Seven (5 page)

Her rational mind might tell her that
it was just a normal endearment.

But her heart heard him say, “Love Amy.”
And her body reacted to what her heart had heard.

She moaned deep in her throat as the
rush of feeling slammed into her. His cock was still moving inside her, now
firmly hitting her g-spot as she kept leaning backward. Her muscles started to
spasm and familiar waves of sensation overtook her. “Owen,” she whimpered, her
body clamping down on his and her fingernails breaking into the skin on his
hard thighs.

It felt so rich, so hard, so deep. So
good.

“Owen,” she choked out again, as her
body shook through her orgasm.

She had to bite her lip to keep from
saying anything else.

They froze in position for a minute,
still rocking a little into the lingering contractions.

Then Amy opened her eyes and released
her grip on Owen’s thighs. Before she could slump forward, Owen had pulled her
down into a tight, needy embrace.

She shook a little against
him—wondering if she was actually crying. He held her silently, desperately,
and she burrowed into his heat and his strength.

She loved having sex. Loved the touch
of his hands, his lips, his cock, his hard body. Loved every orgasm she and
Owen experienced together.

Loved this afterward even more.

“You all right?” Owen asked at last,
his voice faint and breathless.

“Yeah,” she replied, pulling off him
so that his sated cock slipped out of her. She curled up at his side and
stroked a hand up his chest to cup his cheek. “Kind of tired. That was five.”
She tilted her head up to scan his face, looking for signs of regret or
disappointment. “You?”

“I can’t remember the last time I
came that hard.” His tone should have been conversational but ended up sounding
almost awed.

Amy felt a little awed herself but
was too embarrassed to vocalize it. Certainly she was impressed by his physical
prowess, but she had been more affected by the things that weren’t physical.
Their need for each other, their emotional connection, the way her heart had
lurched and swelled when she’d heard him call her love.

She knew it didn’t mean anything. He
was British, after all. But still…

A warm feeling grew in her belly, a
mingling of that silly hope, the incredible physical satisfaction, and the
thrill of knowing she had won,

Caressing his cheek, she murmured, “I
came pretty hard too. Five times. Neither one of us should be disappointed.”

“Why would we be?” he asked, cocking
an eyebrow and beginning to look a little more like himself.

“Well,
I
shouldn’t be,” Amy
explained, trying to keep the pleased satisfaction out of her voice. “You made
me come five times. It was amazing.” Her lips twitched irrepressibly. “Plus, I
won our little wager.”

His brow lowered. “What are you
talking about?”

“Well, the challenge was seven. And
you managed five. And oral sex won’t count—your cock has to be in play.” She
reached down to palm his damp, limp penis. Stroked it with her thumb. “You’re
not going to get very far at making me come two more times using this.”

He glanced to the side at the clock
on the nightstand. “If I’m not mistaken, the challenge gave me two hours. That
means I still have just over an hour left.”

Amy stared at him blankly, not
following what he was saying. It should be obvious but she’d so set her mind on
making Owen come that she hadn’t even considered anything that might happen
afterwards.

He kissed her on the temple. Then on
the side of her jaw. Then on the mouth. And his kisses were so sweet and gentle
that Amy was temporary distracted. As she sighed in delight, he murmured
hoarsely, “Give me some recovery time. Then we’ll be back in business.”

Amy blinked at him. Saw a smug kind
of amusement flickering beyond the tenderness in his eyes.

She’d been so sure that making him
come would mean she’d won. Foolishly, she hadn’t even thought of this. “Oh,”
she mumbled, feeling a stream of their mingled fluids leaking down her inner
thigh.

He chuckled and pulled her closer. “Amy,
love, I told you not to underestimate me.”

Amy was starting to
get scared. Not just nervous or vaguely anxious, but really scared—as in
panicky.

She wasn’t scared about losing the
wager, although she knew enough to realize now that seven orgasms in two hours
weren’t quite as impossible as she’d originally believed. She didn’t want to
lose, but it wasn’t something that she would actually panic over.

