Authors: Claire Kent
Seven
Seven
Claire Kent
This book is a work
of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright
© 2014 by Claire Kent. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce,
distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Amy
peeked beyond a rack of romance novels so she could see whether Owen was
flirting with the pretty blonde who always worked Saturdays at this used
bookstore.
Owen charmed every
woman he talked to—females from eight to eighty—but Amy decided he wasn’t
really flirting with the blonde.
She
was flirting with him. No doubt
about that. But he was just being his normal, charming self.
Not only was Owen
gorgeous, with his light-brown hair, blue eyes, classic features, and a body
that could prompt drooling even in the coolest of observers, but he also had a
posh British accent that drove American women wild. His company had sent him from
London to their Baltimore office just for the year. So, with his accent and his
looks and his irresistible smile, Amy was used to women falling all over
themselves to get his attention.
She’d had to resist
the urge to do the same thing five months ago when she’d first met him in this
very bookstore.
Amy read mostly on
her ereader, but she’d been looking for a book that day that wasn’t out in
ebook version. Owen was a self-proclaimed Luddite who preferred to read from
pages he could touch. That afternoon, she’d noticed him, of course, as he’d
been browsing the history section, but she would have just admired his broad
shoulders and tight ass from afar had he not turned his head and caught her
leering.
He’d gradually made
his way over to her—moving from the biographies to the inspirational section to
the mysteries. She’d kept shooting little glances at him, to verify that he was
indeed approaching with only thinnest pretense of browsing. Every time she
looked over, he’d grab a random book and peruse it with a barely suppressed
smile. It turned into a game, with both of them sustaining the façade of
disinterest until they were side by side in the paranormal section.
She couldn’t believe
it was happening. Hot men didn’t approach her in bookstores. Or anywhere else,
for that matter.
But he’d finally
made a dry, straight-faced comment about how he thought werewolves were
overrated as lovers because of the inevitable wet-dog smell, and Amy had burst
into surprised laughter.
They’d started to
talk about books. Before she knew it, she was telling him about her small-town
upbringing and her one visit to the U.K. She’d been powerless to resist his
invitation for coffee. They’d spent the whole day together and then the night together
in a hotel.
Amy’s life was neat,
orderly, and under control. She liked it that way. Right now, she was focusing
on her career, still being in the early stages of establishing her dental
practice. Just living in the city was slightly overwhelming for her, after
being raised in a rural area, so it took all the time and energy she had to do
her work well and not feel like she’d get swept away in the chaos. Later, once
she had her career well under control, she would get serious about
relationships. Not right now, though.
So, when Owen said
he’d like to keep seeing her but it couldn’t be serious, she’d thought that
sounded just about perfect.
For the last five
months, they’d gotten together every weekend for hot sex and stimulating
conversation. They’d set very clear ground rules for how the relationship would
work, though. It was just sex and a good time. No feelings allowed. Owen was
returning to London on a certain date, where his family, friends, and life
were, and Amy wasn’t about to move across the Atlantic and give up the career
she was building here.
But six months of
great sex? Neither of them was about to refuse that.
So, for any number
of reasons, Amy had no right to feel jealous or resentful of the little blonde,
who was beaming up at Owen and now putting her hand on his arm—ostensibly to
emphasize a point. Amy wasn’t Owen’s girlfriend, and she only had twenty-eight
days left to be with him at all. If he wanted to fall in love with this blonde,
he had every right to do so.
Amy wanted to claw
her eyes out anyway.
She wished Owen
would stop smiling at the blonde. Surely he knew how deadly his smile was.
Humility had never been one of his character qualities. He should know it
wasn’t fair of him to be flashing that smile around to hapless females and then
expect them to go back to their days as if he hadn’t left them as puddles of
goo in his wake.
When Owen turned
back toward her, with three books that the blonde had been “assisting” him to
find, Amy quickly grabbed the first book she could lay her hand on and
pretended to be reading it, so he wouldn’t know she’d been spying on him and
feeling irrationally jealous.
