Seven (8 page)

Amy could feel his thrusts hitting
her g-spot, and she felt the familiar shuddering pleasure spiraling out from
the contact. Biting down on her lip, she gave a muffled moan and wriggled from
the increasing intensity of the sensations.

She could feel Owen watching her, and
her whole body burned with a hot flush. Partly from a mild self-consciousness
and partly from very strong satisfaction in the fact that the focus of that
particular gaze was only her.

He was thrusting steadily and
leisurely, pulling out as far as he could without losing the position, and then
driving back in. On every upstroke, rich jolts of sensation would shoot out
from her center, causing her to hum in her throat involuntarily.

Staring at his damp, ardent face, his
hot, focused eyes, and his strong, graceful body, Amy was awed by the incongruity
of actually having him in her life. Having him in her body. Doing these amazing
things to her.

Even just for twenty-eight more days.

“Amy,” he gritted out, his thrusts
becoming more rapid. One hand gripped one of her ankles and the other was low
on her opposite thigh. “Baby, can you come?”

She was about to choke out an
immediate affirmative—the pressure, already interrupted more than once, had
started to build quickly below her belly—but she clenched her jaw just in time.
This was still a wager and she might not be able to cheat, but she wasn’t going
to make it too easy for him.

Instead of answering, she made a
silly, helpless noise of pleasure and reached above to grab the headboard.
Since her head was tossing back and forth—making her hair fly around
messily—and all the tension in her body was coiling up, she wasn’t sure her
refusal to answer was particularly effective.

He had to know that she was about to
come—her whole body was screaming with it, even if she wasn’t actually
screaming.

She whimpered a little more as the
pleasure started to crest, and she saw Owen gazing down at his slick cock
sliding in and out of her body, a kind of primal heat taking over his face. He
made a throaty sound of approval, picked up his speed, and started to grunt
more urgently.

Swallowing over a cry of frustration,
Amy couldn’t keep her arms from moving. Releasing the headboard, her hands flew
back and forth from fisting the bedcovers to squeezing her breasts. She moaned
harshly, her whole body tightening in preparation. She was jerking her hips as
much as she could, but she didn’t have much leverage to get a real motion
going.

His eyes still raking over her, Owen
slid his hand down her leg until he reached her groin. Then his fingers pressed
firmly into her clit.

She came as soon as he did so. She
choked on the burst of pleasure, her body shaking—for real, this time—beneath
the waves of sensation. She was vaguely aware of Owen making a choked sound as
her muscles clamped down around him ruthlessly.

Tears were streaming from her eyes in
her attempt to stifle everything she was feeling—the overwhelming pleasure and
the deep emotion. She couldn’t force back any of it. Couldn’t keep her body and
mind and heart from reacting to who this man was.

And soon he’d be out of her life for
good.

Physical and emotional exhaustion had
finally caught up to her, and Amy felt like she might shatter into pieces
beneath him.

With a miserable groan, he pulled out
of her, a little too soon for the move to be comfortable for either of them.

She turned over and buried her face
in the pillow, needing to hide from him—hide her tears, hide how completely
he’d turned her inside out.

“Amy,” he asked gently, his physical
need apparently forgotten as real concern edged his voice. “Love, are you all
right?”

“Yeah,” she choked out, turning her
head once she’d controlled herself. Her shoulders were shaking a little, but
she wasn’t really crying. “I guess this is what six orgasms do to a person.”
She gave him a smile that was almost sincere.

He drew his brows together as if he
wasn’t quite convinced. “Is that all it is? Say the word and we’ll stop. If
it’s too much or if you’re not liking it—”

She shook her head. She did kind of
want to stop, but not because she wasn’t enjoying this. She was just so afraid
that one more orgasm would be her complete undoing. Afraid all her defenses
would then be leveled, that she wouldn’t be able to hold anything back.

But stopping now would be cowardly,
and she’d never been the kind of person who would run away when things got
hard. So she grinned at him. “I knew you were afraid you couldn’t do it. Trying
to quit while you’re ahead? Afraid you’re not going to win?”