The terror came from something else.
Something far more dangerous and something that meant so much more.

There was true peril in the way she
was feeling now. Her body was pleased and pliant, and she was draped over Owen
like a throw. His soft kisses were making her melt, and his dry humor and
familiar smugness caused her chest to clench with tenderness.

Her heart was starting to believe
some things that her mind knew could never be true. And the more she nestled
against him in sweet, sated languor, the more her common sense and rational
control faded under a hot, thick rush of emotion.

Emotion she could never admit to,
never say out loud. She loved having sex with Owen, but it had always, only been
an outlet for her physical need since there was no future for them.

He was leaving the country in
twenty-eight days.

The only problem was that, at the
moment, her body was saying she loved him. Her heart was saying she loved him.
And her mouth was closer to saying it than she could allow.

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.
She wouldn’t let it be true.

Because, if it was true, her heart
would be shattered to pieces a month from now.

She rolled away from him abruptly
when she felt stark fear roil in her gut. She had to be so careful. Had to
avoid making him suspicious. If he started to think that she was about to
profess her undying adoration, then he would feel trapped and try to escape as
quickly as possible.

To protect herself and try to get
herself under control again, she rolled onto her side with her back to him. Screamed
an urgent, mental lecture at herself.

Just a few hours ago, she’d be
priding herself on having her life so under control. It was almost laughable
now.

“Amy?” Owen asked, confusion evident
in his tone. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said lightly, pleased that
her voice sounded so unaffected. “I just got hot and needed some space.”

She heard a frown in his voice when
he replied, “It’s not very hot in here.”

Keeping her back to him would just
raise his suspicions even more, so she flopped over and stared at the ceiling.
“The room isn’t hot.
I’m
hot. Can you blame me? I just had five
orgasms.”

He scooted over until he was pressing
up against her side. His voice was irresistible, and she didn’t dare to look at
his face. “I know you did,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her
cheekbone. “They were beautiful. And you have two more to go.”

He slid his hand over to rub her belly
slowly, his touch soft, gentle, and soothing. Amy closed her eyes, felt tingles
of enjoyment in her fingers and toes. Felt far more intense tingles in her
heart.

This was stupid. She had to protect
herself better than this. Why, oh why, didn’t he just fuck the daylights out of
her and then roll over and go to sleep like a normal man?

She swatted his hand away and shifted
her body so that a few inches separated them. “Owen, stop. You’re all hot and
sweaty.”

She saw him frowning when she glanced
over to check his reaction. He said, “You’ve been perspiring rather heavily
yourself.” He flicked a finger over the dampness in the hollow of her neck.

“Not as much as you have. So stay on
your side of the bed. I’m hot and I want some space.”

She didn’t want space. She wanted to
burrow into Owen and never come out.

Still frowning, Owen eased a hand
under her shoulders and pulled her toward him, until she was trapped between
his arm and his chest. “Tough. You don’t get space after that kind of sex.”

Her cheek was now smashed up against
his collarbone, and her hand had instinctively settled on the upper part of his
free arm. “That seems rather selfish.” Best to sustain the characteristic
banter that had always allowed them to avoid the vulnerability of intimacy. “To
completely disregard my preferences.”

Owen tightened his grip on her. “I
don’t think they
are
your preferences. Since when have you not wanted to
cuddle?”

It was a good question. She always
wanted to cuddle. It was Owen who sometimes didn’t.

So why did he have to be in a cuddly
mood today?

“Well,” she replied, thinking fast, “I
don’t normally have five orgasms, do I? So you should expect things to be
different than they usually are. I’m hotter than normal, and you’re sweatier
than normal.”

Things
were
different. Her
defenses were very, very weak at the moment. She was clinging to him, even as
she told him she didn’t want to be in his arms. She loved how their skin was
sticking together with the slick dampness. Loved how every part of her body
that was pressed up against him was warmer and meltier than the rest of her.

