Running Home to You (The Running Series)

by Sweeney, Suzanne

  With one fell swoop, Evan clears the counter, sending everything in his way crashing to the floor. He grins and pulls me close to him with my back against the counter as clouds of flour rise up, dusting both of us in the process. He grabs me by the waist and hoists me onto the counter in one swift motion. He nudges my legs apart just enough so he can stand between them, pulls me to the edge, and kisses me, his tongue penetrating my mouth, its softness exploring me deeply, almost violently. “Do you have any idea how fucking hard I am right now?” he growls.

  I reach down for him, his shorts covered in flour, the fullness of him creating a huge tent in his shorts. He groans hungrily, my favorite sound in the world. A tingle begins to pulse between my legs, reminding me of how deeply this man affects me.

  Evan slides his hand beneath the hem of my shirt and gently pulls on it, lifting it up and over my head, and then tosses it to the floor to join the sugar and flour. His hands race across my naked back and land on my bra. With one hand, he unsnaps it, peels it from me, and drops it to the floor beside my shirt. As he does, I reach back to untie my apron hanging from my waist. “No, leave it,” he demands.

  I slide my hands in the waistband of his shorts and tug, freeing him from the restraints of the fabric. Evan steps out of his shorts and kicks them across the room, standing before me wearing nothing but a wicked smile, naked, floury, and perfect in every way. With Evan’s help, I shimmy out of my shorts, and they are relegated to a nearby spot on the floor with the rest of our now dusty clothing.

  Evan leans in to kiss me as I wrap my legs around his waist. He breaks us apart and lays me back across the counter, sending eggs and honey flying and creating a sweet, sticky mess. He looks down at my now naked breasts, swipes a finger in the spilled honey, and holds his hand directly above me. One by one, he drips thick, cold honey onto my tight peaks, watching as I struggle to remain still. He leans down to taste, his teeth toying with me, inflicting that brutal balance between ecstasy and anguish. If he continues to focus his attention here, I think I may explode from this alone.

  Just as I think I cannot stop the waves of pleasure that are rippling just beneath the surface, Evan stops his slow torture, releases me, and trails soft, sweet kisses down my body. His fingers delicately explore my hips, my thighs, then higher. He falls to his knees before me, hidden beneath the only fabric left between us – my apron. Unable to see his beautiful face or touch his thick, messy hair, I allow my hands to explore the soft skin of my stomach and up to grasp my breasts as my body arches in response to his touch.

  The moment I feel his tongue on me, my entire body tenses, sending sparks of pure ecstasy through my veins. Just as I begin to relax and permit him to take me on this pleasurable ride, he slips one, then two fingers inside. I hold my breath and bite my lip as he strokes me gently with his thumb and pushes powerfully into me with his fingers. Tongues, lips, fingers, all worshipping at my feet. His long fingers press inside me, twisting, curving, and finding that secret spot while my orgasm builds steadily and forcefully. Teetering on the edge, I feel as if I could shatter in an instant. I cannot stop the groans of pure delight that slip from my lips as I climb higher and higher.

  Without warning and against my desperate pleas, Evan disentangles himself from me, rises, and looks down at me now squirming on the table, left bereft of his touch and pleasure. I wrap my legs tightly around him, desperate to feel his flesh against my own, and drape my arms around his neck. Evan cradles me and lifts me from the counter, backing up infinitesimally until he is stopped by the stove behind him.

  While our lips are locked in a passionate kiss, he carries me across the kitchen, carefully avoiding all slippery, slimy obstacles in his way. Our bodies stick together, bound by the sticky honey and sweet chocolate that still linger on our skin. Unable to go any further, completely blocked off by the hazardous remnants of our hunger, he places me back on my feet and sighs deeply.

  I drag myself down his body, stopping to kiss every sweet spot I can find. When I reach his still hard erection, he releases a sexy moan that reverberates through every inch of my body. I pull him down onto the floor with me and crawl over him as he leans back, lying flat on the cold kitchen floor. I straddle him as I lower myself onto him, taking in every inch of his thickness as we both take in a deep, sucking breath. His body quivers lightly under my touch. This is my power over him, and it’s a wicked, triumphant feeling.