He stroked her cheek, where a
just-fallen tear was lingering. “Love,” he murmured, his voice so tender that she
almost started crying again, “I think we’re both winning.”

She’d thought she had recovered her
determination and was ready for anything, but apparently that wasn’t even close
to being true.

Because the endearment sounded real.
Like he really meant it. And it was all it took for Amy to lose it completely.

“Damn it, Owen.” The words came out
of her mouth before she could stop them. “Why the hell do you have to keep calling
me that?”

Amy couldn’t believe
she’d asked such a question, couldn’t believe the words had actually slipped
out between her lips.

And now she lay beside Owen waiting
for his answer, trembling and tense and almost strangling on the terror that rose
inexorably in her throat.

For a fleeting moment, she thought
she saw something trapped in his expression as he reacted to her impulsive
question, but she didn’t even have time to consider or verify whether that was
what she saw because the expression disappeared as soon as she registered it.

It was replaced by a look of blank
surprise. “It’s a normal endearment, isn’t it?” he asked, eyeing her with
casual curiosity. “Would you prefer honey or sweetie or pumpkin pie?”

And—as simple as that—the danger was deflected.
Amy wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or crushed by how easily, how
indifferently, Owen had avoided saying anything meaningful.

She couldn’t help but be a little
disappointed, even as she was relieved that she hadn’t ruined everything. She gave
a chuckle that was just a little forced. “Pumpkin pie?” she repeated, making
her voice sound amused although a heavy weight had settled in her gut. “I think
I’d laugh hysterically if you ever called me that.”

He quirked his lips and wiped away
the last trace of tears from her cheek. “Then I’ll see if I can work it into
the repertoire, if only to see your reaction.” He was watching her face
carefully as he added, his voice taking on a more earnest tone, “But,
seriously, Amy, what would you prefer me to call you?”

She would prefer him to call her “love”—and
mean it. Call her the most important person in his world. Call her his
girlfriend, his partner—for the rest of their lives. Maybe someday even call
her his wife.

But she wasn’t any of that. She was someone
he fucked on the weekends. And presuming any more than that basic truth would
only keep breaking her heart.

Looking him straight in the eye, she
teased, “Pumpkin pie definitely tops the list.”

It wasn’t brief disappointment in his
eyes, no matter how much she wanted to see it there.

She had to pull herself together. Had
to accept what Owen was willing to offer her. It wasn’t insignificant. Just
this afternoon, he’d given her the most intensely pleasurable experience of her
life. She could be satisfied with that. Accept it for what it was. Not ask for
or expect things that only happened in silly fantasies.

Concentrate on the sex. Just on the
sex. The sex was incredible. How many women would kill for what Amy had in bed?

She closed her eyes briefly, assessed
how her body felt. She was tired and sore and still tingling and sensitive in a
number of places.

But she was definitely up for one
more orgasm.

“You ready for number seven?” Owen
asked, his hand gently brushing her messy hair back from her face.

She was ready, and she was going to
use her last orgasm to regain the reasonable control over her world she’d
almost lost this afternoon.

So she gave up on their wager. She
hated to lose, but winning just wasn’t as important as saving her heart. And if
it took coming one more time to make her appreciate what she had—and to not
yearn for something more, something that could never be hers—then she was
willing to suffer through one more orgasm.

But she couldn’t make love to him.
Couldn’t do anything that would soften her, deepen her, make her want things
that couldn’t be hers.

What she needed was a good fuck.

A few random comments from earlier
gave her the hint she needed. She knew exactly what kind of sex would distract
her, would get her mind off love.

She scrambled out of the bed, her
knees wobbling a little as she stood beside it. She saw Owen’s eyes crawl
greedily over her naked body, which was marked all over now from his hands,
mouth, and teeth.

He wanted her. He had always wanted
her. It was something—and something she should appreciate.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his
eyes settling once more on her face. “What about number seven?”

She put her hands on her hips,
stretching her breasts slightly and feeling a little smile at Owen’s obvious
reaction to the move. “What makes you think I’m going to make it easy for you?”