Loved the feel of his body—the brush
of his fingers on her bottom, the hardening of his bicep under her hand, the
faint caress of his lips in her hair.

He chuckled. “So I would have
expected you to be cuddlier than normal.”

“Well, I’m not.” She was lying
through her teeth. She could barely tear herself away from him—he meant so very
much to her—but she wasn’t going to lose herself in the man she was just
fucking on the weekends.

So she jerked out of his arms and
rolled to the edge of the bed. “I told you I don’t want to cuddle.”

Her tone was so biting that she
glanced sideways to make sure he wasn’t angry. And because she checked, she
caught a flash of something that almost looked like pain.

Like she had hurt him.

“Sorry,” she said immediately,
feeling like an ass. “Nothing personal.”

She was making a total mess of
everything, when all she’d wanted to do was win the damn bet.

Owen gave a half shrug. “If you’re
hot,” he said matter-of-factly, “you’re hot.” His lips twitched and the
fleeting, wounded expression disappeared.

Amy couldn’t help but snort at his
response, relief easing the anxiety. She gave him a slanting look. “Well? I’m
waiting for the inevitable bad pun.”

“You’ll have to keep waiting,” he
said with exaggerated condescension. “If you don’t want to cuddle, then I don’t
want to make bad puns.”

“Stop pouting.” Feeling more in
control of her emotions, she shifted to her side so she was facing him. “Even
up-and-coming corporate executives sometimes don’t get their way in everything
and have to go cuddle-free.”

Narrowing his eyes, he glared at her
arrogantly and didn’t respond, but she could tell he was trying to hide a
smile.

They lay in silence for about fifteen
minutes—Amy on her side of the bed, Owen on his.

Eventually, Amy started to feel sappy
again, this time just from gazing at him.

He was watching her constantly, and
he had the focused, intent expression that he always wore when he was working.
The incongruity between his cool concentration and his debauched nakedness was
irresistible. And the little details about him that she noticed so easily—the
way the hairs in one of his eyebrows were ruffled, the faint red scratches from
her fingernails on his right shoulder, the light smears of dried fluid on his
lower belly, thighs, and cock—made him seem more real, more human, more loved.

Feeling heat rise in her cheeks as
she realized what she’d just thought, she flipped over onto her back again and
stared once more at the ceiling.

“Amy?” Owen murmured.

“Hmm?” she replied, swallowing hard.

Damn it, he’d moved over until he was
right next to her again, his fingers tracing the curve of one shoulder. “Tell
me what’s wrong.”

Giving him a mildly exasperated look,
she replied, “Nothing’s wrong. I’m hot and tired. We’ve already covered this.”

His lips lowered to where he’d been
stroking her shoulder with heart-stopping gentleness. “I don’t believe you,” he
said huskily, over her skin. His lips eased toward her neck. Settled on her
throbbing pulse. “Tell me why you’re acting so prickly.”

“I’m not prickly.” Her mouth fell
open as his lips and tongue teased her deliciously. “I told you, I’m…” Her
words transformed into a sigh of pleasure as the fingers of one of his hands
started stroking her damp hair back from her face.

“I thought you were enjoying this.” He
trailed his kisses up to her jaw. “If you’re not, just tell me and we’ll stop.”

She breathed out a laugh. “Owen, I
just had five orgasms. How can you doubt whether I’m enjoying it.”

“True. But you can enjoy something
physically and not really be into it. I want this to be good for you in every
way.”

A strange conflict was going on in
her heart—between mushy affection and panicked desperation. “As much as you
want to win?”

She regretted the words as soon as
she’d spoken them. Couldn’t believe she’d voiced something so petty, so
revealing. Her defenses must be lowered farther than she’d imagined.

Maybe Owen would ignore the words or
not read too much into them. Or maybe he wouldn’t even notice them.

And maybe the sun would change its
mind one day and start setting in the east.
Of course
, Owen would notice
them.