  I arch my back and flex my hips, anxious to feel him pressing against every part of me. Evan holds onto my hips as I grind into him. With every thrust, we slide along the floor a little, but never stopping. Impatiently, I move back and forth, creating the friction I need. I find his hair and ravage it, pulling and twisting, keeping rhythm with our movements.

  As I continue to climb higher and higher, my apron is billowing, tickling Evan’s skin while the ties in the back gently glide along the flesh of my bottom. I anchor myself to him, grabbing his hand in mine as we continue to drive, push, and move together, each filled with equal amounts of lust and fire. Evan releases me and moves his hand between my legs, pressing his fingers against me as I ride against him, fast and hard.

  Evan joins me as we both chase our own release. My cries are echoed in his moans of pure pleasure. I grasp hold of his shoulders as a tidal wave crashes through me, my muscles tense and go rigid as shots rip through me, slicing me, filling me, and emptying me. I throw my head back and release a loud, uncontrollable scream. As my body becomes limp, Evan gently lays me back and positions himself above me. Over and over, he drives into me, finding his own kind of amazing somewhere deep inside me. I hold tight as he empties himself into me until the waves finally retreat, leaving both of us shaken and completely drained.

  I look up at Evan, and I have to stifle a laugh. He looks positively ridiculous covered in sticky sweat, with bits of flour coating his chestnut hair. He rolls off me and plops himself onto the floor, cradling me in his arms and holding me close. When the room stops spinning, I sit up a little in an effort to survey the chaos we’ve created. I release a chuckle as I look around at the scattered ingredients, bowls, and utensils covering every surface of our kitchen. “Holy crap. Look at this mess.”

  Evan looks down at me and teases, “It’s the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen. Let’s take a shower, baby. We can deal with this later.”

  Chapter Eight

  Pot Calling the Kettle Black

  The weeks fly by now that Ryker has joined our team. My instincts were right – he is exactly what we need. After the initial resentment, Reese finally came around and accepted his help. The awkwardness between Reese and me is now long gone, gratefully.

  In fact, everyone seems to be impressed by Ryker, especially the girls. He’s got that military vibe that says, “Don’t fuck with me or my friends,” but the approachable disposition that makes him likeable and makes you want to be one of the chosen few with the privilege of calling him friend. I come in a little late this morning to find Emmy, Reese, and Natalie all crowded around Ryker as he proudly shows off his tattoos to the girls.

  “This one,” he explains, “is a burning sun. It represents life. The one next to it is a tree without leaves. It represents death. Once cannot exist without the other.” Emmy tears up a little, just enough that I can see her try to wipe her eyes without anyone else noticing.

  “See this?” He points to a thorn bush with a single rose blooming. “Each one of the thorns represents the a month I spent deployed. There’s exactly twelve.”

  “Why the rose?” Natalie asks.

  “It reminds me to try to find the beauty in every situation, no matter how bad things may seem,” he tells her. “When I was in Afghanistan, I met a beautiful young woman. She actually looked a lot like you, Jette. She had the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  “You said ‘looked’, as in the past tense. What happened to her?” I ask, curious to hear more about this girl who resembles me.

  “She died on tour. She never made it home.” He reaches u
p and rubs his face as if he’s trying to erase the painful memories from his mind.

  Reese notices another tattoo, somewhat hidden from plain sight. She takes his hand and turns his arm, palm up, so we can all see the writing along the inside of his arm. She reads it aloud, “Forgive me Father for I have sinned.”

  Ryker pulls away. “Sorry, but that one’s for me, and me alone.” I immediately hurt for him. I can’t help but wonder what happened to this man.

  Emmy, as usual, tries to lighten the situation by showing off a few of her tattoos. “See this, it’s my derby skate. It shows how badass I am. The flowers all around it show how sweet and sexy I am.” She giggles, tosses her golden hair over her shoulder and shakes her ass a little just to punctuate that last statement.

  Ryker’s the one who notices something I’ve never paid attention to. “All the flowers are shades of pink. Except this one,” he says, pointing to the single bright orange flower hidden among the others. “Why is this one different?”

