Seven

by Claire Kent

  Owen released his breath with a little moan and clutched at her hips.

  Amy wasn’t planning to come again—four orgasms were quite enough to satisfy her physical needs and to stroke his swollen ego—but she’d always loved being astride him so she relaxed her body and enjoyed the feelings.

  “Good,” Owen said hoarsely, his neck arching back in a way that tilted his face away from her. “Good, baby. That’s it.” He was trying to guide her motion with his hands, and she decided he might lose control faster if she let him have his way. So she followed his urging, made circular movements with her hips. Moaned softly.

  The pleasure was real and was slowly building up into a deep pressure inside her. Her previous orgasms actually seemed to have made coming again easier—as if her body was now primed and ready, and the slightest stimulation could push her over the edge. She had to be careful or else she would beat Owen to climax.

  It wasn’t often that a woman would try her best not to orgasm, but these were unusual circumstances.

  “Owen,” she gasped, straightening her spine and letting her head fall backwards. “God, Owen!” She told herself that these impassioned exclamations were purely to turn Owen on even more, but she couldn’t quite convince herself. She hadn’t intended to say anything. Certainly not what she said next. “You feel so good.”

  “Yes,” Owen hissed, staring at her hotly, directing the motion of her pelvis with his strong hands. “That’s right. Come, Amy. Come for me again.”

  It wouldn’t take very much more of this erotic stimulation before she would, so she focused—not on her pleasure—but on what was most essential. Her victory. Decided she better speed things up before her priorities got rearranged.

  Instead of rocking rhythmically and grinding over him, Amy started moving over his cock, using her thighs to lever herself up and down. In this way, she quickly developed a rapid pumping motion.

  “Fuck,” Owen choked, trying to hold her still. His tight grip was painful but failed to prevent her from riding him hard. “I can’t…” He sucked in a harsh breath and twisted his features with effort. She could feel that the muscles of his belly were rock hard as her hands pushed down on him for leverage. “Amy, wait. I can’t…”

  His eyes were wild and desperate, and Amy knew exactly what he couldn’t do.

  He couldn’t hold himself back anymore, and she didn’t want him to.

  She was breathless now and not just from the renewed exertion. But fortunately the sudden change in stimulation had interrupted her rising climax. She bounced over him, noticing with a naughty thrill how his eyes lowered from her blazing face to her shaking breasts. Her movements were growing sloppy and uncontrolled, but she knew precision didn’t matter now as much as speed and intensity. Her thighs were starting to burn, but she knew she was driving Owen crazy.

  “Amy,” he said in a thick voice. “Amy, love, I can’t…” He couldn’t finish the sentence because she started to squeeze her muscles around him.

  Letting out an agonized burst of sound, Owen’s legs bent up involuntarily, his knees lifting and heels sliding toward his body as he tried to maintain his control. “Amy. What…”

  He didn’t finish his question. He met her eyes and then understood exactly what she was doing.

  She felt exhilarated, powerful, temporarily dominant, as she watched this strong, composed man totally lose it beneath her. She squeezed around him as steadily as she could, trying to coordinate that rhythm with the speed she was riding him. When he began to buck up into her, making helpless, grunting sounds, she knew she had won.

  It wouldn’t take him long now to come.

  But one thing she hadn’t counted on was the effect his thrusts had on her body. As his cock drove into her from below, the rough friction on her sensitized flesh sent her spiraling past conscious intentions. The delicious pressure—briefly interrupted—started building again at the sight of his frantic desire and the lush sensations they were generating between them.

  She moaned deeply and tried to remember to keep squeezing her muscles. Raised her hands to clutch her own breasts, which were slapping against her chest. “Your turn,” she gasped, desperately trying to think of anything but how close she was to coming. “Come, Owen. Come now.”

  His entire body was rocking like a wave, his hips slamming up into hers without restraint. “You first,” he gritted out, one hand gripping the flesh of her hip and the other fumbling in the general location of her clit.

  She moved with his thrusts instinctively, her body having a will of its own—and that will rushing headlong toward her fifth climax. The only way to stop the momentum would be to stop moving entirely, but that would interrupt Owen’s climax. And his release was what she needed.

  So she met each of his thrusts. Erratically clenched around him whenever she could remember to use her intimate muscles purposefully. Felt perspiration forming in the hollow of her neck, the small of her back, and where her thighs were rubbing against his skin. She made little whimpers of pleasure and frustration as she tried to hold back her impending climax.

  “No,” she panted, her voice unconsciously synchronizing itself to the tempo of their slapping bodies. “You. Come, baby. Come.”

  He choked on a strangled sound and fisted the bedding with one of his hands, pulling up the coverlet as his body thrashed helplessly.

  Amy closed her eyes tightly. Couldn’t watch him. It was too much, too overwhelming. She’d never seen him like this before. Never witnessed such tangible proof of how wild, how primitively desperate she could make this sophisticated man.

  His hand fumbled again at her clit, and this time arrived at the right spot. He pushed into the swollen bit of flesh, and Amy cried out as a jolt of sharp pleasure shot through her.

  The one part of her mind that could still focus on such things realized that Owen was about to win this little race. So in a last ditch effort to get him to come before she did, she arched her back as far she could, tightening her belly and breasts as she leaned backward.

  She knew Owen was watching her with frantic intensity, and she reached behind her body to find and cup his balls.

  It only took one squeeze of her hand for Owen to roar out, “Fuck!”

  He came with startling power. Amy saw his face transform in the sudden wash of pleasure. Heard his shouted cry of relief. Felt him swell and contract inside her tight muscles.

  She was convinced she would have been able to hold back her orgasm, even though Owen continued to thrust wildly throughout the duration of his climax. Amy was all set to watch him come, to enjoy her victory. She was very close to orgasm but she hadn’t fallen over the edge.

  Except for one thing. After his initial loud vocal response, while his climax was still ripping through him, Owen closed his eyes and breathed in a harsh whisper, “Yes, love. Amy.”

  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.”

  Interlude

  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.