His face tightened, and he lifted his
head to peer at her closely. “Amy?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. That
was stupid. I’m into this all the way.” She managed a wobbly smile, mentally
pleading with him to move on. “Forget I said that.”

“I’m not going to forget you said
that.” He took her face between his hands. “What did you mean?”

“Nothing. My mind is numb from all
the orgasms. No use expecting me to talk sense.”

“Amy, tell me what’s wrong. If you
want to say something—”

“I don’t. Stop trying to read into
everything. Why can’t we just have great sex and leave it at that?”

His lips tightened abruptly, and she
had no way of understanding what was going on behind his eyes.

She sighed. If she didn’t pull it
together soon, the most important thing in her life would be destroyed. She
raised her hands to cup the back of his head. “Owen, it’s really nothing. Don’t
you ever say something that’s just silly, that doesn’t have any real meaning?”

He seemed to reflect on this a
minute. “No. I don’t believe I do.”

“Well, normal people do. So let it
go.”

Nodding, he lowered his face once
more to her jaw line. Nibbled his way to her lips. “You know, don’t you,” he
said huskily, his breath wafting over her skin irresistibly, “that pleasing you
is more important to me than winning?”

She didn’t know anything of the kind,
and he was probably just saying it to smooth over her ruffled feathers. But the
words filled her heart until it threatened to overflow. “Sure it is,” she
managed to say, her hands caressing his thick hair.

Meeting her eyes deeply—as if he was
trying to communicate something wordlessly—he sank into a kiss.

It was so sweet and so rich that Amy
closed her eyes and moaned against his mouth. Not from erotic desire but from
the overwhelming need in her heart. His lips brushed against hers with soft,
tantalizing pressure, and his tongue traced her open lips and then dipped into
her mouth to tease and soothe.

She gasped in relief when he finally
pulled away, since she was almost weeping from the beauty of it, the depth of
it, and what she wished it meant. “Wow,” she drawled, trying to lighten her
feelings by underestimating the kiss’s effect on her. “That was pretty good.”

He didn’t respond to her words. Just
kept gazing into her eyes. And then lowered his mouth again, causing Amy to
tense in preparation. He pressed little kisses into her cheek, her jaw, then
down to her throat.

She’d thought she’d be safer when he
moved away from her mouth, but every touch of his lips was purely tender.

He was demolishing every calculated barrier
she’d built up around her heart. “Owen,” she breathed, because she couldn’t
help but say his name.

His face was buried in the crook
between her neck and shoulder. “Hmm,” he murmured, tangling his fingers in her
hair.

Her hands were clutching at him, as
if they resisted ever letting him go. “Owen,” she said again, her voice wispy,
needy.

“Hmm,” he hummed again, his mouth
busy once again at the pulse in her neck.

His tongue was now stroking her
heartbeat—and her heart was drumming the pulse of her love for him. Her mouth
fell open and she arched up into him, the need in her heart far stronger than
any need she’d ever felt between her legs. “Oh, God, Owen,” she whispered, her
fingers tightening on the hard muscles of his back. “I…”

She couldn’t believe she was so close
to saying something she wasn’t supposed to even feel. Every nerve in her body
was humming with the emotion, and her voice was aching to speak it.

“Hmm?” This time, his low murmur
lifted at the end, making the sound a question. His lips had grown still, were
pressed motionless against her pounding pulse.

Amy clenched her jaw. Didn’t speak
again. Her sense of self-preservation was still the strongest part of her soul.

Owen’s body was suddenly tense, and
he raised his face from her neck to stare down at her. “You what?” he asked
hoarsely.

She just looked at him, knowing she
couldn’t tell him the truth but having no idea what to say.

It was too new. Too risky. She still
didn’t think it could possibly be real—since it was wrong in every way. There
was no possibility of letting go of her control enough to say it.

Terrified that she’d given something
away, she made her voice light and casual. “I…think you’ve set a very dangerous
precedent this afternoon.”