my mouth. I’ve never trembled the way she made me tremble. Like I was having a fucking seizure.
And she just let it all come out of me.
She just stroked me and squeezed me and thrust her hips at me while I convulsed.
In short, it was the best fucking orgasm of my entire fucking life.
I feel Lia’s soft breaths against my skin and I reach down and stroke her head. She tilts her chin toward me, offering me a serene smile.
She doesn’t have to say anything. She doesn’t have to ask the question. The only words I want to say right now are the words that come tumbling recklessly out of my mouth. “I want you. I choose you.”
Her eyebrows furrow adorably and she looks at me with a confused expression. “What?”
I cup her chin, keeping her eyes on mine. “I came back here for you,” I blabber on, without any consideration for the consequences. Without even giving a shit what they are. “I didn’t come here for the stupid sauce. I had to see you. I don’t know what’s happened to me. Three days ago my life made sense. I knew where I was going. And then I saw you in this dining room on Friday night, and everything spiraled out of control. You do something to me. Something I’ve never felt before. I can’t...I don’t...”
I run out of air, out of words.
Lia stares back at me in what I can only describe as disbelief. When she speaks, her voice is small and fragile. “Me?” she asks, full of doubt.
Fuck, she’s beautiful when she’s vulnerable like that.
Alex doesn’t have a single vulnerable bone in her body.
I laugh and pull her face to mine, dipping my mouth to meet hers and pulling her into a deep, consuming kiss. Her lips are salty with sweat and sweet with remnants of chocolate. It’s an irresistible combination.
I feel myself getting hard again.
When I break away, I hold her gaze tightly. Desperately. The way you hold onto the string of a balloon on a windy day. “Yes, Natalia. I want you.”
Her gorgeous smile is back. She dives for me, devouring my lips, probing eagerly with her tongue. Her phenomenal naked body rubs against mine, sending the remainder of my blood directly south. I’m ready for her in an instant. As though I’ve always been ready for her and my body has just been waiting for my stupid, sluggish brain to catch the fuck up.
Her legs spread around mine and I feel her exquisite moisture pooling onto my stomach.
I lift my hips, she inches down.
I glide into her, she envelops me.
And we save each other all over again.
“Table 12 wants to see you.” Olivia interrupts my five-minute staring contest with the booth in the corner, where not six hours ago I was lying naked and sweaty, tangled in Grayson Walker’s heavily breathing body.
I snap out of my reverie, knocking my untouched glass of wine and causing it to slosh over the rim onto the paper napkin I’ve been doodling on. The red liquid smears the rudimentary drawing I sketched of a kick-ass female assassin in a skintight orange minidress and lace-up boots being swept into the arms of the man she’s been assigned to kill. Peeking out from under the hem of her dress are two knives strapped to her inner thighs. It’s a character I’ve been working on for a few months now, but haven’t yet managed to get quite right.
I scrunch up the napkin and toss it aside.
“What’s with you today?” Blake asks from behind the bar, arriving with a wet rag to
wipe up my spillage. “You’ve been in la-la land all night. Reminiscing about hot and steamy encounters?”
I blink in surprise and stare at him.
He knows?
He flashes me a winning smile. “I can’t stop thinking about last night either. They may as well just rent that dance floor by the hour.”
Oh, right.
He’s talking about us.
And how I made a total fool of myself at Hank’s last night in a pitiful attempt to make Grayson jealous. Although, technically, I suppose it did work.
“Alcohol can make you do just about anything,” I say, half-joking.
He flips the wet towel over his shoulder and it lands on his broad back muscles with a smack. “Oh! Burn!” he feigns offense. “And I thought you Smart girls were such ladies.”
I blush, thinking about how far from a lady I was earlier today.
Or more important, how far Grayson was from a gentleman.
The thought makes me giddy. I bite my lip to hide a smile, but apparently I wasn’t fast enough.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Blake says with a knowing smirk, clearly thinking my red cheeks are directed at him. “So, when can we do it again? Maybe this time with a little more privacy and without that cock block Grayson around?”
“Table 12,” Olivia reminds me impatiently.
“Right.” I slide off the bar stool and head for the front of the restaurant.
“How about tonight?” Blake calls after me.
“How about never?” I reply without turning around.
I reach the two-top and brace myself for the worst. It’s never good when customers ask to speak with the owner. That’s a lesson I learned on day one of taking over this place.
I paint on my brightest smile as I approach the middle-aged couple. “Hello, there. My server said you wanted to see me? Is everything okay?”
I glance down at their plates which, to my surprise, are empty and appear to be licked clean.
The man peers up at me as his face lights up. “Oh yes. We just wanted to pay our compliments.”
“Huh?” I mutter, confused.