  “It’s a lily. My mother’s name is Suzette.” We all look at her, not immediately seeing a connection. “The name Suzette means ‘graceful lily’. Get it?”

  “Well, I love them all,” Reese adds. “Are you getting any more?” she asks.

  “Actually, I always wanted a sugar skull, right here,” she tells us, pointing to her bicep.

  I can’t imagine why anyone as cute and lively as Emmy would want a skull tattooed on her arm for the rest of her life. “Seriously, Em? A skull? They’re so ... I don’t know ... morbid. You really want that?”

  Ryker defends her choice, “Actually sugar skulls are bright, colorful celebrations of life. They’re usually covered with flowers, or other significant symbols. They represent the joyful bond between life and death. They can be fun, serious, silly, or a little bit of everything.”

  “Well, I want mine to be all of that. The only reason I haven’t gotten one yet is because I don’t know exactly what symbols I want. I have a skate to represent my derby life. I have flowers to represent me, my mother and my sisters. I need one to represent my job, but I’m not sure how I can do that.”

  Ryker goes over to the bar, fishes around for paper and a pencil, then sits at the bar doodling something. We all gather around him, watching as he skillfully draws the outline of a skull. In each eye socket is a wedge of citrus. “One is a lemon, the other is a lime,” he tells us. “This,” he explains as he adds something to the center of the skull where the nose belongs, “is an olive.” He adds mint leaves on the chin, maraschino cherries on the cheeks, a shot glass and bottle caps in the background, and a worm slinking out between the teeth.

  He hands the drawing to Emmy. It’s a beautiful work of art. She takes one look at it and squeals in delight. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I love it. It’s amazeballs.” Emmy holds it to her chest and rocks back and forth. “Ryker, you’re amazeballs, too.” She kisses him on the cheek. “Who’s coming with me? I can’t wait. I want this right now!” she exclaims.

  Marcus walks in and rallies us all back to our stations. “No one is leaving right now. Ladies, sorry, I hate to break up this little love fest, but we have work to do.”

  “Sorry ’bout that, boss. Reese, Natalie, come on. We still have lots to do before next week. The clock’s running,” Ryker quickly escorts his crew back into the kitchen and we all get back to business.

  While Ryker systematically works to bring the badly needed discipline to our kitchen crew, we all improve day after day, and now, by the end of June, we have something we can all be equally proud of.

  With only one week left until our official Grand Opening, I find myself spending more and more time at Rush and less time at home. Natalie and I have added a few desserts to our growing menu, including my S’mores creation. We make a few minor changes like removing the cookie cracker and replacing it with a dark chocolate brownie. Natalie keeps the honey and cinnamon flavors to create an inspired ice cream to pair with the treat. Derek creates a specialty drink pairing. He calls it a Touchback. Its base is a bittersweet grapefruit juice. He says the salty chocolate and the grapefruit complement each other, while the liqueurs draw out the bitterness of the dark chocolate and add a sweet finish. One taste and I’m hooked. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to enjoy a dark-chocolate brownie without this drink in hand.

  “So Derek, besides the grapefruit juice, what else is in this?” I ask.

  “Come on back here, Jette, and I’ll show you. It’s easy to make.” Derek starts lining up the ingredients as I slip behind the bar to join him. “First, you have to muddle some honey and grapefruit.” He pours the honey and tosses in a large wedge of grapefruit, then hands the glass to me. “Go ahead, muddle away.”

  I grab the muddler and begin to mash the ingredients together. Derek takes one look at what I’m doing and stops me, “Are you trying to destroy evidence or muddle some citrus?”

  “What? Am I doing it wrong?” I stop and look over at Derek who’s standing there with his hands on his hips, shaking his head at me. I drop the muddler and back away. “Forget it. You do it, Mr. Marvelous.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” He grabs me by the waist and drags me back. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you the proper way to muddle? Try again.” He hands me the muddler and waits for me to do something.

  “I can’t.”

  “You can’t or you won’t?” he asks.

