Page 8 of Big Easy

BIG EASY

Fuck, her body feels good pressed against mine, I think as Sutton leans in close.

I feel her palm slipping along my side before resting on my abdomen, causing my cock to swell against the zipper of my jeans.

What the fuck is wrong with me. Since I first laid eyes on Sutton, my response to her has been all-consuming—from my body's hair-trigger reactions to the thought of her in my bed.

She has magic I can't explain. I'm under her spell, and I'm not sure if I can break it or if I even want to.

Regaining myself, I twist the throttle a few times, throw the bike into gear, and pull out of the parking lot.

Taking my time, making sure she feels safe on her first ride, I hold back, keeping my pace slower than usual.

Suddenly, her warm breath is against my ear.

"Don't drive slow on my account. I want to remember my first time," Sutton says.

Her words aren't sexual in nature, but my mind takes them someplace erotic.

Grabbing her other hand resting on my hip, I pull it around, placing her palm on my abdomen.

I give the throttle a little twist, giving the bike's engine more gas.

Her hands clench beneath my cut, crumpling my shirt in her fists as her hold tightens with the forward momentum.

Wanting to open my bike up and give her something to remember, I take a detour, away from the busy city streets.

Sutton presses her body into me as I weave through traffic on my way to the exit.

Hitting the open highway, I gun it. With every curve my bike takes like a natural, Sutton moves with me, and, in the process, leans into my back a bit more.

Her touch sends jolts of electricity coursing through my body.

It takes all my control to not turn my bike east and take her home and have her in my bed.

Torn between the exhilaration of the moment and increasing our speed and not wanting it to end, I eventually slow. At the next exit, I point the bike west, taking us downtown once again.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, we're rolling up to a riverfront parking area. Facing the water's edge, I cut the engine. Climbing off, I help Sutton remove the helmet from her head. Her eyes are bright, and her smile sucks the air from my lungs; that's how beautiful she is.

I can't help what happens next. I couldn't stop it if I tried. Her eyes lock with mine as I lean down and capture her soft lips. Our connection is brief, but, by far, the most intense kiss I have ever experienced.

At this moment, I know. It's not a thought that seals my fate.

It's a soul-deep feeling as our lips linger on one another's.

She is mine forever.

I pull away to find her eyes still closed, her long lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as she lifts her hand.

Her fingertips caress her lips where our mouths were connected.

Once her eyes open, I know she felt it too, but neither of us acknowledges it, at least not with words.

I hold out my hand and Sutton takes it, and I help her off the bike.

Her fingers lace with mine as I lead her across the street to Tove, Ryker's restaurant, which he named after his wife.

"Have you eaten here before?" I ask.

"No, but I've heard good things about it. My co-workers say the food is great."

"A friend of mine is executive chef and owner," I tell her and open the door. My hand falls to the small of her back as I guide her inside.

"Mr. Carter," the young hostess standing at the podium nearby greets us. Walking to the nearby counter, she retrieves two menus. "Would you like your usual table?"

"If it's available," I reply. Without even attempting to flirt with her, the young lady blushes.

"Follow me." Her eyes cut to Sutton before turning and leading us toward the back of the building, where we follow her up a flight of stairs.

"Do you have this effect on all women?" Sutton whispers with a grin.

I stop us short of taking the last step as we climb the stairs and pull her body flush against mine, feeling the heat radiate between us. "Are you including yourself in that statement, babe?" I ask, and watch her breathing increase under my touch.

"I can't lie about something clearly visible. You are very aware of the effect you are having on me, Jaxson," she admits, but it's my name on her lips I focus on the most.

What is she doing to me?

"Come on." I put space between us.

The hostess guides us out onto the veranda.

The day starts to turn to dusk, and the warm glow from the strings of lights strung over our heads creates a relaxing atmosphere.

Tove isn't an upscale restaurant. It's warm and inviting, with live music and great food.

We settle into the chairs at the best table in the house.

From this spot, we have a great view of both the river and downtown.

Ryker bought the place from his old boss and predecessor about five years ago.

"Do you trust me to order for you?" I look at Sutton, who is studying the menu.

"Yes," she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"Bring us the shrimp corn chowder and fried boudin balls." I hand the menus back to the waitress. My mouth waters just thinking about the food and getting a small taste of home. "Would you like a drink?"