A few seconds later,
an arm slid around her waist and a very male body pressed into her from behind.
He’d placed his stack of books on an empty space on the shelf beside her. “Good
book?”
Shit. No man in the
world had the right to make two simple words sound so achingly sexy.
“It’s okay,” she
said, making herself scan the page quickly so she had some clue what the book
was about. Leave it to Owen to ask her the content of her improvised prop.
“It’s a little too much fantasy for my taste.”
“A hot billionaire
sweeps in and rescues a sweet, selfless virgin from her life of mediocrity?”
His hand was resting on her belly, and his mouth was right at her ear.
Despite the fact
that they’d had quite good sex the night before, Amy’s body suddenly started to
hum with interest. “No. He’s a hot SEAL.” She’d figured that out from the
title, so she was able to give at least a little authenticity to her
pseudo-reading. “The fantasy material is his magic penis.”
“Really?” Owen took
the book out of her hand and peered down at the page she’d had it opened to.
“What does it do?”
She smothered
helpless giggles as she realized he thought she was being literal. “The penis
forks into ten heads so he can pleasure ten women at once. Hot SEALs sometimes
need to do that, you know.” She was quite pleased with her attempt to keep a
straight face.
His eyes widened
dramatically. “
What
?” He was flipping back pages now, obviously trying
to find the ten-women-magic-penis-orgy scene.
She burst into
laughter and grabbed the book out of his hands. “That would be a
man
’s
fantasy. This book is a woman’s fantasy. So it’s not
that
kind of magic
penis.”
“Oh.” He looked
rather disappointed, but he was still smiling her favorite smile—the private,
almost intimate one, like she was the only important person in the world. But
he’d given her that smile from the very beginning, so she reminded herself it
wasn’t promising her anything other than a good time. “So what does it do?”
“It evidently makes
her come about seven times in one fuck.” Amy flipped back to the right page to
verify. “Yep, that’s seven. In like an hour or something. Definitely, too much
fantasy for my taste.”
He was frowning now
as he picked up his books and put the fantasy paperback on top of the pile,
evidently thinking she wanted to buy it. “It’s not impossible.”
“Seven orgasms? In
an hour or two? And not from oral or anything. It’s all from regular
intercourse. I’d say it’s highly unlikely.”
“I didn’t say it was
a common occurrence, but certainly within the realm of possibility.”
She snorted,
exaggerating her disdain because the blonde was smiling at Owen from the cash
register as they approached. “Right. Not any realm of possibility I’m familiar
with. I’m lucky to come even once.” She did lower her voice so the blonde
couldn’t hear what she’d said.
Owen’s eyes narrowed
as he handed the blonde his card to pay for the books. “Is there a particular
complaint you’d like to lodge?”
“Don’t get touchy.
I’m not complaining. Just saying some things are realistic and some things are
fantasy. And that…” She nodded toward the book, which Owen had paid for with
his collection of history and biography titles. “
That
is fantasy.”
“Can I help you with
anything else today?” the blonde asked with a hopeful smile. Her eyes had been
darting between Amy and Owen, and she was clearly displeased that they were
together. They’d come to this bookstore almost every Saturday for the last five
months, so Amy didn’t know why the blonde would be surprised by the fact that
they were together.
“Not today.” Owen
flashed her one more smile as a parting gift. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” the blonde
replied stupidly.
“Should we eat at
Gerard’s?” Owen asked as they walked out onto the city sidewalk.
It was loud and
crowded and chaotic, and Amy felt a familiar rush of anxiety. It dissipated
almost immediately, but the fact that she still felt it bothered her. She’d
lived in Baltimore for three years now. Surely, she’d get used to it
eventually.
She liked to be in
control of things, and it was hard to always feel like she wasn’t in control in
this city.
She smiled at Owen
and hoped he hadn’t seen her initial reaction. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
He put his hand on
her back as they walked, guiding her through the crowds on the sidewalk. She
didn’t like to think of herself as the kind of woman who needed a man, but she
did feel more secure with him beside her.