“You certainly haven’t made it easy
for me yet. But I’m up for any challenge you throw my way.”

Amy glanced at the clock. “We have
sixteen minutes left,” she said as a plan came together in her mind. Not a plan
to win the wager, but a plan to make her focus purely on sex. To affirm what
their relationship had always been about.

If Owen could do it, so could she.

“What your point? That’s more than
enough time for me to give you one more orgasm.”

“Maybe.” She shifted her stance in
preparation. “But only if you’re able to touch me.” She saw momentary confusion
on his face, so she cleared it up for him. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

As enlightenment dawned on his face,
Owen moved, as quickly and dangerously as a predator. But Amy had been watching
and, as soon as he pounced, she squealed and raced to the doorway.

He was on his feet and had taken two
steps toward her. Then he called out, “Damn it, Amy. I have a raging hard-on!
You’re not actually going to make me chase you around, are you?”

Giggling, Amy skittered down the hall
and waited. Her plan was working. She was excited, aroused, and breathing
heavily. Was indulging in absolutely no mushy feelings, despite how adorably
aggrieved he had sounded.

He appeared out of the bedroom, took
a step into the hall—scowling, naked, and very erect.

“You don’t have to chase me,” she
taunted. “You could always just give up and admit defeat.”

Owen growled at her in a way that
made her shiver. Then he paced toward her, not running, but each stride long
and purposeful.

Amy turned around and hurried into
the living room.

She wasn’t actually planning to elude
him for long. She wanted to have sex but wanted to get them both in the proper
mood before they fucked. Running over to the other side of the room, she
planted herself behind a leather armchair.

When Owen approached her, she darted
away, leading him first into the kitchen. Then down the hall again. Back into
the living room. And then finally where she had planned to end up all along.

In the corner near the window. Where
she would accidentally get trapped.

He’d cornered here now, and he stood
in front of her, looking impatient and aroused and dominant.

Amy lost her breath at the sight of
him—but her reaction was definitely from lust and not from tenderness. She was flushed
all over but she managed to throw out some teasing insults about what a wuss he
was, just so he’d know how he was supposed to act.

From the clock on the cable box, she
saw that they’d only wasted three minutes on the chase, which still left them
plenty of time for wild, primal fucking.

No love here. Just sex. Nothing in
the world wrong with that.

Amy waited until Owen approached her.

“I believe I’ve caught you,” Owen
said in a silky voice, raking his gaze over her possessively. “I guess that
means I can touch you now.”

“Touch me all you want. You only have
a few minutes left, and you’ve yet to prove that you’re man enough to make me
come seven times.”

She turned her back on him, giving
him a hopefully tempting view of her ass. Waited.

Didn’t have to wait long.

Amy squealed with real surprise when
Owen grabbed her by the shoulders and whirled her around. Before she had time
to react, he had heaved her up over his shoulder and was carrying her back to
the bedroom.

“Hey!” she shouted, pummeling him on
the back with very little force. This was working out even better than she’d
imagined. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’ve had your fun,” he rasped, in
a voice she found absolutely thrilling. “Now it’s time for both of us to play.”
He had her legs trapped with one arm or else she would have flailed her legs in
a show of outrage.

But she squirmed enthusiastically
until he gave her a swat on the bottom, the slapping sound of his palm on her
flesh startling and strangely erotic.

As they approached the bedroom, she
grabbed his sides for leverage and twisted her body until she could see around
to the front of his body. She giggled in satisfaction as she saw his erection
bobbing as he walked.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” he
inquired, in a soft, dangerous tone. He must have intuitively realized what she
was giggling at.

“Hilarious,” she admitted.
Truthfully, it was more exhilarating than hilarious, but she wasn’t here to
stroke his ego. “Poor Owen. Are you ever going to get to do anything with that
thing?”

They’d reached the bedroom again, and
he hauled her off of his shoulder and set her on her feet in front of him. She
had to clutch at his shoulders to get her balance. “Oh, yes. I’m definitely
going to do something with it. Exactly what you want me to do with it.” He
pinned her with his eyes. “Ask me.”

She felt a deep jolt between her
legs. “You know what I want.”