"I'd love a glass of wine—white Pinot." She smiles.

"Your usual, Mr. Carter?" the waitress asks.

"Please."

She walks away with our order, and I turn my attention back to Sutton and find her staring out at the view. "It's beautiful." She leans back in her seat. "You must come here often since most of the staff seems to know you by name."

"Maybe a couple of times a month. I prefer cooking at home."

Sutton looks at me. "You cook?" She sounds shocked, and I chuckle.

"Is it that hard to believe?"

She giggles, and the sound is endearing. "I'm a little surprised, but I like the thought of you in the kitchen." Sutton quickly covers her mouth and blushes. "Oh, my God. I can't believe I just said that out loud."

Damn. Can this woman be more adorable?

"Tell me about your day." I try to move us past her embarrassment by shifting the subject.

Sutton sighs heavily. "Exhausting." She laughs. "No different than any other day. It's not always easy taking care of people at the end stages of their illnesses."

Our food arrives, and the waitress sets our bowls of soup in front of us and the platter of boudin balls in the center before pouring Sutton her glass of wine. Our waitress sets my tall glass of cold sweet tea in front of me, and I down half of it once she walks away.

"You like beer," Sutton says before sipping her drink.

"It's sweet tea. I don't drink."

Sutton raises her brown over the rim of her glass. "You don't drink. Like, at all?"

"No."

"You mind me getting personal and asking why?" She sets her glass down. Picking up her spoon, she tastes her chowder. "Mmm. It's so good." I watch her take another taste.

"Not as good as my momma makes it, but Ryker does a damn good job bringing a bit of Louisiana cuisine. And to answer your question, I don't partake in any alcohol or drugs because my sobriety is important to me."

"So, you've battled addiction in the past?" she asks, and I nod.

"I've been clean and sober for more than fifteen years." I begin eating, as well. Sutton smiles. Instead of continuing with the current conversation, she points to the appetizers in the center of the table. "So, what did you call these?"

"Boudin. It's a ground pork sausage with rice and other seasonings.

It's not the healthiest of food, but it's damn good eating.

Try one," I encourage her, and she reaches across the table.

As she's plucking one from the plate, her shirt-sleeve rises up her bicep revealing faint bruising that looks a lot like someone's handprint.

"The fuck," I growl. "Who grabbed you?" I feel anger bubbling in my gut.

Her eyes follow my line of sight. "Oh." She rubs at the spot on her arm. “I didn't realize he gripped me hard enough to leave a mark," she says under her breath.

"Who the fuck put their hands on you?" I feel the heat on my face as my rage builds.

Sutton waves her hand dismissively. "It was nothing, really. My patient's son got a little handsy when I declined his offer to grab coffee earlier, just before you arrived."

"Name," I demand.

"Jaxson, I handled it." Sutton levels me with a look that says she has it under control.

Although her attempt to squash the conversation is cute, I don't let it go so quickly.

"Name, babe. Now." My voice is stern, leaving no question that I mean business.

Sutton rolls her eyes but caves. "Peter Sanders.

But it was nothing, I promise. It happened to be his third attempt to get me to go out with him, and the third time I declined.

" Sutton pops a boudin ball into her mouth and moans.

"I like boudin," she smiles my way, but the anger I feel with the knowledge of someone—a man—putting his hands on what's mine prevents me from returning the smile.

"Besides," her smiles fade slightly, "he's not my type.

" She licks her lips as her eyes turn lusty.

Her heated stare does the trick, flipping the switch off on the rage I'm feeling inside—for now.

"What is your type, babe?" Wanting contact with her, I reach around the table and pull her chair toward me, dragging it across the wood decking.

She swallows. "I think you know the answer. I wouldn't be here, with you, if you didn't."

I grip the back of her neck, dip my head, and graze my lips down the side of her neck. She presses forward into my touch. Her hand grips my knee, then slowly slides her palm up my thigh, coming dangerously close to brushing the tip of my cock.

"I want you in my bed." I nibble her earlobe, and her breath hitches. "I can't think of anything I want more than to bury my cock inside your pussy."

She nods but almost looks shocked when she agrees.