Amy did her best not
to think about the fact that, after today, she only had three more Saturdays
with Owen before he left. Twenty-eight days from now he’d be on a plane back to
London. For good.
She’d known this
relationship had an established end-point from the very beginning, and that was
the only reason she let herself indulge in it. Owen was not a safe or a
sensible choice for a serious relationship, since he was so far out of her
league. Falling in love with him would be a huge mistake—she’d end up with nothing
but a broken heart—so six months of fun was all she could allow herself.
She had three more
weekends left with him, and she wasn’t going to spoil them by getting upset
about the fact that their time was ending.
“What’s wrong,
love?” he asked, adjusting his hand at the small of her back and guiding her
away from the family approaching who was taking up the entire sidewalk.
“Nothing,” she said
with a grin, feeling better now that she’d given herself a mental lecture about
reality. She’d always been good at giving herself mental lectures. “Just
thinking about the magic penis of seven orgasms.”
An elderly man who
was walking past them gave a visible start and scandalized stare.
“I say again, if you
have any particular complaints about our sex life, I’d prefer for you to state them
outright.”
Owen sounded so
offended that Amy couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t get all sensitive. You know
the sex is fantastic. I’m just saying it’s normal sex. We don’t swing off the
balcony or use props and costumes. And I don’t come a zillion times every time
you fuck me.”
“True.” His face
relaxed visibly and his shoulders became less tense. “A zillion might be an
overly ambitious expectation from one fuck. Even with me.”
She choked on
another laugh. “Your arrogance knows no bounds. But, seriously, I’m willing to
grant your sex-god status, but having seven orgasms at once seems to be
stretching the bounds of plausibility.”
The intensity of
Owen’s frown surprised her. “Why do you assume it’s so remarkable?”
“Because it is! It’s
ridiculous. One or two, sure. Maybe three if it’s from oral. But seven? Uh-uh.
There’s no way. Not during one sexual encounter.”
“I don’t believe
it’s impossible.”
She rolled her eyes,
arguing partly because she believed it was true but mostly because it
distracted her from a poignancy that rose up in strength as they entered the
little lunch bistro, where they ate lunch at least every other week.
Only a couple more
times to have lunch here with Owen. She couldn’t even imagine Saturdays without
him.
Shaking the feeling
away, she said, “Okay, maybe it’s not impossible for some hypothetical woman
who can come at the drop of a hat. But it’s sure as hell impossible for
me
.”
Owen pulled out the
chair for her at their table—he did that sort of thing unconsciously, which was
just another thing to make him attractive—and then studied her soberly when he
took the chair across from her. “I don’t think it’s impossible for you.”
“You really think
you could make me come seven times?”
“I do.”
“In the space of an
hour or two?”
“Yes.”
“With your cock, not
your mouth?”
The middle-aged
woman getting up from the table next to theirs gasped and dropped her wallet.
“Yes. I could.”
Amy shook her head.
“No way.”
“I’ll prove it.”
“Good luck.”
“I’m serious.”
“You can be serious
until the cows come home. I’m not going to come seven times.”
He’d opened his
mouth to reply, but the server came over to take their order, and they lost the
thread of the conversation.
Amy assumed it was
over. After all, Owen wouldn’t want to take on a challenge he would certainly lose.
Before she’d met Owen, she’d never thought she was particularly good at sex,
but in the last five months she’d discovered she could be incredibly passionate
and enthusiastic in bed. But she was the kind of person who worked hard and
took life seriously and never expected silly fantasies to somehow become
reality.
Seven orgasms in one
go was definitely a silly fantasy.
As they ate lunch, they
chatted about work and about the global economic situation and about the movie
they’d watched last night and about Plato—a fairly typical conversational
pattern for them—and they were just finishing up when she noticed that Wes, one
of her partners in the dental practice, was paying for his take-out order at
the counter.