  “Both, I guess. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

  “Okay. Here, I’ll show you.” He holds my hand, and together we muddle the fruit and honey. “The trick is to push and twist. You were pounding and mashing.” Slowly, he helps me apply just the right amount of pressure with the proper twist of the wrist. “If you do it right, it will release the perfect amount of juice and oil.” I can sense a devilish grin spreading across his face. He whispers in my ear, “But be careful not to pound too hard, Jette.”

  I give Derek a playful jab in the gut and as I do, we hear the front door slam closed. Standing stock-still is Evan. At first he says nothing, not a word. He just stands there staring at us seething with anger. Knowing Evan as well as I do, I can sense he’s trying to calm himself and temper his reaction.

  Hoping to underplay the scene he just witnessed, I grab the glass and offer it to him. “Derek taught me how to make a Touchback. Want to try some?” Evan walks to the bar, grabs me by the wrist, and leads me into my office. As we’re walking away, I hear Emmy lecturing Derek. “Nice job, slick. Don’t you know how to play nice?”

  Evan slams the door shut. Whatever he has to say isn’t going to be good. I can hear the muffled tones of Emmy berating Derek for that little performance.

  “What the fuck was that, Juliette? Is this what you do here all day long while I’m getting the shit beat out of me by a bunch of rookies?” He paces around the small office, clearly hurt and agitated.

  “I’ve told you before, Evan. It’s nothing. I seriously don’t know why you’re getting so upset.”

  “And I’ve told you that I don’t like the way he puts his hands all over you. You won’t listen to me. You won’t ask him to stop. So I have to ask myself why. Why won’t you tell him to stop?”

  He stares at me, waiting for me to say something. “I’ll tell you why – you like it. You don’t want him to stop.”

  He takes a deep cleansing breath, and then continues, “Am I right?”

  “Evan, please. You know there’s nothing going on. Derek doesn’t mean anything by it,” I try desperately to explain. I walk over to him and try to wrap my arms around his waist. He peels my arms off and walks away from me.

  Evan marches into the restaurant, walking straight over to Derek. Fear of what is about to happen freezes me in my tracks. Evan warned me about what he might do next time and I didn’t listen. By allowing Derek to continue to flirt with me, I knew deep down inside that this could happen. I watch in horror as Evan walks behind the bar and stands nose-to-nose with Derek.

  “Listen closely, because I’m only going to say this
once. I thought we were past this, but I should have known better. I will not be made a fool of by anybody, especially someone like you. Keep your fucking hands off her, Derek. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  Before Derek can say anything, Evan walks over to me and adds, “I don’t know what kind of fucking game you’re playing, but I’m this close to cashing out and walking away!” Evan is looking at me with an anger that I’ve never seen before. It’s disturbing.

  Evan turns away from me and storms out the door. Should I run after him? Beg him to forgive me? Try to explain away what he just saw? No. He’s too upset, and frankly so am I. He needs time to cool off and I do, too.

  Marcus and Ryker emerge from the kitchen to see what all the fuss is about. They saw and heard Evan’s final declaration, loud and clear. Marcus heads straight to Derek to get to the bottom of the situation and Ryker comes to check and make sure I’m okay.

  “Stop, let me see,” he insists. I look down, and I find myself rubbing my wrists. Did Evan hurt me? I don’t believe so.

  He gently takes my hands in his and turns them over, carefully inspecting my wrists for marks. “I’m fine, Ryker. Nothing happened.”

  “Big Mac’s got a bit of a temper, doesn’t he? Has this happened before? Has he ever put his hands on you before, Jette? You can tell me.” Ryker seems genuinely concerned that I might be in an abusive relationship with Evan. Perhaps that’s because he really doesn’t know Evan. In the month that he’s been here, he’s only met Evan once.

  “Ryker, relax. There’s absolutely nothing for you to worry about. Evan’s under a lot of stress right now, and he just walked in on Derek flirting with me. He has every right to be upset.” I try to rationalize. “He warned me about getting too close to Derek. I knew better.”

  “Will you stop and listen to yourself? Do you know what you sound like? You sound like those women who take abuse day after day because they convince themselves they deserve it.” He’s looking down at me with sincere worry.