He turned her around until she was
facing the mirror over the dresser and his hands skated over her curves with
light, tantalizing stimulation. “Ask me anyway.” His fingers settled on her
nipples and played with them in a way that made her stifle a groan. She stared
at the mirror—mesmerized by the sight of his skillful fingers twirling her rosy
nipples.

“Owen,” she said on an indrawn
breath. Watched in the mirror as his hand dipped down to nudge at her intimate
folds. Then they explored deeper. Found how hot and wet she still was. Despite
all her earlier orgasms, she still wanted him again. “Fuck me.”

He grunted his approval, and she felt
his erection pushing into her from behind. Then his hand was pushing into her
back, folding her at the waist until she was bent over the dresser. “Like
this?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yeah.” She felt pulsing desire vie
with something else inside her. She ignored that something else. This was
working. This was just hot sex. This was meaningless fucking. Nothing else.
“Fuck me like this.”

Since he’d already ascertained her
readiness, Owen pulled the cheeks of her ass apart and found her pussy. Lifted
her hips slightly as he pushed his hard cock inside her, making her suck in a
breath at the familiar intrusion.

Amy was grabbing at the back of the
dresser and holding her head up so she could watch them in the mirror. The
sharp edge of wood she bent over was poking her painfully in the belly but she
ignored it. Focused only on the feel of Owen’s cock inside her.

Holding onto her hips, he pulled out
some and then plunged back inside—going deeper than he had all afternoon,
filling her completely. Shudders of pleasure radiated out from the penetration,
and she moaned deep in her throat. She felt his balls resting against her
bottom. She wiggled in response.

He grunted and thrust again, once
more making her shudder and moan.

She clung to the dresser desperately,
her eyes never leaving his face.

He was acting like the caveman she
had teased him into—giving her what she’d asked for.

It was what she wanted. He was hot
and primal and dominant, and he was fucking her like an animal. This was sex.
Only sex. And it felt amazing.

Exquisite pressure started building
inside her as Owen’s thrusts become harder and faster. With each drive forward,
he pushed her into the dresser and one of his hands slid forward on her back
until it was fisted in her hair. She urged him on with her broken whimpers and
pleas, trying to move with him as best she could in her helpless position.

It wouldn’t take much longer for her
to come to the final of her seven orgasms.

Owen's face was damp again, and now he
was staring down at where his cock was sliding in and out of her body. His
hands were clutching hard at her hip and her hair. And the breathless grunts he
made were rough and incoherent.

He wasn’t watching her. Wasn’t
looking in her eyes. Wasn’t holding her in his arms. Wasn’t saying her name.
Wasn’t calling her “love.”

Wasn’t saying he loved her.

The pleasure was still building each
time he slammed back into her, but she couldn’t watch him anymore. She squeezed
her eyes shut instead.

This was what she’d wanted, a
reminder of the true nature of their coupling. Nothing deep, nothing intimate,
nothing that was anything more than physical.

What it was was good. Amazing.
Mind-blowing. Something other women could only fantasize about.

But it wasn’t enough for Amy.

So she finally admitted it to
herself. Maybe she was foolish and impossibly greedy, but she wanted—she
needed—so much more.

And everything changed. The feel of
Owen moving roughly inside her became painfully bittersweet. Her shoulders
started shaking, and she could barely make them stop. Tears burned in her eyes,
so she squeezed them closed to keep the tears from falling.

This was supposed to be nothing more
than hot caveman sex. It was wild. It was impersonal. It embodied the true
nature of their relationship.

And it would probably be the last
time she’d take Owen inside her body.

She’d lost control over her life, her
heart, her world after all, and now she couldn’t keep doing this. Even just for
twenty-eight more days.

It would be an injustice to her heart.

She loved Owen. For good. No going
back. And she needed to be loved in return. She couldn’t settle anymore for
meaningless sex.

Couldn’t give her body to a man when
she wanted so much more. Even if that man happened to be Owen.

Even if she happened to love him.

She couldn’t help but grieve over
what it meant, even as he fucked her hard from behind.